#also been trying different style approaches lately?

[renaoriflamme]

Veronica WIP

i was gonna do some other stuffs i should be doing but i spent like 4 hours for this wip, i dont regret it tho, love her xoxo

[watchmegetobsessed]

MAKE HER REGRET IT

A/N: i was really in the mood for some smut and the neighbors trope popped into my head, so here we are!

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry, your freshly divorced, insanely hot neighbor needs your help: you have to pretend to be his new girlfriend when his ex-wife comes over, however your little stunt outdoes your expectations in a lot of ways.

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It's a basic instinct for you at this point to look up at the balcony whenever you’re approaching your apartment building. However you’re not looking at yours, but the one next to yours that belongs to one hot, freshly divorced guy who moved in next door about two months ago. 

You remember the morning the moving truck appeared and you knew someone was taking the vacant apartment beside yours. You just arrived back from your morning run and you jumped right into guesses about who it will be. Maybe someone your age? A girl you can go to yoga with? Or a sweet old lady you can have tea with on warm afternoons? Hopefully not a noisy family, because the walls are way too thin to endure the screaming of a child. 

Then you saw him. Carrying a heavy looking box up the stairs, a simple white shirt stretching on his torso, tattooed arms flexing under the weight of the box, you knew you were fucked the first time you saw Harry Styles. 

It took you no time to lurk over the next day and introduce yourself as his neighbor. 

“If you need suggestions for coffee spots around the neighborhood, I’m your person,” you smiled at him charmingly as he stood in his doorway in gray sweats and a black t-shirt, hair messy but so delicious, it was screaming for your fingers to run through his locks. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind. I can offer to fix anything around your apartment, I’m kind of a handyman,” he chuckled and your knees almost buckled hearing his creamy british accent. 

Fate played on your hand, because you kept running into each other so it didn’t take long for you to go out for a coffee run together and it was smooth sailing from then. You learned about how he just got divorced, his wife cheated on him and he found out on their second anniversary, tragic story and you still can’t quite understand how any woman could cheat on a man like him. You practically drool every time you catch a glimpse of him arriving back from a run in nothing but a pair of shorts, his tanned skin glistening from sweat. You definitely love to move out to the balcony around the time he can be expected to appear in the late afternoon, you watch him stretch and breathe heavily and the sight alone makes you break a sweat as well, but for a whole different reason. 

You’ve been trying to flirt with him every possible occasion, but you also make sure you don’t come off too pushy. After all he just got out of a marriage, it must be hard on him to recover from being cheated on. There’s also a slight age difference between the two of you, not that dramatic, but that eight years could easily be a deal breaker for him, so you’ve been playing it safe. 

When you’re lying in bed late at night and sleep is not coming to you, you can’t help but think of how he is on the other side of the wall, you imagine him sleeping without a shirt, maybe thinking about you the way you like to think of him… But it’s all just a fantasy, one you fancy very much. 

The door to his balcony is open so you know he is home, but he is not out. You take your time walking up the stairs, your legs are definitely tired from the run you just had and just when you reach your floor Harry’s front door swings open and you stop, watching him walk over to your door. He didn’t notice you, so you stay still and watch him take a deep breath as he lifts his fist up to knock, but then it falls back to his side and he shakes his head, stepping backwards before returning to his spot on your doormat and that’s when you decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Are you out of sugar, neighbor?” you ask, slowly walking towards him. Harry spins around with a stunned expression. 

“Oh, I didn’t–I didn’t see you.” You catch his gaze running down your body and legs and you’re thankful you decided to wear your shortest shorts. 

Playing with your keys in your hands, you finally reach him. 

“What’s up?”

“Um… I have a bit of a situation on my hands and you might be able to help me.”

Unlocking the door you push it in and gesture for him to follow you inside. 

“Do tell me.”

Rounding your way into the kitchen you step to the fridge to grab some water. Harry hesitantly follows you and stops by the kitchen counter. 

“So, I talked to Rory this morning,” he starts. You’ve heard enough about Rory, his ex wife to know that if she’s involved, it’s for sure something messy. “You know that painting in my living room?” You nod. “Well, she insists it’s hers, because a friend of hers painted it, but I was the one who paid for it. Whatever. She’s been trying to get me to give it to her and honestly I’m over it so I gave in. She is picking it up today.”

“When will the part where I can help come?”

“Right here,” he chuckles nervously. “We got into a fight, no surprise. She screamed at me over the phone and told me I’ll die alone because no one can put up with my shit.”

You need to force yourself to swallow the bitterness in your mouth. That woman sounds very much like the spawn of the devil, because who would say that to anyone? Especially to Harry? Aside from being insanely hot you’ve also learned just how kind, passionate and funny he is, basically the whole deal. Rory is the biggest loser in history for letting go of a man like him. 

“One thing followed the other and I just… Um, I told her that I have someone.”

The light bulb switches on in your mind, because you already know where this is heading. And you like it, very much. 

“I don’t know what got into me, but I told her she can meet my alleged girlfriend when she picks up the painting so she can see herself that I’m not the loser she thinks I am. And… as you might now, I do not have anyone…”

“You want me to be your fake girlfriend,” you finish for him, saving him from having to say it out loud. You can see just how awkward he is, having to ask you for such a thing. 

“Basically, yeah. Only if you don’t mind being part of this shitshow. I understand if you find it weird and I don’t expect you to–”

“When should I be over at yours?” you simply ask and watch his eyes go wide. 

“Y-You will do it?”

“Sure, sounds fun. Besides, I’m curious to see the stupidest woman on earth,” you add smirking and he finally lets out a relieved laugh as well. 

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Really, I owe you big time. She’ll be here in about two hours.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there.”

For the next two hours, you do everything you can to bring out the hottest version of yourself. Hair, makeup, dress, everything is on spot when you step out of your apartment and walk over to Harry’s door, ringing the bell. 

When the door swings open and Harry sees you his mouth hangs open, giving you that one last ego boost you need to be the best possible fake girlfriend ever. 

“Satisfied with your girlfriend?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I-I uh–Yeah! I’m… yes.”

“Can I go inside then?” you ask with a chuckle and he steps aside in a hurry.

“Sorry, yeah come inside.”

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, walking into his living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. Harry follows, but he takes the armchair across you and you can tell he is still struggling with not ogling you, especially your exposed legs and deep cleavage the dress teases him with. 

“I don’t… I have no idea, I have never done this before.”

“I have.”

“Really?”

“Just once, in college. One of my friends broke up with a girl who did not take it well and I was his fake girlfriend for a week to get her to stop harassing him. It worked.”

“Then… I trust you with anything.”

“What’s the goal?”

Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, as if he is embarrassed to say what’s on his mind. 

“Harry, say it. I’m happy to help with anything.”

“I want to make her regret it.”

“Regret what she said?”

“Regret everything,” he corrects and when he looks you in the eye a shiver runs down your spine from the determination that’s behind his green irises. 

“Consider it done,” you smile at him devilishly. 

At your suggestion you both take a shot to ease your nerves and make it easier to lie. It seems to loosen him just enough that he doesn’t look like he is about to attend an interrogation. 

And then the bell rings. 

“Show time,” you smile at him and as he walks over to the door you take your place on the couch again. 

You hear the door open and then a female voice mixes with Harry’s before the footsteps follow. Harry comes into view first, but then Rory steps out from behind him and you see the pure shock in her eyes when she finally spots you. 

“Oh, hi!” you smile at her almost disgustingly sweetly as you stand from the couch and walk closer. “You must be Rony. I’m Y/N.” You hold out a hand for her and watch as her mouth twitches when she hears you mess her name up. 

“Rory,” she sassily says and shakes your hand at last. “So you’re the… girlfriend.” The disgust in her tone is apparent, she is not even trying to hide it and it just makes it way more enjoyable. 

“Yes and you must be the cheating ex-wife.”

Harry coughs beside you, he was not expecting you to be this blunt, but the look on Rory’s face is priceless, because she can’t deny what she is. Moving closer to Harry you wrap an arm around his waist and though at first he freezes at your closeness, he is quick to recover and join in on the act, his arm finding your waist as well. 

“The painting is over there, just take it and let’s get over with it, alright?” Harry nods towards the painting he already took off the wall, now it’s leant against the console table that’s been underneath it. 

“You didn’t even wrap it?” she scoffs. How am I supposed to take it like this?”

“Rory, I’m not a fucking gallery. You wanted the painting, take it.”

“It’s gonna be ruined if I just put it into my car like this!” she argues. 

“That’s none of my business.”

“Harry, this is so not okay! I can’t–”

“Jesus, Rory fine! I think I have some bubble wrap,” he grunts, heading into his bedroom to find something to wrap the painting in, leaving the two of you alone.

Rory gives you another long, dirty look, as if you were the woman Harry cheated on her with when she is the culprit of this mess here. 

“So how long have you been together?” she then asks, pretending like she is just chit chatting, but you know she is eager to know everything about you.

“A little over a month now. You know, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Harry is just the perfect guy and I couldn’t stay away from him.”

“Oh, he is not that perfect, little girl.”

It’s obvious she tried to derogate you by calling you a little girl, she must be around the age of Harry, not more than thirty-six for sure, but she can’t find anything to use against you other than the fact that you’re clearly in your twenties. How mature. 

“I know. But everything he can give me makes it worth it. And the sex, ah!”

She gives you a puzzled look. You knew this would stir her up, Harry mentioned how distant they grew in the last few months and sex wasn’t the same anymore. Looking at the timeline she must have started her affair around that time and Harry couldn’t perform the way he otherwise could because she wasn’t open to him anymore. It was a vicious cycle, but you also know Rory is the kind of woman who must have humiliated him because of that. Harry never said, but you just feel that she criticized his sexual performance when she left him even if it all happened because of her. 

And now hearing that he is giving his all to another woman is definitely something that can drive her nuts. 

“Oh please, he sucks in bed,” she scoffs.

“Not with the right partner. He is so good, I honestly don’t know how you could let go of him.”

“He couldn’t make me cum for months!”

“That’s unfortunate. I get an orgasm basically after every meal. He is so good at it, honestly, it’s like he just wants to please me every possible moment. I mean, I can’t remember a morning when I didn’t wake up with his head between my legs, he loves quickies, I have to sanitize the kitchen counter like twice a day.” You let out a chuckle and just watch as her face grows redder while staring at the kitchen counter, raging jealousy swirling in her mind for sure. It’s clearer than daylight that she didn’t cheat on him because he wasn’t manly enough, this woman is simply a stupid loser who couldn’t appreciate what she had, maybe panicked that she can’t mess around with others and then simply chose to ruin everything. 

You’re more than happy to remind her what she lost. 

“Alright, this is all I got,” Harry emerges from the bedroom with some bubble wrap he probably had left from moving, but when he sees you and Rory staring each other down, he stops. But before he could speak up, you decide to push that knife into Rory’s chest as your final move. 

Stepping over to Harry you push yourself up against him, he drops the bubble wrap and his hands grab you by the waist instantly, though you see confusion in his eyes before you take his face in your hands and pull him closer, lips pressing against his hungrily. 

It’s not a sweet, shy first kiss. This is the perfect show off, messy, passionate, full of tongue and eagerness as you practically devour each other. For a bit you forget about the show you’re putting up and it’s your real desire you’ve been fighting for weeks now. Every time you try to pull back Harry just keeps demanding more and you happily give him what he wants. He bites into your bottom lip when one of his hands moves down to your ass, giving it a not-at-all shy squeeze, making you moan into the kiss. 

It feels like it takes forever for you to stop, when you open your eyes you’re met with Harry’s hungry eyes, his lips are slightly swollen and shiny from your kisses. 

And then you remember you’re not alone. 

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you both!” Rory pops the bubble around you and when you turn to look at her, she is already grabbing the painting, not even bothering to wrap it. 

“It was nice to meet you!” you call after her.

“Fuck you!” she repeats, marching towards the door and you’re just smirking like an idiot, pleased with yourself for pissing her off so badly. 

Harry follows her to shut the door behind her and you let yourself bathe in the sweet victory you just earned. 

“This went amazing, right? She was so mad, oh my God!” you laugh, but your smile quickly disappears when you realize the serious look on Harry’s face as he is walking back towards you. 

Shit, maybe the kiss was too much. He didn’t want it and now he is pissed at you.

“Are you mad about the kiss? I-I’m sorry if it was too–”

The words die down on your lips when they crash against his again, his hand cupping the back of your head while the other returns straight to your ass, groping you so hard your whole body smashes against his. 

Your mouth opens in surprise and it gives him the chance to push his tongue against yours, he is demanding, rough and so much more raw than what you imagined him to be like. 

“What did you tell her?” he asks against your mouth, moving you around until the small of your back hits the kitchen counter. “What did you tell her that made her so pissed?” he demands, his hand already eagerly moving underneath your dress. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“I said, ah–I said I wake up every day with… your head between my legs, and… Oh fuck!” You’re losing your ability to speak your thoughts as his fingers start circling, the fabric of your underwear is so drenched, if you could think straight you might be embarrassed just how aroused he made you so fast. 

“And?” he urges you to continue, but at the same time he pushes your underwear to the side and pushes two fingers into you without warning, making you gasp so loud that people on the street must have heard it through the open balcony door. 

“A-and that you fuck me on the… the kitchen counter all the time.”

He curls his fingers inside you as he keeps talking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do to you now. Are you okay with that?” he asks and you nod eagerly as you hold onto his broad shoulders. 

The next moment he pulls his hand back and you whine, feeling empty all of a sudden, but then he lifts you up and makes you sit on the counter, he lowers himself and places your legs over his shoulders with careful, but confident moves. You grab onto his hair as he pushes his head between your thighs and his mouth meets your clit. 

“Oh, fuck! Harry!” you gasp out, tugging on his hair as he swirls his tongue against your swollen clit, his fingers teasing your hole again. Then they push into you and he sucks on your clit, making you see stars. 

You imagined him to be skilled, but whatever it is he is doing to you, it feels out of this world and now you know you weren’t wrong when you praised him that much to Rory before. 

You’re totally out of breath when he comes up, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on his tongue, your hands impatiently tug on his shirt to get rid of it. Soon the fabric lands on the tiled floor and you map out every inch of his hard chest with your palm and while you keep kissing like there’s no tomorrow, you faintly hear the zipper of his pants come undone. 

You look him in the eyes when you reach down and take his hard length into your hands and you can’t hold back a gasp when you realize just how big he is. 

“I know you can take it, baby,” he coos, kissing the corner of your mouth and you’re ready to take him right then and there, but he moves back, making you reach for him in panic. “Condom,” he says and you lean back onto your elbows with a sigh as you watch him disappear in his bedroom. You have just a few seconds you process that here you are, on top of Harry’s kitchen counter, with your dress bunched up around your waist, your drenched pussy on show, waiting to be fucked properly. You definitely did not expect this outcome when you woke up this morning, but you’re not complaining. 

Then Harry appears and he is walking over to you, completely naked, his dick in his hands as he rolls the condom on while moving and you bite into your bottom lip, hoping to remember this view until the end of time. 

When he reaches you again he simply curls his arms around your thighs and tugs on you so you get closer to the edge. His erection wedges between your wet folds and the tip pokes against your clit, making you clench around nothing. 

“I have to admit, I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on this counter since the day I moved in and saw you for the first time.”

“Just on the counter?” you ask teasingly. 

“Every surface of this fucking apartment,” he admits with no remorse.

“Make a list then and I’m more than happy to do them all. But let’s tick the counter off first.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He reaches down and circles his thumb against your clit a bit before grabbing his dick by the base and dragging it up and down your cunt a few times before pushing the head in first, letting you adjust to his thickness first. When you claw at his chest he takes it as a sign to go deeper and he keeps pushing until you take his whole length, feeling fuller than ever before. 

“I want to go hard,” he breathes out, staying still for now.

“Go hard then. I can take it,” you assure him, though you do have doubts feeling just how stretched out you are now. 

“Of course you can. You’re my good girl,” he praises you and before you could get a word out, he pulls back and slams into you hard. 

There are moments when you actually think you’re about to burst, Harry did not joke when he said he wants to go hard, his thrusts are fast and rough and he makes sure he buries his whole length into you every time he pushes into you. At one point he pulls your legs over his shoulders and it allows him to reach a point in you no one has before and it pushes you towards the edge rapidly. The counter is painfully hard underneath you, but you somehow forget about the pain and only focus on how hard Harry is railing into you. His stamina is incredible, your body already feels like goo and you’re not even doing the actual work. 

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan and his fingers dig deeper into your thighs at your words. 

“Come around my cock, baby. I wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out his name again, a tear rolling down your cheek, because you’re so desperate to let go. Harry moves a hand to where you meet and his thumb returns to your clit and that’s what throws you over the edge. 

Your back arches and you squeeze around him uncontrollably, gasping for air as he ruthlessly keeps fucking into you. 

“That’s it, baby. You look so fucking beautiful, coming on my cock.”

You can’t stop moaning as you ride out your orgasm. The last waves are washing over your body when his movements fall out of rhythm, he slams into you hard and he sucks on his breath before moaning out your name over and over again, pushing into you a few more times as he comes. He falls forward, his face burying into your heaving chest as he tries to catch his breath along with you. There’s a long minute of silent bliss, his cock is still inside you, his lips peppering soft kisses onto the skin that’s exposed on your chest while you’re mindlessly playing with his hair. 

When he straightens up he pulls out of you, the empty feeling hitting you again. He carefully helps you off the counter, but keeps his arms around you, because when your feet hit the floor you wobble. 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest you take the cross pendant on his necklace between your teeth and pull back, looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t do that, or we’re moving to the next place on the list.”

Giggling you let go of it and push yourself up to steal a kiss. 

“Give me some time to recover, but I’m all in to check out another place.”

“Jesus, I knew you’d be the death of me the moment I saw you,” he breathes out, before his mouth claims yours hungrily. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[russellsppttemplates]

My person (Charles Leclerc)

Your brother's best friend is sure you were made for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. Most times I read a brother's best friend trope, it's usually the reader going after the boy, so I felt like doing things a little bit different (also, my brain got a bit jumbled because I was wondering about the perspective, and in the end I went with reader being Joris' twin). Also, I always feel a little bit of impostor's syndrome whenever I post these tropes for which I've read many great pieces about it, and I never know if my ones are good enough to be posted but we're going with it

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

Most people thought having a twin brother was bitter sweet because while you had to share everything since the womb, you had a brother so there came a time where you wanted to have different toys, different rooms and different styles.

Different friends, however, was never a question. Even with different interests, you and Joris often came as a duo, so both of your friend groups were pretty close.

"We're going to Charles' apartment to watch the football game, are you joining us?", Joris asked, throwing himself on your sofa and partially occupying your personal space, "Marta is going to be over and I think she's taking Chiara with her, too".

You don't remember a time where Charles wasn't in your life. Your brother knew him since they were in kindergarten and so there wasn't a memory where he wasn't involved. Which brought you to the last time you were with him, just a week before.

Charles spent the afternoon with Joris at your brother's apartment, wanting to relax and game for the rest of the day.

"It's Y/N", Charles said as he gave Joris his ringing phone, your caller ID prompting him to pick the calk up right away, "can you come and get me, please?", he heard you faintly as Joris got up straight away, listening to whatever you were telling as he put on his trainers and jacket.

"Y/N needs me to pick her up from the café - turns out her date thought she wouldn't mind going home on her own", Joris rolled his eyes, "it will be quick, you're good on your own here?", he checked with Charles, "sure", the driver assured, unpausing the game and carrying on.

Another date and another disappointment for you, Charles thought. While you weren't as close as his brother was to him, he still knew about your life as much as your other friends, and lately you had been looking for someone, your person, you claimed. Luck had yet to join your search as every date you went on seemed to go between bad and awful.

If he had the courage to come clean about his feelings, maybe things would be different. For a while, yes, you were Joris' twin sister and that was it. You were a cool girl and he didn't mind spending time with you or having your hang out with their group, but things changed when you went to university.

Maybe it was your glow up, although you never needed one to catch his eye in the first place, but year after year, you grew to exude confidence, your natural beauty enhanced as you turned into a charming, caring and kind young woman.

Since he didn't want to ruin the bond you had, he watched it all happen from the sidelines. How happy you sounded whenever you had a date later in the week, whenever a cute guy came up to you in the club and how you squealed "I think this one might be the one!" as you excused yourself and declined dinner invitations from the group for a date.

He heard the door open and then close, footsteps approaching the living room as he paused the game just in time for you to sit on the sofa, "what's up, Leclerc?", you nudged his shoulder.

"I'm good, how are you?", he quesioned, "I guess that one isn't the love of your life either?", he semi joked.

"He was certifiable, at the very least", you began as the boys chuckled, "Hey! I'm qualified to make such appreciation! He kept talking about himself and he was borderline sexist, but then he said I would be fine going home on my own? I don't know, it was a mess and I can't believe I even experienced that - I'm going to pretend it was a fever dream", you shrugged your shoulders, "I was expecting to spend the afternoon with him - thank Goodness I didn't, - and the construction work at my place is still going so I don't have anywhere to go, I'm sorry if I'm crashing your afternoon", you gulped.

"It's fine, it's nice having company other than us two playing and screaming at eachother", Charles smiled as Joris shrugged his shoulders, "you're already staying her until the building work is done", you brother offered.

"I wasn't asking you, silly; you're my twin, dealing with me it's something that comes with the job", you winked.

When it came to dinner time, the three of you decided to have take out, your brother calling the restaurant and scheduling a time for him to pick it up, "I'm going to shower", you said as you got up from the sofa, heading to the guest room you were staying in.

By the time you got out, your heard Joris shout that he was leaving while you put on some comfy clothes for the evening in. When you went to the balcony so your towels could air dry for a bit, you sat in the padded chair, looking out to the sunset.

He would come, you thought. It wasn't particularly a manifestation or a "throw it at the universe" kind of thing, but rather something to reassure yourself. You were worthy of the standards you set for yourself and there was someone out there for you, and he would come.

"Hey", Charles stepped into the balcony, coming to sit in the chair next to yours, "a cent for your thoughts?", he smiled softly, the warm yellow and orange light hitting his eyes in a glowy hue.

"Do you believe that the right person for you is out there?", you shot softly.

"I know she is", Charles gulped, "Oh, confident!", you giggled softly, "but it's nice, better than being sulky like me".

"I'm not sure how much better it is. I know she is out there, but it's a little more complicated than just going up to her and tell her that", he played with hia thumbs.

"So you're chickening out?", you quirked your eyebrow, partly teasing him but genuinely curious about it. You didn't have enough fingers to count how many girls tried to approach you and befriend you with the only goal of getting into a friendship circle that would lead them to Charles, and he could probably chat up anyone he wanted, so it was hard for you to understand how he didn't have the love of his life with him yet.

"It's not chickening out if you think it might cause some issues with your friends, I think. I'm being prudent, that's all", Charles tried, wanting to take the opportunity to try and see where you stood. Girls were usually sharper than guys, so you said many times, maybe you'd take the hint.

"If I knew who the love of my life was, I would go to him and never look back. I know it sounds silly, but I wouldn't want to be away from him a second longer, it would be quite shitty if he was in a relationship", you mused, "but if we were really meant to be together - if it was a both ways kind of thing - he would know it, right? Goodness, sound a bit like a romantic sop, don't I?", you chuckled, "but I would fight for him, for us".

Charles felt inspired before he felt a little angry. Here you here saying you would fight until you found your person when he was right there. If it really worked as a both ways thing, you'd have to know and feel the person you kept looking for was him. He broke into a full belly laugh as he stated at you. No make-up, hair sitting in its natural wave and comfy clothes, you never looked so beautiful to him.

"Would you let me fight for us, too?", he mused quietly but loud enough for you to hear, "would you want me to do that?".

Giggling at him, you could only shake your head at his words, "I know this sound silly - Joris teases me enough about it enough", you groaned as your hands covered your face.

"I'm not joking or teasing", Charles clarified, turning to face you on the chair, "All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at them", Charles stated, "whenever you talk about your dates before you go on them, you're so hopeful that that guy will be the one, you look forward to it like it will be that time, and you never looked at me that way when I constantly make efforts to hung the stars and the moon for you and stand there hoping they get to you".

His confession took you off guard. Charles just admitted he liked you, in a way with words that was more elaborate than what any of your dates had ever told you combined.

"I thought you were being nice?! Was this some sort of plan?!", you quesioned immediately. He had been around you your whole life, you surely would've noticed it, wouldn't you?

Charles chuckled in a way you found a smidge belittling, "it wasn't a plan! Y/N, I have not been planning this or doing some strategy, it just happened out of nowhere!", Charles bit back, "like you said, the person for me is out there and she's you!".

The noise from the door pulled both of you out your discussion, your brother's singalong voice announcing he was back with the food.

Dusting your sweatpants, you stepped back inside the living room, shaking off the jitters you had as your brother scrunched up his face, "is everything okay?", he asked.

"Of course, I'm just hungry and you drove like a grandpa here", you bickered back as Charles joined you at the table, "I'll get the cutlery and plates from the kitchen", you mumbled.

The dinner was eaten quietly on your side, Charles and Joris making most of the conversation as you exchanged a few looks with the Formula One driver, your twin brother seemingly obvious as he carried on as usual, "I'm going to bed", you said after helping tidy, "are you sure? We were going to watch something on TV?", Joris asked you.

"I'm getting a headache, so I'll pass, good night boys", you gave them tight lipped smile.

In the bedroom, you changed into your pyjamas and finished your night-time routine and got under the sheets, Charles' words replaying as you looked at the ceiling.

"Y/N? Are you joining us or not? Do you have any plans?", Joris insisted, "you've been weird lately", he pointed out.

"I'll join you, yes, just need to get my hoodie and then I'll be good to go", you scrambled out as your heart beat faster inside your chest.

Joris offered to drive to Charles' apartment, getting there when Riccardo, Marta and little Chiara were alresdy inside with Charles.

"The rest of the group couldn't come, so it's just us", Riccardo said as he noticed your expression, "what a shame, more food for us!", you smirked, sitting next to Marta and playing with the little girl on her lap, "hello, my love, hello!", you cooed in the voice you only had for babies, "look at you so grown up! You get more beautiful everytime I see you", you smiled, tickling her chin softly as she giggled loudly.

"Who did the roast potatoes last time we got together?", Joris stepped back into the living room, "I did", you stated as you grabbed one of the toys on the coffee table, ready to sit down on the floor so you and Chiara could play together.

"Don't sit down!", your brother yelled, "sorry, but you can't sit down - Charles needs help with the potatoes and he doesn't know the recipe like you do", he reasoned as you got up, trying not to show how much you didn't want to be in the same room alone with Charles. Watching football while having dinner with your group of friends was one thing, spending one on one time with Charles after what he said to you the last time was another.

"Hey", you said as you stepped into the kitchen, "Joris said you needed help, what can I do?".

Charles smiled a little, maybe at the irony of your quesion, "I don't know what seasonings to use in these", he said as he showed you the vegetable with the ones he already cut up.

"Okay, do you keep the spices in the same place?", you asked as he nodded, encouraging you to use his kitchen like it was your own.

Opening the cabinets and grabbing what you needed, you started mixing the ingredients and cutting up the ones you needed to, "can you get me the olive oil, please? I can't reach it", you asked and Charles complied, "thank you".

"Is this how this is going to be? Interacting like we haven't known eachother since we were little and like I haven't poured my heart out to you?", Charles said, arms crossed as he rested against the kitchen counter.

"I wasn't counting on you saying all of that, I was so caught off guard that I haven't been able to think about anything else in my off time!", you offered, setting the knife down on the chopping board.

"It's not like people have speeches ready and give of warnings when they're about to confess their feelings for someone... I myself wasn't expecting to do it until the words came out of my mouth", Charles gestured as if he was vomiting, "what do you expect it to be like anyway? People have to warn you they have feelings for you and ask if you want to hear it?! Is that what you want?".

"I want to feel loved, appreciated and valued. I want to be with someone that reminds me that I'm beautiful, that I'm smart and I'm wonderful. I want to share my life with someone who has no trouble with me wanting to have both career goals and family goals, I want someone who supports me as much as a support him, who is willing to do silly things because I enjoy them and who loves me for me, flaws and all", you let out in one go, "That's what I want".

Charles eyebrows climbed on his forehead, "Are you insinuating I can't give you that? Is that why we haven't spoken since that evening at Joris' place?".

"I'm saying you're my brother's best friend, and no matter how much I think you can do it - because you make me feel like that just from being my friend, imagine if we were dating -, I don't want to risk whatever we have, all of us", you gestured to the living room where the rest of the group was.

"Y/N", Charles pleaded, "you don't think I've thought about that? I didn't do it on a whim like you think I did, I've been sitting on this for quite a while, actually", he clarified, "I will respect whatever you decide, okay? But can't just sit and pretend that you don't want this thing between you and me as much as I do, because we could be so good-", he was interrupted as Marta crossed the corner and stepped inside the kitchen, "Charles, can I heat Chiara's soup on the microwave?", she asked with the small tupperware on her hands.

"Sure, here", he guided her as you resumed to seasoning the potatoes, putting them on the tray and then in the oven, "the game is about to start, hurry up!", Joris yelled.

"I'll just wash this, and that too", you took the tupperware's lid as well as the utensils you needed for the dressing.

"I need to cool it down a little, maybe in a bigger bowl", Marta said as Charles helped in getting the bowl from the cupboard as you set the utensils aside to dry, "Merci, Charles, off we go then", she said as she waited for you both to leave and go to the living room so she could follow you.

"Come here, sweet cheeks", you clapped at Chiara, taking her away from your brother's arms and putting her in the highchair so she could eat comfortably, "auntie Y/N is going to give you your delicious soup, yummy yummy", you smiled.

Charles couldn't help but take in the sight, how you made Chiara feel like she was the only person in the world as you smiled and spoke to her, finding a million and one ways to get her to eat the soup in the bowl.

The food was ready by the half-time break, so you all helped with bringing the food to the table, eating it as the team you were supporting ended up winning the game.

"She's knocked out", you pointed out to Riccardo, Chiara asleep in the little makeshift cot you made on the sofa with some pillows and blankets to make sure she was warm and secure.

"We can clean up, you guys go home and take this little princess to sleep in her own bed", Charles smiled, stroking the little girl's cheek softly as he watched her peaceful expression.

"You don't mind?", Marta wondered as the three of you nodded, helping the parents gather their daughter's belongings so they could leave, hoping she wouldn't wake up and make it harder for her to fall back asleep.

"Sweet dreams, petite fleur", you cooed as Marta cuddled Chiara into her chest, squeezing her small hand softly before they walked out of the door.

"These need to go on the dishwasher", you sorted through the plates and checked if they were safe to go on the machine as your brother help you.

"We should probably get going", Joris said, not wanting to overstay your welcome, "do you need anything else, Charles? Otherwise, me and Y/N will leave you to it", he said.

"Actually, me and Charles need to talk, if that's okay", you looked at the driver, catching him by surprise before he nodded in agreement.

Joris didn't dwell too much on it like you thought he would, "so you need me to come and pick you up or...?", he trailed before Charles saved you, "don't worry, I've got her", he stated.

When Charles accompanied your twin brother to the door, he was blunt and honest, "She's my sister, but there could be worse guys than you", Joris offered as Charles narrowed his eyes, "Oh, please, do you think I'm that blind? I've seen the way you look at her and how you always go above and beyond for her - she's just being too stubborn about it to see it, too. Still, if you ever break her heart or cause her any tears of sadness and anger, you're going to wish I didn't know so much about you", he threatened, although it didn't go as planned as they both laughed, "I trust you, there wasn't anyone I would trust like this", he sighed, "you're just lucky you have brothers, otherwise I might've taken revenge on you", he nudged his shoulder.

"I bet Lorenzo would enjoy a cuddle every now and again if you'd like", Charles giggled before he showed his seriousness again, "I just want this to work out between us, I think she's my person, you know?", he mused, realising how cliché and whipped he sounded, "I'll take care of her, you don't need to worry", he assured.

Charles closed the door and walked back to the living room where you sat down on the sofa, legs covered with one of the blankets, "I- thank you for staying back", he smiled, pointing with his eyes to the spot next to you silently asking if he could sit.

You opened the blanket so he could sit next to you and you could both keep warm, "I want to apoligise for not saying anything the last time we spoke, and for how I've handled this", you began, "I'm sorry, Charles", you said earnestly.

"Apology accepted", he nodded, "and did you just stay here to apoligise?", he quesioned.

"I- I thought we could have a date, sort of anyway", you mumbled, "and I could also tell you how I feel about you since it seems I owe you that with what you've told me", you looked into his eyes, "it wasn't that you were ever off bounds or anything like that, I never cared for those supposed rules, but it never occurred to me", you blurted and Charles quirked a brow, "shoot, that's not what I meant, ugh", you grunted as he soothingly rubbed your thigh, "what I meant is I always thought you'd never look at me that way - I'm Joris' twin - so I just took all of the affection I had for you and put it in a friendship feelings and all of the things you did for me, I thought you were just being nice because you're a nice guy", you clarified.

"Does this mean you're letting me treat you like you deserve? Because I plan on making sure you feel and know you're wonderful every single day", he smiled charmingly, confident words contrasting with his shy attempt of lacing your fingers together on his lap.

"How can you be so sure we are eachother's person?", you couldn't help but mumble, even if the butterflies in your stomach were dancing like they hadn't been in a long time, "I just know, and I'll help you see it, too", he smiled, kissing your knuckles before he pulled you to his chest, finding something to watch on the TV.

You both watched reruns of one of your favourite shows, pointing out little details you loved and talking about any topic that came to mind, and once Charles' body warmth and his touches along your arm caught up to your system and lulled you to sleep, your head finding it's spot on his chest as he smiled down at you, your beauty never ceasing to amaze him as he noticed every mole, freckle and scar on your face from up close.

Even if he didn't want to move, and that it wouldn't be the first time he slept on his sofa, he reasoned that he should at least offer you his bed. Softly stroking your cheek, he coaxed you to wake up, "I'm sorry for waking you up, but we can't sleep here", he whispered, kissing the side of your head, "you can sleep in my bed, I'll take the sofa", he offered as you stretched a little bit, removing yourself from his chest.

"If you promise you won't do any funny business, we can sleep in the same bed", you yawned.

"Of course I won't, Y/N! I would never do anything you didn't want to, I-", Charles panicked, not wanting you to think he was trying to take advantage of you.

"I'm only kidding, I know you won't", you assured, arms pulling him to stand up with you as you walked to the bedroom after turning everything off, "I trust you, Charles, completely", you smiled.

To him, it meant the world.

You felt his heart race when your hand landed on his chest, "I need a t-shirt, though, this is not comfy to sleep in", you reasoned as he looked for one on his drawers, "here, you can get ready here while I get ready in the bathroom", he smiled, kissing the top of your head before he stepped inside the ensuite.

After you swapped so you could brush your teeth, you were both undoing the bed, pulling the sheets back over you and having eachother.

"I really want to kiss you right now, but I don't want to cross any boundaries", Charles admitted as your heart raced in your chest, "I'd really like that, you can kiss me if you want", you consented.

Charles leaned to rub your nose in his before kissing your lips softly, allowing you both to revel in the feelings that had been put in labelled boxes at the back of your minds.

Parting your lips to breathe, you cupped Charles' cheek, your palm tickling from his facial hair as your thumb rubbed his skin, "I think you might be right", you mumbled, licking your lips, "about what?", he mused, "about the fact that you'll help me see it too", you smiled.

The next morning, you woke up with Charles looking at you, "Good morning, Y/N", he greeted, "See? I didn't pull any funny business", he wiggled his brows chuckling.

This was a sight you could get used to.

"Good morning", you smiled, "did you sleep well?", you wondered, pulling closer to him now that you were awake.

"I did, did you?", he asked and you nodded, cuddling closer to him and basking in the feeling of just being there.

"We are going to take this as slow as you want", Charles whispered against your forehead, leaving little kisses and pecks on your skin, "but I want you to know I'm all in".

"I'm all in, too", you whispered, "I can't promise you it will be a straight line - or that I won't spiral out every now and again because hey, it's me -, but I feel really good about this, you make me feel really good", you blushed as you kissed between his eyebrows, "having said this, not all of us have the day to do some training and sim racing, and I'm one of them. I have to go home to change and then head to the clinic", you pouted slightly.

"How about I make us some breakfast first, then I'll drop you off?", he suggested, stealing a peck from your lips, "hmm, sounds good", you hummed.

.

"Were you expecting us to be surprised?", Marta said as she and her family arrived in Charles' yacht, the three of them seeing you and Charles kissing at the table.

Throwing your head back in laughter as Charles walked up to help them inside, you shielded your eyes from the sun with your hand, "at least pretend you are", you joked.

"Oh my Goodness, I never thought you two would become a thing? Does this mean we can finally stop hearing your disgraced love life stories and Charles' complaints about who you went on a date with?", Riccardo belted out, catching the attention from a couple on the yacht next to the one you were sitting on.

"To be fair, that's how I noticed it", Marta began, "Charles didn't complain anymore about how he was alone and that the universe wasn't working on his favour", she smirked, greeting you two.

"We have been keeping it down low just to see how things would go", you blushed at getting caught and steering the conversation elsewhere once Chiara babbled at you, "Oh, baby girl, hello!", you cooed, pulling her into your arms.

"Soon enough you can get one of those, I bet your kid would be very very cute", Riccardo nudged Charles' shoulder, loving that the group now could have a few teasing moments and themes at your expense, all in good fun.

"What a warm welcome!", you heard your brother yell, a fake angry and ironic tone noticeable in his voice, "First, no one is here to greet me with a glass of something to drink or even a helping hand to step in", Joris clarified, "then I'm presented with a conversation about my sister's and my best friends sex life, which I don't want to know about by the way!!", he said as he came up to you, kissing the side of your head, "I'm happy she's happy, and that you're all happy together, but no talking about that, please!".

[insipid-drivel]

Warhorses: Which horses are actually good candidates, anyway?

This post is in honor of @warrioreowynofrohan, who asked the question in the comments under my guide, "Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap". Their question, "Given what you said about too much weight breaking a horse’s spine, how did that work with knights in plate armour?" is one I'm going to try to answer here, since the answer can be very nuanced depending on where and when you're talking about.

Also, while I was a stable hand for years as well as a rider, I never had the opportunity to directly learn more ancient styles of tacking, horse training, and combat, so I don't have any direct experience to draw from with regard to horses used for military purposes. I'm still gonna do my best here with what I know, and research what I don't.

As I've covered in the past, large horses (draft horses) make less-than-ideal warhorses, and so do carriage horses like the elegant and dramatic Friesians.

Let's begin by addressing this from the perspective of creative writing. For you writers and content creators out there, an essential part to the continuity of any historically-themed work you do involving horses will be depicting breeds of horses that didn't exist before a certain time in history. I'm going to approach this question from the stance of, "Medieval-type era warhorses". Horses were used in warfare as late was World War II, but actual horses you ride into battle with knights and archers and bannermen? We actually have to drop the subject of specific modern breeds altogether aside from using them for comparisons.

When discussing warhorses, various cultures have approached them differently. Some cultures will value a specific type of horse above all others, such as the Mongolian Steppe Horse or the American Mustang. Other cultures, which may be from biomes and territories where multiple types of horses are needed for different forms of warfare and tactics, value whichever horses can get their jobs done without their riders getting killed.

Carrying vs. Pulling:

Horses have been used in warfare since as far back as 4000 BC, but their first applications were more as chariot horses. Humans have been riding and working with horses since before we even had stirrups to more easily ride them with! As archaeologists and anthropologists make more discoveries, the more we learn that we humans have been working closely with horses since before we had specialized tools to ride them with. The very first warhorses pulled chariots or carts, which is much easier for a horse's anatomy to handle compared to carrying a heavy weight like an armored rider on their backs, which puts stress directly on their spines where they have very little supporting muscle for supporting a lot of heavy downward weight.

Warhorse Size Categories:

Really, any breed of horse can apply to a niche in warfare if it's needed enough. Even very small, delicate horses have had their place in the history of human combat! Before I continue, it's important to know that there's a unique unit of measuring a horse's height. Rather than measuring a horse's height in centimeters or inches, they're measured in units called "hands". A single "hand" = ~4 inches/10.16cm, and a horse's height is measured based upon the distance between the bottom of their hoof to the tallest part of their shoulders, just at the base of the back of their necks. We don't actually include neck length/head height in a horse's measurements with traditional measuring.

Another rule of thumb: The average horse cannot safely carry anything heavier than about 30% of their total body weight. This is a serious factor to take into mind when deciding on a type of or breed of horse for a mounted warrior of any kind: You need to factor in the OC's starting body weight, and then add on the weight of armor, weapons, and any armor the horse itself may wear along with the weight of its tack.

Light-Weight Horses:

A few examples of lightweight horse breeds whose ancestors have historically been used in combat are Arabians, Barber Horses, and the magnificent Akhal-Teke. Lightweight and delicately-boned horses like those are best applied for military maneuvers that require precision, speed, and endurance, and the rider themselves should specialize in some form of combat or reconnaissance that doesn't require them to wear heavy metal or laminated armors. Archers are good candidates for riding smaller horses, or lightly-armored swordsmen like an Ottoman Janissary.

Central-Asian and North African horses also benefit from having a higher tolerance for hot climates. They can absolutely suffer from heatstroke and cardiac arrest from being forced to run and work in extreme temperatures and should always be provided with the same protective measures in a heatwave as any other horse, but they have a little bit of an edge over horses descended from freezing and temperate climates.

Medium-Weight Horses:

Medium-weight horses started showing up in the archaeological record around about the Iron Age, where chariot warfare was becoming an increasingly utilized form of mobile combat, and people needed bigger, stronger horses capable of pulling heavier loads - such as a chariot with two passengers rather than just one. As cultures began to develop heavier-duty armors made of metals and laminated materials, it also became important to breed horses that were tall and stocky (muscular and with relatively short spines compared to their height), and therefore more capable of carrying riders in increasingly heavy armor. Medium-weight horses were also essential at the dawn of the gunpowder age when the cannon came into use in siege warfare for pulling the heavy, iron cannons into position.

Medium-weight horses are really where we see the beginnings of knights and other warrior classes on horseback come into the forefront of warfare. When you have a horse that's big and strong enough to carry heavier armor and heavier weapons along with a rider wielding them, you have a much deadlier force at your disposal. Strikes from a sword or spear from the back of a galloping horse basically results in a sword capable of cutting through enemy soldiers like a hot knife through butter.

Important Note: Traditionally, cavalrymen wield blunt swords when attacking from a charging horse's back. When a horse is charging at full speed, the sharpness of a blade becomes less important than the blade's ability to stay in one piece when it impacts hard armor and bone. A blunted edge basically turns a cavalryman's sword into a thin club that's better at holding up against smashing through multiple layers of armor and bone compared to a thinner, more delicate sharpened edge that can shatter from a high-speed impact.

Heavy-Weight Horses:

The direct ancestors of modern draft horses, such as the Shire Horse, only began to appear around about the beginning of the European Medieval Era, and were far and away not even close to the enormous sizes of the draft horses we have today. Any horse counts as a "Heavy-weight" classed horse if its weight exceeds 1500lbs/680kgs.

Heavy-weight horses were really more bred for pulling enormous weights rather than carrying knights. While yeah, there is some evidence that suggests that heavy-weight horses were used by heavily-armored knights, historians argue a lot about whether it was a rule or an exception (such as with Henry VIII, who continued to ride well after he had begun to weigh more than 350lbs/158kgs, and even went to war in France in his final years on horseback). Generally speaking, medium-weight horses tend to be the right balance of agile and strong for carrying someone that's going to actively be fighting. Heavy-weight horses were bred to be a lot more tolerant to the chaos and frightening stimulation of the sounds of battle, but medium-weighted horses generally tended to be more suited to moving efficiently through dense packs of soldiers and weaving around other horses.

Ponies:

While actually being the smallest class of warhorse, ponies were essential when it came to carrying cargo and working as pack-horses. In certain forms of terrain, such as mountains, large horses pulling big carts full of supplies or soldiers could often be extremely impractical. In situations where an army needed to move on foot and form a narrow line in order to travel, ponies were able to traverse much narrower and rougher terrain while carrying smaller loads to their destination, when heavier horses would struggle more under their own weight and dexterity.

Europe-Specific Terminologies:

If you're a writer reading this and writing a piece set in the European Medieval age, there are specific terms used for the different classes I listed of warhorses above that I'm gonna list:

Destriers: The Destrier was a universal term for the iconic knight-carrying, jousting horse. They were also sometimes referred to as "Great Horses" due to their reputations in combat settings. Destriers could have just about any appearance, but were rarely taller than 15.2 hands, or 62inches/157cm. They were capable of carrying heavily-armored knights (although knights in full plate mail rarely rode into battle and stayed on the horse the entire time - they tended to specialize at grouping up and killing a lot of footsoldiers swarming them at once and preventing breaks in defenses from being overwhelmed by an oncoming army; in the case of Edward the Black Prince, we have substantial evidence in the form of his surviving brigandine that a mounted soldier or knight was more likely to wear chainmail and brigandine with a tabard on their body with their arms, feet, and heads the most heavily armored in plate when they intended to fight on horseback, making them a little lighter and more maneuverable, but I may be waaay off base there because I'm thinking of more of Italian soldiers who used full plate and how they applied it in battle more than any other example) and wearing armor themselves.

Interestingly, the sex of a destrier was often chosen strategically. Stallions (horses that haven't been neutered) are more aggressive, and could both act as combatants on their own if their knight was dismounted or killed, but could give away an army's location if they were attempting to move stealthily. Stallions whinny and shriek a lot when they're horny or arguing with each other, which is most of the time.

Mares were often chosen by Muslim armies for being much less vocal, and therefore much more capable of stealth. Geldings (neutered males) were the preferred mounts of the Teutonic Knights, a Catholic military group, since they couldn't be stolen and used to breed more horses for the enemy army.

Coursers:

Coursers were the most common Medieval European warhorse. It's important to remember that in Medieval Europe, most armies were almost entirely comprised of common men - serfs subject to the will of their landlords, not far removed from slaves in many ways - who couldn't afford the highly-prized and expensive Destriers. Coursers were usually a bit lighter than Destriers, but were still strong enough to carry someone wearing armor. Coursers were also a little more utilitarian, because they were also sometimes used in hunting as well as warfare, so they had a valuable use outside of warfare that the owner could benefit from.

Rouncey:

A rouncey was an all-purpose horse that could be used for leisure and travel-riding as well as be trained for war. They were a lot more likely to be found on the farm of a serf or independent farmer of some kind, as they could fill a lot of different roles depending on what they were needed for. Their sizes weren't really important as much as their ability to get the job done.

It's also critical to remember that, when talking about warhorses, we're usually talking about eras long past. In general, thanks to resource availability and incredible advances in medicine, modern humans are significantly taller, and therefore heavier, than people from the European Medieval era and prior. While fatness was valued in many cultures for its suggestion of wealth, most working-class and serf-class people worked intensely physically-demanding daily lives just to maintain their own homes. They were a few inches shorter on average than we are today, had greater fluctuations in body fat distribution depending on how harsh or bountiful the harvest season had been and the season in which a war was taking place (the average person's weight would swing by 30lbs or more on average every year prior to the industrial era), and cavalry were usually chosen based upon skill in the saddle as well as physical size when considering the application of medium or heavy armor being placed on the horse's back and body.

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | Chapter Three

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 8.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from oc's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, mentions of unhealthy parental relationships (attempts for arranged marriage), Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and ofc more cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions (I love them 🥹)

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: GUYS, I'm getting better at updating! It only took me a little over a month to get this chapter out vs two months last time. I'm going to keep trying to improve, but TYSM for your patience! I'm really proud of how this series is going so far, and this chapter omg...i just hope you enjoy hehehe. Anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

The past week and a half has been a whirlwind. Meetings, studio sessions, and preparations for “Suchwita” have consumed your days and nights. The tight deadlines and intense work pace have kept you on your toes, but there’s a growing excitement within you for the new venture. Today marks the first day of recording "Suchwita," and you find yourself buzzing with anticipation. Determined to ensure everything goes smoothly, you decide to arrive at the studio early to oversee the final preparations.

As you step into the makeshift studio space, you're greeted by a flurry of activity. Camera operators are setting up angles, lighting technicians are adjusting the brightness, and set designers are putting the final touches on the sleek, intimate set that will serve as the backdrop for the show.

The set has a warm, inviting aura with dark wood paneling, a cozy seating area, and a small bar stocked with various bottles of whiskey and soju.

You're impressed by how quickly everything has come together.

“Yoongi-ssi, good morning,” you call out as you approach Yoongi, who is already surveying the room. You notice him glance at you from the corner of his eye as you walk towards him. You have to admit, he looks great. The crew has styled him in denim blue jeans and a navy blue sweater, a casual yet polished outfit that complements the professional yet relaxed atmosphere of the set. It’s clear he arrived before you.

“Good morning __-ssi,” Yoongi replies, giving you a small smile. “Everything ready?”

“We’re almost there. Just a few final touches, and we should be good to go.”

“Great,” he nods, briefly scanning around the set. “The place looks better than I imagined.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say with a satisfied expression. “We wanted it to reflect your personality and create an atmosphere where you and your guests can have open, honest conversations. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Pretty excited, actually,” he says, folding his arms in a composed manner. “A little nervous, but mostly excited. How are you and the rest of the team holding up with all the new developments?”

“We’re managing,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s been a lot of late nights and early mornings, but everyone’s excited about ‘Suchwita.’ It’s something different and refreshing. I think we’re all equally eager to see it succeed.”

Yoongi nods thoughtfully, taking a moment to soak in the details of the set. “It’s all coming together pretty fast. Do we know for sure who we’ll have on for the next few recordings?”

“We do,” you reply, “We’ve lined up a few other artists for the following episodes, including some from different genres. Your fellow members will also join as soon as their schedules permit. I think it’s going to be a good mix. Also, if there’s anyone in particular you’d like to have as a guest, just let me know. I’m sure we can coordinate it.”

“I’ll consider that,” Yoongi says, genuinely pleased. “I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this by the way. I know the timeline has been tight.”

“Well, it’s been a team effort,” you say, smiling warmly. “But thank you. It’s been fun, even if a bit hectic now and then. I have to say, it’s been nice working closely with you, Yoongi-ssi. You’re very dedicated to your craft and I think more often than not, we tend to see eye to eye.”

Yoongi seems to blush slightly at your compliment but maintains his composure. “Good to know you like me after fifteen days,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “I was starting to think this partnership might be a bit one-sided, especially after our chat during that smoke break a while ago.”

His lighthearted remark brings you back to that brief smoke break behind the building. It was a simple, candid moment, but it left a lasting impression, making you feel like you and Yoongi were finally starting to become good colleagues. The easy rapport that’s developed between you two since then is a welcome change from the often formal interactions with other team members.

“Well, if I recall correctly,” you counter, “You said you only like me ‘enough.’ That’s not quite the same as actually liking someone and wanting to work with them.”

Amused, Yoongi’s smirk grows. “It was implied, wasn’t it? You know I wouldn’t work with you if I didn’t actually like you.”

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow, your tone teasing.

“I have no reason to lie to you, __-ssi.” Yoongi insists, his voice light but his gaze steady. There’s a moment of playful tension in the air, both of you smiling as you challenge each other with your eyes.

“Interesting,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. Though mutually taunting each other, there’s something about Yoongi’s words and tone that still feels reassuring, grounding even.

Before either of you can exchange another word, you hear footsteps nearing behind you. Turning, you see Kim Namjoon entering the studio with a warm smile on his face. He’s dressed casually yet stylishly, exuding the effortless charisma that has made him a beloved figure among fans.

“Morning,” Namjoon greets, his voice carrying a familiar depth. He adjusts the bottom of his shirt, giving the studio a once-over. “I hope I’m not late or anything.”

Approaching Namjoon, you greet him with an inviting smile and extend your hand for a handshake. His response is equally friendly, and there’s a sense of gentle confidence coming from him, as any good leader should have.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, __-nim,” Namjoon responds, shaking your hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Yoongi-hyung.”

Somewhat taken aback by the bit of information, you share a glance with Yoongi, who briefly meets your eyes before averting his gaze back to Namjoon. A faint rosy tint colors his cheeks once again.

“This place looks fantastic. You’ve really outdone yourselves,” Namjoon continues.

“Thank you,” you say, feeling a surge of pride. “We wanted to create a space where our guests feel comfortable and can have open, honest conversations. I think we’ve achieved that.”

Namjoon nods in agreement, taking in the surroundings with a thoughtful expression. “It definitely feels welcoming. I’m looking forward to seeing it all come together in the end.”

“Congratulations on your new album by the way,” you add. “I’m sure Indigo is going to be a success, especially amongst your fans who have been waiting for another solo from you for quite some time.”

“Thanks, it’s been a journey and I’m glad to have such a loyal fanbase who continue to support me for the last nine-plus years. It always lifts my spirits.”

“Absolutely, and you deserve it too,” you reply. “I’ve been a huge supporter of The Last Shadow Puppets for over ten years myself, and I think I’ve officially become their gatekeeper.” As you allow yourself a light chuckle, the two in front of you smile in return. Yoongi looks like he wants to press further but chooses to remain silent.

“Well anyway,” you shift topics due to the minor lull, “we should get started.”

Namjoon nods approvingly. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“We’ve got a brief rundown for you,” you say, motioning towards a table with a few scripts and notes. “We’ll start with a casual chat to set the tone, then delve into some of your recent projects and thoughts on the music industry. We want it to be as natural and spontaneous as possible, so don’t worry about sticking too closely to the script. Also, we know ‘Indigo’ won’t be officially released for two more days, but ‘Suchwita’ is premiering on the 5th. That said, we are filming ahead of time so Yoongi might guide the conversation as if your album’s already been released.”

“Sounds good,” Namjoon says, his relaxed demeanor showing his readiness to go with the flow. “Anything specific you want me to prepare for?”

“No, just be yourself,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “That’s what this show is all about. Authentic conversations, nothing forced. Yoongi-ssi will take the seat on the right of the camera and Namjoon-nim, you’ll be on the left.”

“Got it,” Namjoon says, giving you a thumbs up. He then turns to Yoongi. “Hyung, ready to show off your hosting skills?”

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’ll see how it goes. It’s my first time doing something like this, so I’m just hoping not to embarrass myself.”

“You’ll do great,” Namjoon says confidently, giving Yoongi a supportive pat on the back. “Just be your usual, charming self.”

As the crew finishes their preparations and the cameras start rolling, you stand off to the side, monitoring the setup and ensuring everything runs smoothly. The room falls silent as the red recording light flickers on.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first episode of ‘Suchwita…time to drink with Suga.’ I’m your host, Min Yoongi, and today we have a very special guest. Someone who’s not just a fellow artist but a good friend and our BTS band leader, Kim Namjoon.”

“Happy to be here,” Namjoon says with a grin. “And thanks for the drink.” He picks up his glass of whiskey and raises it in a mock toast.

Yoongi chuckles and lifts his own glass. “Cheers, Namjoon-ah. Let’s dive in. I wanted to start by talking about your new album, Indigo. It’s been out for a few days now, and it’s already making waves. How are you feeling about the responses?”

Namjoon takes a sip before answering, his demeanor relaxed. “It’s been amazing. The fans have been so supportive, and it’s really encouraging to see people connecting with the themes and messages in the album. I wanted it to be something that reflects where I am in my life right now, both musically and personally.”

“That’s something I’ve always admired about your work,” Yoongi says, his tone genuine. “You’re not afraid to be vulnerable and share your thoughts and experiences. I think that’s why so many people resonate with your music.”

“It’s something we all strive for, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies, looking thoughtful. “To create art that’s true to ourselves and that speaks to others. I think it’s all about finding that balance between vulnerability and strength that can make music so relatable. Speaking of which, I’m excited to hear more about your upcoming album, D-Day. What can fans expect?”

Yoongi takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “D-Day is a very personal project for me. It’s a reflection of my journey and everything I’ve been through, especially over the past couple of years. There’s a lot of introspection and a lot of different sounds I’ve experimented with. I wanted it to be an honest portrayal of where I am right now.”

“That sounds incredible,” Namjoon says, leaning forward. “I know the fans are going to love it. You’ve always had a way of capturing emotions in your music that’s really powerful.”

As the conversation continues, you observe Namjoon closely, impressed by his ability to articulate his thoughts with clarity and depth. Yoongi’s previous nervousness has also subsided from the way he easily navigates the conversation, speaking with a similar passion and conviction as Namjoon.

The pair have a natural rapport that is captivating to watch, and their insights into the creative process are both fascinating and inspiring.

After about an hour, when the first taping wraps up, the crew applauds as Yoongi and Namjoon stand and share a brief hug.

“Well we did it,” Yoongi says, looking relieved. “Thanks for being my first guest.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies, grinning. “You did great, Yoongi I think this show is going to be a hit.”

“Great job, both of you.” You approach the two with a smile, earning their attention. “Fans are going to love seeing you two together once this releases. It’ll set the tone for the rest of the episodes. Thanks again, Namjoon, for being here. Your support means a lot.”

“It was my pleasure,” Namjoon replies, returning your smile. “I can’t wait to see how the show turns out.”

Just as you’re about to head off to the production room, Namjoon briefly checks his phone and then looks at Yoongi. “Hey, how do you feel about grabbing some lunch at the cafeteria? It’s been a while since we had a proper meal together.”

Yoongi’s face lifts at the suggestion. “I’m up for it. I’m starving.”

Namjoon then shifts his gaze at you. “What about you __-nim?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling an obvious pang of hunger. You hadn’t eaten much this morning other than a few strawberries. However, you don’t want to intrude on their time together.

As you debate whether to decline the invitation and catch up on Taehyung’s whereabouts or attend to your next work projects, Yoongi speaks up. “The more the merrier,” he says.

“Yeah, if you don’t have anything pressing we’d love to have you join us,” Namjoon adds, the same warm smile on his face.

Your eyes shift between the two men standing in front of you, sincerity evident in their expressions.

“Okay, sure, I could go for something to eat,” you reply, nodding.

With a collective agreement, the three of you make your way to the cafeteria. Once there, Yoongi opts for a heaping plate of bulgogi, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the colorful vegetables and perfectly marinated beef. Namjoon selects a fresh, savory bowl of stir-fried noodles himself, while you choose a hearty bowl of ramen, steam rising from the rich broth.

Despite the bustling lunch hour, you manage to find a table near the large windows. The sunlight streaming through gives you a much-needed boost of energy.

“Here’s to a successful first episode,” Namjoon says, raising his glass of water in a toast.

“Cheers,” you and Yoongi respond in unison, clinking glasses.

As you start to dig into your meals, Namjoon turns to Yoongi. “So, what’s the lineup gonna look like for the next few episodes?”

Yoongi takes a sip of his drink before answering. “We’re planning on bringing in more artists from other groups, a couple of comedians, and maybe some actors. We want to keep it diverse and not just stick to musicians. But I’d also like to get the rest of our members on the show too at some point.”

“That’s smart,” Namjoon agrees, taking a bite of his noodles. “It’ll keep the conversations dynamic and appeal to a broader audience.”

“You know,” you chime in, “I think one of the strengths of ‘Suchwita’ is going to be its versatility. Yoongi, your ability to connect with people from different backgrounds will be a huge asset.”

Yoongi smiles appreciatively. “Thanks. I just hope I can keep up the energy and bring out the best in each guest.”

“You will,” Namjoon says confidently. “Just be yourself. That’s what people are tuning in for—the real Yoongi, having real conversations. Fans like seeing how well you can hold your whiskey too. It’s all part of the charm.”

Yoongi chuckles at the sheer truth of it all. “It’s nice to be able to do something like this, to be honest. Not just for the fans, but also for our colleagues who we can spotlight and bring further appreciation to.”

“I know what you mean, man.” Namjoon swallows another mouthful of noodles and then directs his attention to you. “I don’t imagine you’ll be a guest on the show will you?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’ll be in the background, like a puppet master.”

“Ah, gotta make sure hyung says the right stuff huh? Trust me, I’d be the first to understand that,” Namjoon chuckles before continuing.“I feel like you’d be a natural on the show though. I, for one, would make sure to watch.” There’s a suggestive undertone in his words but you’re quick to waive it off. It’s probably just your imagination anyway.

“I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to enjoy some old-fashioned whiskey at work,” you reply. “It’s been a long-time favorite of mine.”

“Oh, you like it too?” Namjoon’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “No wonder you and Yoongi work well together.”

Intrigued, Yoongi looks at you, and it’s now that you realize he’s chosen to take the seat next to you instead of Namjoon. If you leaned any further towards him, you’re certain you’d catch the scent of smoked wood and citrus. “I always keep a bottle in my producing room these days,” he admits, and like Namjoon there’s a slight implication behind his words.

Before entertaining any further thoughts about it, however, you playfully snort in reply. “Is that what you’re doing up there at 10 pm? Having your whiskey? Here I’ve been thinking you were busy mixing your tracks.”

Yoongi shrugs, meeting your teasing tone. “I can do both. I’m good at multitasking.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you land a gentle, but firm swat on his arm. The unsuspecting action would have taken you all aback if you weren’t already amused by the conversation. “Yoongi-ssi,” you feign a scold, “no one’s actually good at multitasking.”

“So what are you saying? I’m half-assing it?” He’s grinning ear to ear now, his gummy smile undeniably cute. For a split second, it causes a blooming sensation in the pit of your stomach. But no, stop—you fold your arms, determined to maintain composure.

“I’m just saying that I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As if in a challenge, Yoongi narrows his eyes at you while Namjoon continues watching the scene unfold from across the table, eyes darting between the two of you. “You’ll have to come up to my producing room sometime,” Yoongi says. “It’s the only way I can prove it to you.”

“Mhm, right.” You share a knowing look with Yoongi, his dark eyes dancing with what can only be described as mischief. Being that his music equipment is on the 17th floor, which is reserved for Hybe artists only, you haven’t even considered venturing to the upper halls.

“You really should see his producing room __-nim,” Namjoon chimes after being a spectator for longer than he’d like. “He’s got an insane setup up there.”

“We’ll see,” you reply simply, “Maybe.”

From the remainder of your meal, the conversation shifts to lighter topics as Yoongi recounts a funny story about trying to write lyrics late at night and accidentally sending them to his accountant instead of Taehuyng. Namjoon bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his water, while you shake your head in amused disbelief.

“Did they give you any financial advice on your lyrics?” you prob.

“Surprisingly, no.” Yoongi replies with a chuckle. “But I got a very confusing email the next morning.”

“We should do this more often,” Namjoon interjects once he finishes his noodles, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to catch up, and it’s great getting to know you too, __-nim. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say with a smile of gratitude. “It’s been nice.”

After lunch concludes, you part ways with Yoongi and Namjoon. They head off to a meeting with the rest of the members, while you return to your office to tackle a pile of reports. If you hadn’t been so focused on making your way back, you might have noticed Yoongi sneaking a final glance at you over his shoulder.

Later that evening, after a long day of preparations and discussions with your team, you finally head home. The events of the day still linger in your mind, but a sense of accomplishment accompanies your fatigue as the first episode of 'Suchwita' is already being edited for release.

How is it that tomorrow is already the first day of December? Time flies.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s a message from your parents, asking for the second time if you’ll be coming home for the holidays. You recall your mother’s earlier message mentioning someone she wanted to introduce you to—a potential husband. You had seen through her request instantly but had delayed your reply.

A pang of guilt now tugs at your heart as you finally type out your response, carefully explaining that you have a new project to film and won’t have many days off. You promise to try and visit around New Year’s instead, hoping you’ll be better mentally prepared then.

Setting your phone down, you realize you haven’t heard from Taehyung today. Usually, he checks in or shares a quick update about his schedule. You wonder if everything is alright with him but decide not to overthink it, making a mental note to reach out to him tomorrow.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, you settle down on the couch with a cup of tea. The quietness of your apartment is a stark contrast to the lively energy of the production set.

As you sip your tea, you start to relax, but then your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a message from Taehyung. You quickly open it, relieved to see his name.

Tae 💚: Hey, sorry I didn’t check earlier. It’s been a crazy day. How did the first taping go with Yoongi and Namjoon?

Smiling, you type out a reply.

You: It went really well. We should have everything edited and ready for upload by Monday. How about you? Everything okay?

Tae 💚: Good to hear! Yeah, everything’s okay on my end. Just a full day with shoots and meetings with Bang PD. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our usual lunch together 🙁

You: Me too. Maybe tomorrow?

Tae 💚: I should be able to. Let me know when you decide to head down. By the way…look [attached an image]

The second you see the image of farm-fresh strawberries in a vibrant green container, you nearly leap from your seat. You and Taehyung love fruit, especially the ones from the local farmers market where they have the best variety. You like to go every other weekend, at the same time, if you could. The only unfortunate part is that to keep down rumors, Taehyung and you often shopped separately as if strangers, then reconvened in a private location to show each other your purchases. Often, he’d come to your place for a meal afterward.

It wasn’t an ideal system since you’d like to be out with Taehyung more freely, but despite the crowds, the public was always quick to recognize him. This coming Saturday is the next time you both planned to go, but the image looks like he’s already been there.

You: What?! 😭 You went to the farmers market without me??

Tae 💚: Oh, no! I wouldn't dream of it! This is the last container I have at my house, so we need to go soon. Saturday can’t come soon enough!

You: Okay good, because I like going together haha. I need more mangos and oranges! I ate my last orange today and got sad about it.

Tae 💚: 🤣 You sound like Yoongi-hyung. He loves oranges too. The two of you have more similarities in food and drinks than I thought. Has he offered you a drink of his whiskey yet?

The question surprises you. Had Yoongi told him what happened between the two of you at lunch?

You: How did you know that?

Tae 💚: Wait, really? I was just asking because he likes to offer it to me whenever I visit him in his studio. He really asked you to have a drink with him? __?

You: Yes. After we filmed, we all decided to grab lunch. Long story short, Yoongi said he had whiskey in his producing room and said I should come up sometime. I haven’t even been to the 17th floor yet.

Tae 💚: You should take him up on the offer! Go see what he’s got going on up there __. His studio is pretty immaculate.

You: Hmm, I don't know. It was a pretty informal invite, to be honest, and I’m not technically allowed up there.

Tae 💚: Don’t think so much about it. It’s clear that you and Yoongi are work partners now, so no one will think twice about you being on the floor. Also, you can always come up and visit me. I’m down the hall from Yoongi’s room.

You: We’ll see.

Tae 💚: What? You don’t want to come up and see me? I always visit you. 😭

You: Fine, fine. I’ll come up to see you one of these days, but only you. I have no business knocking on Yoongi’s door while he’s busy with his album tracks.

Tired, you shut off your phone. Your thoughts drift back to the moments shared with Yoongi and Namjoon during lunch. It was nice getting to know Namjoon for the first time, as you’ve been curious about him since he’s been the leader of BTS for the past nine years. There’s a similarity you both share; leadership experience.

You feel like you got closer to Yoongi as well, with the way you both easily responded to each other’s quips. But where did that playful swat come from? That’s the kind of behavior you reserve for friends only. Was Yoongi starting to become more than a colleague?

The idea sends an unexpected rush through your veins.

With the first of December being tomorrow, it’s coming up on three weeks of working side by side with Yoongi. You meant it when you said working with him has been enjoyable, as you’ve found that his meticulous nature complements your own. His dry humor is one you’ve particularly come to appreciate too.

Yes, finding common ground on some decisions can be tricky. There have been moments where you’ve both stood firm on your perspectives, each believing in the merit of your ideas. However, even amid disagreement, there is always mutual respect extended toward each other. Yoongi listens intently, considering your points before responding, and you do the same for him.

Given the nature of it all, you have a feeling you’ll become better acquainted not only with Yoongi but also with the rest of his members. After all, you’re already best friends with Taehyung, who’s quite the networker. He’s been your anchor in this new environment since day one, to be honest, always ready with a smile or a word of encouragement.

Taking another sip of your tea, you lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling, lost in thought.

You should truly learn to savor the quiet moments because, for the remainder of the week, you don’t get a second to spare. Lunch with Taehyung was abruptly cut short by an unforeseen team emergency, and Yoongi’s packed schedule left little room for more than fleeting glimpses. By the time Saturday morning rolls around, you consider yourself fortunate to have the weekend mostly free of work demands.

The crisp chill of early December invigorates you as you wake up refreshed, eager for the farmers market trip you’ve been looking forward to all week. After a quick breakfast, you bundle up in a cozy scarf and jacket and head to the familiar meeting spot where you and Taehyung always begin your market visits.

When you arrive, Taehyung is already there, a familiar baseball cap perched on his head to help keep a low profile. He looks up and waves when he sees you, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hey! You made it," Taehyung says as you approach.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss this," you reply, grinning back. "I need my mango and orange fix."

"Well, you're in luck. They have some really good ones today," he says, carefully pointing towards the nearby stalls that overflow with colorful fruits. The market appears to be alive with vibrant colors and enticing scents, and as the crowds grow, vendors enthusiastically call out their specials, adding to the lively atmosphere.

“See you on the other side?” you ask.

He nods, and you both venture into the market, maintaining an appropriate distance but always within sight. You exchange occasional glances and smiles while picking out the ripest mangos, juiciest oranges, and a few baskets of the strawberries he teased you about earlier in the week.

As you weave through the stalls, you soon get lost in the joy of discovering fresh, local products, comforted by the knowledge that Taehyung's just a few stalls away.

After about an hour, you reconvene at a quiet corner of the market, both carrying bags filled with fruits and other goodies.

"Successful haul?" Taehyung asks, eyeing your bags.

"Definitely," you reply, holding up a mango triumphantly. "How about you?"

"Got everything I wanted," he says, showing off his own bags filled with strawberries, grapes, and a few other items. "These will be perfect for a smoothie, or a fruit salad."

"How about we head back to my place and one of those? If you have time."

“Yes, I definitely have time,” he agrees, a genuine excitement in his voice.

Just as you start walking towards your apartment, a sudden movement catches your eye—a rogue orange rolling towards your feet.

Puzzled, you pick it up and look around, thinking it must have come from a nearby vendor or another shopper.

"Looks like you've found your orange," Taehyung remarks with a chuckle.

Just then, you spot a familiar figure sprinting towards you, with another following closely behind.

"Namjoon, seriously? I asked you to hold the bag for not even five seconds!" Yoongi calls out, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You're going to start a fruit-rolling revolution."

“Hey, it got away from me, man!” Namjoon defends his clumsiness, laughing. “Sorry about that," he adds sheepishly, not yet realizing who he's approaching.

“__-nim!” He abruptly stops in his tracks when he recognizes you and Taehyung in front of him. You offer the orange to him instinctively, feeling a bit startled.

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, taking the orange from your hand. He looks you straight in the eye, then at Taehyung before slowly breaking into a full smile. “I thought I saw the two of you back there, but Yoongi didn't believe me. When did you guys get here? Yoongi and I arrived about twenty minutes ago."

"About an hour ago," Taehyung replies casually.

"Man, you should have let us know. We could have come as a group!”

The remark catches you off guard, as this is the first time the four of you have been in such close proximity, let alone on a group outing.

Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly in response. “I had plans with __.”

Namjoon chuckles, glancing between all of you. “Well hey, I understand. I’m just saying, I’d be fun to hang out outside of work sometime.”

“But, this is our thing,” Taehyung counters, a bit possessively, in a platonic sense, of course.

Beside Namjoon, Yoongi stands with a single bag of oranges in his hand and nothing else. His eyes widen slightly at Taehyung's words, glancing at the bag of oranges nestled among the other fruits you're holding.

"You have a thing?" Yoongi asks, his tone a mix of genuine surprise and a hint of amusement.

"Yeah, we come here often," Taehyung answers, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're both fruit fanatics!"

"Right," Yoongi nods slowly, seeming to process this new information. "Well, it makes sense then. This is the best place to get the freshest fruit.”

“Is that a pineapple, Tae?” Namjoon’s eyes instantly light up when they spot the spiky fruit peeking out of one of Taehyung’s grocery bags.

A grin spreads across Taehyung’s face, like oil on water. “Yeah, it is. I found it at a little hidden stall. It’s easier to show you than to explain. I can take you over if you’d like.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon agrees eagerly, then glances over at you and Yoongi. “You guys coming too?” You both exchange a quick look before shaking your head.

"We'll stay here," you say. "The crowd's a bit much."

"Alright, we’ll be back in a few minutes,” Taehyung nods. He and Namjoon begin weaving their way back into the bustling market, leaving you and Yoongi in the quiet corner.

Yoongi leans against a nearby wall and lets out a contented sigh. “This is nice. It’s been a hell of a week.”

You nod, taking a moment to appreciate the calmness as well. “It has. But look,” you gesture casually to each other’s bags, “at least we scored some amazing fruit from it.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “So we did. I’m tempted to have one of my oranges now, but I think I'll save them for later. How’s the rest of the weekend looking for you by the way?”

Just some editing work for 'Suchwita' and maybe a bit of relaxation. What about you?"

“I might grab a few drinks with Namjoon, but I plan on spending most of my time in the studio. I’ve been fine-tuning my album tracks and recently discovered a new artist who’s been a huge source of inspiration.”

“Really?” You’re beyond intrigued, always open to hearing about new music. “Who are they?”

Yoongi gives you a knowing look. “I think you’re already pretty familiar with them.” A sparkle beams in his eyes as he waits for you to connect the dots. It takes you a few seconds before your entire face lights up with a big smile.

“No way,” you exclaim, “The Last Shadow Puppets?!”

He nods, returning your smile. Yoongi’s admission about The Last Shadow Puppets sends a warm thrill through you.

“I’m glad you gave them a listen,” you say with a pleased grin. “I consider Alex Turner to be one of the best, if not the best, lyricists of all time.”

“Well, I might just have to agree with you there. The depth of his lyrics are pretty damn genius. After you mentioned the band the other day, I got curious and decided to dive into their discography. I’ve listened to everything they’ve put out now, all in one sitting.” He pauses, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

It’s as if he’s proud to share this with you.

“I didn’t realize you had such an impressive ear for music, __-ssi,” he adds, teasing lightly.

“Excuse you? I’ve been known to have impeccable taste, for your information,” you fire back, feigning offense. "I might even have better taste than you."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Is that so?”

You nod confidently. "Absolutely. I've got a knack for finding hidden gems."

“Alright then, impress me. Recommend me something else. What's the next masterpiece on your list?”

You lean in closer, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh, I could do that," you begin, "but then you'd owe me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi's eyes widen slightly, a similar competitiveness reflecting in his gaze. "Bold words. Are you sure you can back them up?"

“There’s no doubt I can, Yoongi-ssi. Have you ever listened to 'Candy' by Paolo Nutini? If you haven't, you're seriously missing out."

"Candy? I don't think I know that one."

"You're in for a treat then,” you reply. "'Candy' is one of those songs that hook you from the first listen. Give it a try, and if you don't fall in love with it, I'll cook you kimchi jigae for lunch on Monday. But if you do love it, you're buying me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi chuckles, unable to resist the challenge. "Alright, deal. I can't say no, especially with Taehyung showing off the food you make for him nearly every chance he gets. You’re quite the cook, it seems.”

With a satisfied grin, you pull out your phone. "I'll send you the link to the song so it'll be easier for you to find when you get a chance to listen."

Yoongi nods, already unlocking his phone. “Challenge accepted. But if I end up not loving it, I'm holding you to that bowl of kimchi jigae.”

“Sure thing,” you reply, unfazed. “But I’m already looking forward to those cigarettes, Yoongi-ssi. Make sure you get the good ones, okay?”

Yoongi chuckles in reply, shaking his head in amusement.

“I promise. Only the best ones for you, __-ssi.”

Monday arrives sooner than expected with the highly anticipated release of the first episode of 'Suchwita'. You're certain that the new production will be well received by the audience, but you know better than to prematurely declare its success. Even after approving the final edits over the weekend, you remind yourself to remain mindful of unexpected challenges lurking around the corner—roadblocks and last-minute changes that continually test your team's resolve.

Throughout the day, as the clock ticks towards evening, you monitor the episode's reception with bated breath. The first reviews trickle in within minutes, and initial viewer reactions are positive, gradually easing some of your tension.

By just past 7 pm, 'Suchwita' earns over three million views, its popularity evident as it spreads rapidly across the globe.

Amidst this whirlwind of emotions and the constant rush of notifications, a familiar buzz from your phone interrupts your thoughts.

Yoongi: Looks like I owe you some cigarettes

You smile, immediately recalling the recent wager the two of you made about Paolo Nutini's "Candy”. Truth be told, Yoongi’s reaction to the song has kept you on edge for days.

You: So, do you believe I have a good ear for music now? 🙃 I’m pleased you enjoyed the song, by the way.

Yoongi: It appears I do. The cigarettes are in my production room. Come by if you're up for it.

You blink at the screen, taken aback. Yoongi's producing room was his sanctuary, a place so personal and significant that the thought of being in that space felt almost invasive. You recall his casual remark last Wednesday about coming up to take a look, though it was unclear if it was just banter or a genuine invitation.

You: You sure it's okay for me to come up there? I don't want to disturb your creative zone.

Sending the message, you wait, half-expecting him to retract the invitation or reassure you in some way. Instead, his reply comes almost instantly.

Yoongi: It's quiet here, and I wouldn’t mind some good company.

Your mind wrestles with curiosity and caution as you reread the text. After a moment's deliberation, you type your response.

You: Okay, I can come up for a few minutes

Once in front of the 17th floor where Yoongi’s production room is located, you pull out your phone to send him a text, notifying him of your arrival and the need to be let in. Just as you're about to send the message, however, the door suddenly swings open.

Standing before you is a man with soft eyes, gently pushing the door open. It's Park Jimin, looking visibly surprised to find you standing just inches away from the entrance. Behind him, Jungkook nearly bumps into him from the abrupt halt.

"Hey there," Jimin says, his surprise quickly transforming into a welcoming smile. "You must be __-nim, Yoongi's marketing manager, right?"

You nod, slightly unprepared for how quickly they've identified you. "Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you, Jimin, Jungkook," you reply warmly, extending your hand in greeting. Meeting them was inevitable, but you didn’t expect it to happen tonight.

Jungkook grins and nods in acknowledgment. "Nice to meet you too, __-nim. I’m guessing you’re here to see Yoongi-hyung?”

“For a little bit, yes.”

"Come on in then.” Jimin steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. “If Yoongi's expecting you, you're more than welcome. We'd take you straight to him if we weren't rushing off to a last-minute photoshoot. His room's just down the hall on the left. You can’t miss it."

“I completely understand,” you assure them gratefully. “Thank you both. It was nice meeting you.”

With a final smile, the pair exits the floor, leaving you to continue down the hallway.

It doesn't take long before you spot a slightly ajar door on the far left, casting a warm glow into the corridor—undeniably Yoongi’s production room. Without hesitation, you approach and knock gently on the dark oak, but there's no response. Trying again yields the same silence, leaving you uncertain if he can hear you. Deciding it may be better to push the door open, you do so with caution.

Inside Yoongi's production room, the atmosphere is cozy, filled with an array of musical instruments, a decent-sized couch, scattered music sheets, and a softly glowing computer screen displaying complex audio tracks. Taehyung and Namjoon were absolutely right when they said his space is immaculate because as you take in the details around you, you too conclude that it’s one of a kind.

Yoongi himself is at his desk, leaning over with an expression of intense focus. You're prepared to make a playful remark to capture his attention, but as Yoongi looks up, his bloodshot eyes stop you short. They are reddened and slightly glazed, with dark circles underneath—a stark contrast to the usual sharpness and clarity in his gaze. Even his posture seems weighed down by exhaustion, indicating just how hard he's been pushing himself, perhaps too hard.

“I see you found the place alright," he smiles weakly, though he does his best to keep his tone uplifted. "I’m glad you could come."

“Yoongi-ssi, are you okay?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, concern only tightening in your chest as you realize the extent of the strain he must be under.

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the fatigue etched into his face. “I might have overdone it this weekend,” he confesses, his voice heavy with weariness. “I’ve been working on this track nonstop, trying to get it just right. I just don’t think it’s good enough yet, and the minute I think I’ve finally made a break though, I’m back to square one.” Seeing him so drained and filled with self-doubt stirs something protective within you.

“Your work is incredible, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “You pour so much of yourself into it, constantly striving for perfection, and that dedication is admirable. But sometimes, it’s important to take a step back, breathe, and allow yourself to be proud of your work. I believe in your talent as both an artist and a producer, and I'm confident that your music will be exactly what it needs to be.”

Yoongi looks at you for a moment, his tired eyes searching yours as if assessing your sincerity. Slowly, a small, appreciative smile forms on his lips. "Thanks," he murmurs, the weariness in his voice tempered by a hint of gratitude. "I think I needed to hear some of that tonight.”

Without another word, he leans back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. His shoulders visibly relax, and for a brief moment, the weight of exhaustion seems to ease.

"Do you want to talk about what you've been working on?” you ask. “Sometimes bouncing ideas around helps."

Yoongi nods slowly, looking thoughtful. "Maybe that's exactly what I need right now," he admits, his tone more relaxed than before. He gestures to the leather couch near his desk, inviting you to sit.

As you settle into the comfortable leather couch, Yoongi begins to share his thoughts. He speaks about the challenges he's encountered with the track, detailing moments of doubt and frustration.

"I've been wrestling with this melody for weeks," he admits, leaning forward slightly. "It's like I can hear it in my head, but every time I try to put it down, it slips away."

He describes how he struggled to find the right melody, the perfect rhythm, and the lyrics that would convey exactly what he wanted to express.

"I want this track to resonate with people on a deeper level," he says earnestly, his eyes reflecting his determination. “But it's been tough trying to balance the beat with the lyrics."

As he delves deeper into his creative process, you notice a shift in his demeanor. His voice becomes more animated, his gestures more expressive as he shares anecdotes about late-night studio sessions, where ideas flowed freely, and moments of clarity when everything seemed to click into place.

"It's moments like those," he reflects with a smile, "that remind me why I love what I do."

Throughout the conversation, you offer supportive nods and occasional insights, encouraging Yoongi to explore different angles or suggesting ideas that might complement his vision. It becomes clear that bouncing ideas around, as you suggested earlier, is indeed helping him to clarify his thoughts and reignite his creative spark.

"You know," he muses after a thoughtful pause, "it's rare to find someone who gets it—understands the drive, the struggle. Most people just see the end result, not what it takes to get there."

You nod again, silently acknowledging the depth of what he shares. "I'm glad I can be here for you," you reply sincerely. "It means a lot that you trust me with this."

"Would you like a drink? Some whiskey, maybe?" Yoongi pops the question out of nowhere, catching you off guard, yet you don’t decline the offer.

"Sure, but only if you promise to get some rest after," you counter, half-joking, half-serious. He chuckles in response.

Rising from his seat, Yoongi walks to a small cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. As he pours the amber liquid, the room seems to exhale with him, the earlier tension melting away.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asks, handing you a glass of whiskey and gesturing to the space beside you on the couch.

You nod in acceptance and take a sip of your drink, feeling the warmth of the whiskey spread through you.

"Thanks for coming up here," Yoongi says, his voice noticeably more relaxed than before. ”I didn't realize how much I needed a break until tonight.”

You nod, understanding the weight of creative pressures and the relentless pursuit of perfection. "It's important to recharge," you reply gently, raising your glass. "To moments like this—where we can step back and just be."

Yoongi clinks his glass against yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "To moments like this," he echoes, taking a sip.

As the conversation flows, the evening unfolds into a rhythm of shared stories, musings about life, and occasional quiet moments where the only sound is the soft hum of the room.

“__-ssi,” he starts, swirling the whiskey in his glass, "I should really get you up here more often. This could be a thing. Whiskey breaks in my producing room."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Count me in," you reply, raising your glass once more.

"And before I forget," Yoongi chuckles, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, "I owe you for introducing me to some new, kick-ass music."

"Why, thank you," you reply with a smile. "Much appreciated. You got the good kind too. You spoil me, Yoongi-ssi."

“You’re welcome. Can I be honest for a second though?”

“Sure.”

“Part of me was actually hoping I’d dislike ‘Candy’ because I had a feeling you make a mean kimchi jigae. But the song was too good; I had to pay it respect.”

“I told you you’d fall in love with it, Yoongi-ssi” you say, perhaps a bit cheekier than intended. “Let's start a new wager: I'll make my special homemade kimchi jigae for you.”

"Really?" His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas day.

"Yes, I will," you giggle, "as long as you keep taking my music recommendations."

"Deal," he says firmly, setting down his glass. He extends his hand for you to shake, and you both laugh at his sudden goofiness. “Thanks again for tonight, __-ssi, for everything.”

“Of course,” you reply. “I told you we’re teammates now, didn’t I?”

“After tonight, I think we could be friends too.”

As you both linger in the moment, the studio's door swings open, and a voice calls out, "Hey, Yoongi, are you still here?"

Yoongi glances towards the door and then back at you with a playful smirk. "Looks like I've got more company," he says, nodding towards the doorway.

I’ll let you get back to work," you say, gesturing towards his mixing board. "Can't wait to hear more of these tracks."

"Thanks," he says warmly, appreciating your encouragement. "And about that kimchi jigae…"

"You haven't forgotten?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Never,” he replies with a grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

With a final wave, you leave Yoongi to his work, wondering if perhaps being friends wasn't so far-fetched after all. Only time would tell.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[joelsmochi]

Diet Mountain Dew

rating: E 18+ only pairing: f!reader x bfd!joel miller (tv + game series) summary: your boyfriend has been cheating on you, but his uncaring, selfish, and very flirtatious father wants to make it up to you the best way he knows how... warnings: AU (no apocalypse, no sarah), infidelity, 30+ year age gap, asphyxiophilia, dacryphilia, a little rough housing, hair pulling, spanking, oral (m receiving) | let me know if i've missed any! wc: 5.5k a/n: thank you for 500 followers!!! let the record show that i do not condone or endorse cheating at all, this is purely for entertainment purposes!!! i tried something a little bit different with the writing style so please let me know if you guys like it or not!

masterlist

you’re no good for me, but baby i want you…

He couldn’t help his filthy mind. Even if he wanted to. Being around you was always a test of his willpower.

He kept as much distance as respectfully possible, not wanting to give himself away. Still, every night he managed to find himself lying in bed fisting his cock while entertaining the daydreams he often had of fucking you into the bed.

It wasn’t the age difference that deterred him from you, but the mere fact that you were dating his son.

He hated himself for it, but he hated it even more when he would be painting his stomach with white streaks and barely whispering remnants of your name.

And now, as he sits across from you and his son at the dinner table, he hates himself for finding you so pretty.

His eyes keep lowering to look at your grey and white striped tank top — not because he was trying to look at your cleavage but because it fits you perfectly. You kept fidgeting with the top hem of your shirt as if you were ensuring it wasn’t shifting too low. He thought it was cute.

Your voice left him in a trance; he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but he enjoyed hearing you rave and ramble about the movie you just went to.

The real mood killer was Jacob — “Okay, we get it. It was a good movie,” he snapped.

“Jacob,” Joel scolded. Though the pout you absentmindedly wore told Joel that it was pointless.

Jacob made an incredulous face and slightly shrugged. “What? She’s been talking about the movie for ten minutes. I feel like I saw the damn thing.”

“Well, I happen to like spoilers.” Joel meant it as a joke in hopes of lightening the mood, but once he saw the slight smile on your face, he felt a sudden rush of protectiveness.

How he could appreciate you more than his son did was beyond him. Joel just hoped it wasn’t a more significant issue behind closed doors.

Over the next few months, Joel had been seeing less and less of you and even managed to overhear some of the times Jacob had been arguing with you over the phone.

From the only half of the conversation he could hear, Joel gathered that you were upset that Jacob was spending more time with “friends” than you, which led Joel to believe it was more of an indication of cheating. He stayed tightlipped about it because he had no desire to stir up any unnecessary drama, but his curiosity grew as time passed.

So when he saw you grabbing some cereal in the grocery store on a random Tuesday, he wasted no time approaching you.

You seemed surprised at him calling your name but gave him a welcoming smile nonetheless.

“Hi, Joel, how are you?”

“I’m alright, how ‘bout you? Feel like I haven’t seen you around lately.”

Your smile nearly dropped completely. “Yeah, uh. Jacob and I are just going through a tough time right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Joel said softly, not really meaning it. “My son aside, I do actually enjoy your company. I mean, you’re the only twenty-four year old I know that likes U2.”

That made you chuckle. “Oh, is my seasoned music taste the only thing I have going for myself,” you bantered.

He tried to contain his blush as if it were even possible. “No, not at all,” he sarcastically replied. “You also don’t use like or totally after every other word.”

You laughed harder at that, maybe a little more than necessary, but it was nice to be complimented on things other than how ‘good you give head.’

A few minutes later, you told Joel you have to get going, and for some reason, he took it as the chance to say, “Next week, they’ll have that new Daniel Craig movie in theaters. I was wonderin’ if you’d want to go. I remember you said something about it.”

You smirked up at him and narrowed your eyes slowly. “Are you asking your son’s girlfriend on a date, Mr. Miller?”

Kind of, he thought.

“No! No, fuck,” he hissed, pinching his nose bridge and squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”

And there’s another cute laugh coming out of you. “I’m teasin’. I think it might be a little weird, y’know?”

“Jake can come if you want. Doesn’t have to just be you and me.”

“Mmm… I kinda don’t want him to,” you admitted. “He’ll just complain the whole time. We’re friends, right? Let’s go, just you and me.” Your optimism plastered a smile on his face, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think it was cute. He agreed, and you both said your goodbyes.

As you walked away, you felt a pang of guilt for some reason. It wasn’t a date, but it felt like one. This sudden need to impress Joel Miller (formerly anticipated father-in-law) made you feel weird.

But you thought of all the nights you spent home alone watching movies because your boyfriend was out late again. And again. And again.

After a long and stressful internal debate inside a bath with some Epsom salts, you decided not to care.

So what if you wanted to dress up and wear a little makeup to (hopefully) catch your boyfriend’s dad’s attention? It's not like your boyfriend didn’t spend time doing body shots off of some random girl at the furthest bar across town.

A little male attention wouldn’t hurt anything, right? 

Besides, you didn’t think Joel would actually care. Pretending it was a date was purely just for your entertainment.

So when the day came, you practically ran outside the second you got a text message from him saying he was there. He chewed on his bottom lip to restrain his grin as he watched you walk towards his car, wearing a denim mini-skirt and a white babydoll top.

Your hair was neat and tucked behind your ears, and you were visibly wearing more makeup than usual.

He felt flattered, entertaining the idea of you putting in a little extra effort just for him.

The ride to the theater wasn’t as tense as you had anticipated. You both spent it to talk about the previous movie and the theories you both had for the new one.

While you both were excited to see the actual movie, neither of you could stop noticing the small details about each other.

He smelled your lotion. You smelled his body wash.

He noticed your new earrings. You caught him smiling a lot more.

He looked at you every chance he got. You waited until he looked away to look at him.

He insisted on paying for your tickets and food at the theater, then led you to the “best seats” in the viewing room. Not a date, your ass. He even looked like he put effort into buying a new pair of jeans.

The tension inside you grew as soon as the movie began. And fucking hell, you didn’t know you could get so horny so fast. It was stupid little things that made you clench your thighs occasionally.

No fingers brushing. No elbows touching. Nothing like that.

Instead, it was the sound of his fingernails scratching the thick layer of scruff along his jaw, how he occasionally readjusted in his seat and seemingly spread his legs a little more, and when he would look over at you to ensure you were enjoying the movie.

This had gone a little further in your head than you intended, but you didn’t fucking want it to stop.

Maybe halfway through the movie, he realized you hadn't opened any of your candy. You always ate candy during a movie; it was something Jacob found cute when you first started dating and something Joel grew accustomed to long before his crush even developed. Joel even made it a point to keep a stash for when Jacob had you over for movie night.

He felt a little silly for hyper-fixating on such a weird and relatively small detail, but then he saw your legs clench together. He tried telling himself you were only readjusting your position, but then you sighed in a peculiar tone. The sigh that Joel always let out when he was sexually frustrated.

He would have continued telling himself he was reading too much into it, but another soft sigh left your lips, and suddenly, all he could think about was having you beneath him making the same pretty noises.

All the signs were there, but who would initiate it, and how? He worried he bit off more than he could chew by inviting you here. It only got more difficult to ignore when his cock stiffened inside his jeans, rolling his eyes at the fact that he wasn’t in the comfort of his own home to take care of it.

You noticed his hand palming his jeans and glanced over at him, only to see his erection throb against his pants, hard.

Knowing you’d probably regret it, you put your hand beneath the armrest and suddenly rested your hand high up on his thigh. His body tensing made you halt any more sudden movements, but nothing suggested he wanted you to stop.

He searched for the strength to push your hand off and tell you to stop, that this was wrong, and to remind you of your assumed loyalty to his son.

But he didn’t want that at all.

He liked having your hand on his thigh where it felt like it belonged, painted nails drawing small circles along the denim.

What he truly needed was for this fucking movie to be over. Once it finally was, he wasted no time getting you back into his truck.

“Joel?” Your voice was fragile and soft, and you wondered why he hadn’t made a move yet or at least started the engine. “Should I not have done that?”

“What were you thinkin’?” Was all he could think to ask.

“Guess I wasn’t.”

“No. You shouldn’t’a done that.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You will be.”

You don’t remember who initiated it or climbed in the backseat first. All you knew was that you were looking at the back of a building, the mall, or something, and you heard Joel grunting next to your ear while his hips slammed against your ass.

You felt a soreness forming around where his rough hands were holding you, but you didn’t flinch or pull away. You leaned into the meanness of his grip, allowing it to satiate all of that burning desire running along your flesh.

“Oh my God, Joel, ye-yes.”

His name dripping so effortlessly from your lips only urged him to fuck you even faster, his truck no doubt shaking violently because of it, some metal underneath made that obnoxious creaking sound to verify.

“You like that, huh,” he groaned; his fingers wrapped around the cuff of your elbow to meet his body halfway with the thrusts. “Needy fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me so well-agh!“

“So deep,” you huffed out.

“C’mere.”

Joel carefully turned your body around, sitting you back against the door before sliding his cock back inside of you with ease from how wet you were.

“Joel,” you moaned without reason, eyes fluttering shut as the curve of his shaft continued to rut into that sensitive spot.

He pulled the strap of your tank top down to find you braless. Of course. He smirked and licked his thumb and index finger before giving your stiff nipple a soft pinch.

Your breath shuddered at the surge of pleasure, and then he did the same thing to your clit with his other hand.

“Oh my fucking-“ You cut words off with a deep moan, finding it a little silly that such a slight squeeze to your clit could make you melt the way it did.

“Tha’ feel good, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse from choking back his own moans.

You hummed and nodded, something he thought was cute and began to rub your clit forcefully with his big thumb. Your mind felt numb from all of it, so much pleasure releasing itself.

Looking up at Joel made you feel so small, protected, and cared for. Looking down between your legs, he looked so focused on making you feel good.

“He doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”

You shot your wide-eyed gaze up at him, surprised at his sudden appraisal of his son.

He chuckled and took his hand from your breast to softly hold your chin. “You gettin’ all shy on me now, girl?” Suddenly, he fell to an achingly slow rhythm and curled his hips into yours instead of his previous thrusting. “…I thought you had a bit more confidence than that.”

You scowled at his taunts, not sure what to say back. You just wanted to fucking cum. Noticing your lack of response made him chuckle again.

“What? My son don’t fuck you stupid like this?” He whispered onto your lips.

“…No,” you finally whimpered.

You felt a weird rush of emotion pass through you; the father of your boyfriend talking down on him while simultaneously fucking you didn’t turn you off like it maybe should have… If anything, it pushed you closer to the edge.

Joel raised his eyebrows in amusement and half smiled at your flushed face. “No?” His finger still made loops around your clits, his cock drenched in your heat. He wanted you to feel all of it.

“You make me feel so good, Joel.” You reached up to give him a chaste kiss.

“You take me so well, honey,” he said against your neck. “I want you to cum for me. Can you do that, baby? Hmm?”

You whispered out your confirmation and grabbed a hold of his greying hair. You wanted to memorize this moment thread by thread. His hair smelled of cheap shampoo and his beard of coffee, but his arms and chest smelled like him with the hint of sweat that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. God, how you could just bathe in him, cumming and unfolding in his strong arms. 

“Oh- Joel, I’m cu—I’m cumming,” you choked out. He said something about how good you were that you couldn’t quite process.

You held onto him tightly and cried out at the sensation of your knotted-up tension unraveling inside you like a Christmas present just waiting to be opened up. It fluttered and filled every corner of your mind, all while you moaned his name. You couldn’t even confuse it with his son’s. Joel.

Joel just worked better in your mind than Jacob ever could. Joel worked your body better, too. Maybe even a little better than you.

Your mind was so fucking blank that you almost didn’t feel Joel collapse onto you as he finished himself, moaning your name and running his hands all over you as if to savor it. He kissed you softly, slowly pulling out of you, and discarded the condom somewhere.

“So pretty when you cum.”

You lazily giggled at the compliment and sat up to grab your panties, but Joel snatched them from your weak hand. He took your legs and rested them in his lap to slide the fabric up your calves and thighs. You just watched and smiled at his further appreciation for your body as he did the same with your skirt.

“You really know how to treat a lady,” you playfully cooed, reaching for another kiss that he returned, savoring it.

He bashfully smiled, like his mind was elsewhere. “You know we can’t do this again, right?”

“We will,” you quipped, confidence returning; he glanced over at you and frowned, confused at the sly grin you wore proudly. You climbed onto his lap and ran your nails over his facial hair, trailing over his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. “The more you fight it, the more you’ll need me, Joel.”

And fuck, were you right.

Weeks. He waited weeks after that encounter to see you. Weeks, he felt disappointed when you didn’t attend the weekly dinner that Joel and Jacob agreed upon him moving out.

He no longer felt guilty touching himself to thoughts of you. He was angry. Why couldn’t you just say you agreed with him instead of letting him know there was an opportunity to do it again? Why make yourself available to anyone other than his (shitty) son?

That anger turned into thirst when you finally decided to show up for Jacob’s small birthday dinner. Aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered to wish the only child a happy birthday. Meanwhile, Joel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you the second you walked in — partially because he wasn’t expecting you to show up after not seeing you for a while, but he’d never seen you wear something so… Short.

As possessive as he wanted to be, he knew he had to keep his composure not to reward you the satisfaction and keep his promise to himself. What he hadn’t considered is that you would not make those same promises.

While Joel finished preparing the food, you told Jacob you’d help bring everything else out so he could sit around the living room and talk to his family and friends.

You took the unnecessary route and grazed your chest against Joel’s elbow as you reached into the refrigerator to grab some drinks before taking them to the other room. You made as many sly little trips like that, not looking at or towards Joel whatsoever but making sure he was looking at you.

You saved Joel’s beer for last. You always brought him his beer once you realized he usually had one before eating dinner any time you were over. It wasn’t anything malicious or sneaky until now.

You grabbed the brown glass bottle and stood next to him. Finally giving him the satisfaction of looking at him, you twisted the cap off and wrapped your lips around the cold rim, tilting the glass up and tasting some of the orange-flavored liquid, lips coming off the bottle with a pop.

Those lips. That noise. It filled his mind with the image of you a second ago, only instead of a beer bottle, he imagined his hard cock.

He watched carefully as you licked up a running droplet from the side of the neck; you held the bottle up for him to take, and tensely, he did so.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His usual response but in a more sultry tone.

It made you blush and stare at him like he hung the stars and moon every night for you. “You’re welcome, Joel.”

He kept his eyes on you as you walked away for the last time, thinking about everything he wanted to do to you.

His hands were firm, clasped tightly around your wrists. His body pressed into your back while he pushed you against the wall. He hated that you were laughing. That you thought this was a funny game.

He thrusted into your ass without care, hurting you slightly with the pressure. He grabbed a hold of your hair and yanked it. He almost smiled at you, yelping out.

“Where’s that little fucking smile at now, huh,” he gritted. Then he planted a hard smack to your cheek, not bothering to soothe it the slightest bit. “You think you can just tease me and test me and fucking treat me however you want? Hmm? Think you can walk around with your ass damn near hangin’ out of this fucking dress?”

A tear rolled down your burning cheek as you whimpered, “I’m sorry, Joel. I w-wanted your attention.”

“You got what you wanted. Don’t fuckin’ cry about it now.”

Feeling your panties fill with a warm desire, you felt pathetic and weak.

Do I like that, you wondered, feeling used and being hurt?

You got your confirmation from the dumb little whimper you let out when you felt Joel’s body release from you. He boots thumping against the floor a few times before the bed creaked from his body weight.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

You pushed away from the wall and tiptoed to him. He almost felt bad for making you cry, but you were pushing his fucking buttons all night long. You sank to the floor, sitting on your bare feet and looking at him through wet eyelashes. Joel was more than glad that Jacob decided to go to a party with his friends and even more pleased that he didn't ask questions when you said you'd stay to help Joel clean up.

“I’m sorry, Joel-“

“You will be.”

You softly smile at him, repeating those words, knowing this time he meant it.

His eyes were cold and shallow when they stared into yours as his hands worked to undo his belt buckle. The metal teeth clanking together made you shudder, and you tried your best to keep your eyes locked with his.

“You misbehave once, and this belt goes ‘round your neck,” he warned, “we clear?”

You bashfully nodded, thankful he accepted it as an answer. Though you secretly hoped he would do it already, knowing you were bound to back talk him at some point.

Joel began to undo his jeans, and he made a ticking noise behind his teeth, ruminating on how you played with him at the table.

“Playin’ with my cock under the table,” he grunted, pulling his jeans down to his knees, “what kinda girl are you?”

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, felt you,” you said, glancing down at the growing erection beneath his plaid boxers. “I was being needy.”

“Yes, you were,” he simpered, “but you know I like that.”

You hesitated for a second before jumping into his lap and kissing him. Thrown off, it was a moment until he relaxed into your body, grasping the sides of your waist and hungrily kissing you back with a groan emitting from his throat.

He tasted like a man. He smelled like a man. Beer and body wash and perspiration drowning your senses. Your pussy ached when he slipped his beer-coated tongue into your mouth, sloppily licking around the ridges of your teeth and lips, tasting your chapstick and that one sip of alcohol you stole from him a couple of hours prior.

He felt your shaky hands reach to pull his cock out of his boxers; you pumped it slowly with one hand between your bodies, causing his moans to fall into your mouth.

He got a hold of your tits and massaged them gently before giving your nipples both a hard pinch, making you yelp and pull away from him. After chuckling at your pouty face, he grabbed hold of your hair and pulled it to his liking, almost treating you like a rag doll.

“Need you to suck my cock,” he choked out, sounding almost as if he were pleading of you to do it.

“Are you asking?”

He tugged your hair a little harder to signal he was not asking.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched intently as you stripped down to your panties and sat back in your previous position on the floor, taking his pants off and propping your arms on his burly thighs. He leaned back after unbuttoning his shirt and watched your tongue lick up a thick bead of precum from his tip, and you swallowed it without a second thought.

You drooled and spit all over his cock, wanting to make it a little messy for him, and even spreading some around his balls which made him incandescently moan.

And finally, you took him into your mouth, slobbering and sucking and moaning away around his girth. Your hand pumped to the sane rhythm of your mouth while gently squeezing and twisting it to add to his pleasure.

Joel’s head fell back in ecstasy; he couldn’t hold back his moans even if he wanted to. Your mouth was so warm and inviting, and it felt so fucking good. Your tongue lapping away as you sucked drove him crazy, and he found himself wondering why the fuck his son was cheating on you.

“That’s it, baby—mnh, fuck,” he encouraged. “Just like that. Ohh, just like that.”

His hand stroked your hair, and you looked up at him from the touch. Those eyes of yours made his thighs twitch and his stomach contract.

He wanted to punish you for making him wait, for teasing him, for being so fucking irresistible… But he couldn’t. Not now, at least. He felt weak beneath you, out of control. And he loved it: watching you take control of him, his dick. The slurping noises coming from your mouth not only suggested that you knew what you were doing but that you fucking loved it.

Your lips humming around him and creating webs of spit and precum made his dick harder than he had ever felt it. He was so close already, dire for his release, and it didn’t help when you surprised him with a rough thrust into your throat.

It hurt a lot, but that’s what you wanted. To ruin yourself for him. Show Joel what he could be getting every fucking night. Tears ran down your cheeks as you put him further down your throat until your nose was buried into the black and grey hairs surrounding the base of his cock.

He cried out your name and obscenities, saying, “Please,” for something, but you were not sure what exactly. His trembling thighs began closing around your head, not aiding in the lack of oxygen you had left, but he tried to fight it. You refused to let up on him, only swallowing hard and gagging harder, waiting for him to shoot his cum down your throat.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Oh fuck, no one- agh—no one’s ever fucking gone that deep-“

That’s what he was pleading for: he wanted you to quit. He didn’t want to cum so soon. But he tasted so good, and you had gotten him so fucking close, you couldn’t see yourself quitting now.

You pulled your head up to mess with Joel’s head, making him think you were listening. But you only went back down, making him pull your hair to stop you from disobeying him. Your lips departed from him with a pop, the same pop that he'd heard when you took a sip of his drink. It made him all the more desperate.

Despite your coughing and choking, he slipped his belt around your neck and looped it, not saying anything to ridicule you and simply tugging at the belt roughly. You choked a little more and then smiled at him, drool dripping down your chin onto your breasts. The sight was purely pornographic. Your lips were puffy, your face red, eyes dark and welling up, tears streaks on your cheekbones.

“Since you wanna fucking choke on something so bad…”

He tugged at the belt once again to emphasize his point. He stood up and yanked the leather to guide you where he wanted, yet that proud look never left your face. You were on all fours on the bed as if you were on display for him, and he stood behind you, pressing his thumb to your slit and spreading your juices around lazily.

You hummed at the small amount of friction and arched your ass up for him. Wiggling your hips in desperation, he smacked your ass hard enough to sting, the echo in the room ringing against your eardrums.

Joel smacked his fat tip against your asshole smirking when he felt it pucker; he took his wet cock in his hand, pumping it a few times before allowing it to sink inside of your needy cunt. You found yourself burying your face into the sheets as he began fucking you, the tug around your neck digging deeper as Joel maintained his grip on it.

“Such a fucking slut, so wet from just sucking my cock,” he spat, watching his cock disappear into your swelling pussy over and over and over. “S’it feel good, baby?”

You nodded, arching your back even more to feel him reach deeper and whimpering whenever his tip brutally bumped your cervix.

Suddenly, you felt a firm yank against your neck. “Use your words.”

“Feels so good, Joel,” you answered.

A swell of desire fills your belly, growing each time he thrusts into that sweet little spot inside of you. You’re clawing at the bed, reaching your neck forward to apply the satisfaction of not being able to breathe.

His free hand pressed against the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as his hips snapped against the back of your thighs, making a clapping sound fill the room. You moaned into his duvet, slobber trailing out of the corners of your mouth. His balls hitting your clit with every thrust gave you the added pleasure you needed to finish if he kept this rhythm, but his voice was what you needed to send you over the edge.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy," he groaned. "Love how you squeeze my cock with it. Ohh, yeah, that's it, baby. You need to cum? Hmm? Does this pretty pussy need to cum?"

Your moans, muffled by the sheets, resulted in him pulling the belt up enough to make you lift your head so that he could hear you more clearly. "Yes yes yesss, Joel- MNH, oh fuck yes, please please."

He never forgot how your body gave away when you needed to cum; your body heaved with anticipation, your knuckles turned pale from your tight grip, your walls clung to him tighter than what was comfortable (which he fucking lived for then and now), and your moans heightened in pitch and volume. He couldn't punish you when you sounded so sexy screaming his name, it was his biggest weakness.

"I know, baby, I know. You can come," he encouraged sweetly, massaging the dip in your back to help relax you. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Need to feel you- fuck- cum for me."

And a few seconds later, you were convulsing beneath him from the tight coil inside of you finally breaking into shreds. The belt being pulled tighter around your neck rendered you helpless as it created the euphoria of what felt like nearly passing out. The fuzzy vision and the black spots sent your mind into a daze, or it could have been the lack of air. Your eyes grew heavy as your orgasm persisted from Joel's lack of mercy for your cunt. He just pounded away like you were made for him and his enjoyment only, and it thrilled you even more.

He grabbed your shoulder gently to bring your back to his chest and let go of the belt. You breathed heavily, and Joel kissed your jaw endearingly, his beard scraping your skin.

"So good f'me, you know that?" He moaned against your ear. His eyes fluttered shut when his hand went to cradle your chin, and he felt all of the saliva and tears coating your face. 

"Can't take it," you mumbled.

Your cunt was aching and sore, still pulsing from the harsh climax you had to endure with him not easing up at all. Your lips were swollen from his rough pounding, and your ass was burning from his hairs scratching against you. His cruel laugh filled your ears and made even more tears fall from your eyes.

"Fucking ruined you," he chuckled, earning another moan from you. "You can take it, baby. I know you can. I know you can be a good girl for me. Gonna fill you up with my cum- mmngh... Make sure this pussy knows it belongs to me."

"It does," you huff out, reaching to hold onto his forearms. "Not anyone else. Not even me. Just for you, Joel. It's all yours. Not even Jacob's."

That sent him over the edge. A pathetic whimper followed by a moan left his hoarse throat while he gave you one last powerful thrust. That cold feeling of guilt flooded his body and turned him on even more; he relished in the confidence you reclaimed, knowing that the guilt and secrecy of it all also turned you on in the darkest of ways.

"Fuck," he shouted as the last of his spend poured inside of your sore pussy. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips and slowly pulled out of you to sit beside you on the bed before you climbed to straddle his thighs. "You're amazing," he whispered against your lips whilst unraveling the belt from your neck. "You know you really are gonna help me clean up," he teased, sending you into a short fit of laughter.

"Only if we get to make one more mess, Mr. Miller."

dividers by cafekitsune

[yorshie]

Dunno if you still take requests. But maybe for when you feel like it? (No pressure tho. You can totally ignore this if it isn't up you alley.)

How do them turtle dudes like to romance their honeys? Like who uses strategy (badly)? Who goes with the flow (also badly)? Who just blurts it out the first moment they realize what they're feeling (so SO badly)? And who just buries it behind heaps and heaps of repression (the absolute worst)?

And what about after being assured that their feelings are reciprocated? Is there a change in behavior or demeanor?

🧁

Cupcake Nonnie, I am so sorry. I have no excuse. I have no idea why this was so hard to write, or why it took so long.

I decided two birds one stone sort of thing with this one, a blurb about how exactly starting a relationship with each turtle might go, followed with headcanon style of what they would expect out of a relationship, how it would progress, and how a good relationship would affect them.

As always set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25, SFW

Michelangelo

By the time Michelangelo asked you to be his girlfriend, you low key thought you’d already been going steady for about a month. The turtle shows up like clockwork every Friday at your place, with a pizza and a soda, and the two of you stay up late watching movies while cuddling on the couch. Several times, you’ve woken to him stealing a hug or a nuzzle before leaving before the sun’s up. 

So when he turns from the movie unexpectedly one night, the last item on your ‘what is Angelo about to ask me’ bingo card was a sheepish:

“Hey, babes, would you- will you be my girlfriend?”

You stared at him for a whole scene, taking in those baby blues, before you blurted out your own question. “I thought I already was?”

“Oh. Ok. Cool.” And he grinned like it was nothing, turning back to the tv, leaving you still staring at the side of his head like he’d turn back around with a ‘gotcha’. 

Needless to say, you didn’t pay attention to the rest of the movie. Mikey, to his credit, picked up on your mood during the credits, and you had a long conversation over what exactly the two of you wanted to be to the other.

Mikey’s love language is physical touch and quality time spent together

Angelo loves PDA. Soft kisses and nuzzles, hugs, you name it, he’ll try and get away with it. One of his favorite things to do, because he’s a little shit, is to see how many innuendos he can fit into a conversation while still maintaining decency, just to make you turn red and his brothers sigh in exasperation. 

Lowkey though, he doesn’t expect much from you other than your affection, and doesn’t have an overarching game plan. Sure, he celebrates anniversaries, but all the big milestones are simply tackled without him making a big deal out of them. One day you’ll just look up, realize you can’t tell where his stuff ends and yours begins, and have to come to terms with the fact that somehow the two of you are living together with no conversation about it happening.

Sunshine turtle approaches romance the same way he approaches life, with the firm belief that fun is the most important factor. Get ready for movie dates, late night parkour trips, canoodling on rooftops, etc. Just as often though, he will want to stay in. He’ll cook for you, cuddle while you while playing video games or watching a movie, include you in schemes and plans to drive his brothers crazy, anything to include you in his life or show off your bond to others. 

There isn’t a big difference to Mikey’s behavior after he knows you’re into him, though now when he gets in your space he doesn’t hold back from touching you. Turtle was a flirt beforehand, he’s a flirt afterwards. The only difference is, now when he says something you know eventually he will get around to trying it. He says something flirtatious that gets a reaction? He’s not gonna forget, and he’ll bring it up at a later date. 

He will stop flirting with everything that walks by eventually however. Guess calling you babes/babycakes/angelcakes in private had some spillover connotations (ie he can’t say it without thinking about you and it makes him gag trying to say it to anyone not you)

Donatello

Donnie’s blurted out his feelings for you in the middle of the Lair during Sunday Football. You’d arrived to find the turtles acting weird, leaving the room whenever you entered to grab snacks, suddenly making excuses and disappearing so every time you were left with an increasingly nervous Donnie who seemed to trail you around the Lair. By the time kick off happened, Raph, who seemed increasingly edgy, asked you to bring him another beer from the kitchen. You readily agreed, but when you turned from the fridge with the cold can Donnie blocked the way back to the others.

“Hey Don. You ok?” You asked, giving him a smile, craning your head back to meet his wide eyes.

“I like you.” He blurted out, practically looming over you.

You tilted your head, fighting the blush, convincing yourself not to read too much into it. “I like you to, Dee.” 

When you went to move around him though, thinking the moment was over, he caught your hand, grip slightly sweaty. “No, I mean…” He waited for you to meet his eyes again, and he visibly swallowed. “I- I like you.”

You eyes widened, a second before your smile followed. “Oh! Dee…” You set the beer to the side, covered his hand with your own. “I like you too.”

His answering smile lit up the whole room.

Donnie’s love language is gift giving and quality time. 

This turtle wants affection, but he doesn’t always know how to ask for it. You’ll have to pick up on his little cues to catch what he wants. Such as, if you notice him standing over you for periods of time before moving off and then returning, he might want to cuddle, and is just working up to asking for it. If you want things to go smoothly between the two of you, it’d be prudent to make a list of things you’re comfortable with and things you aren’t. It’ll stop him from worrying over things like hand holding and kisses, if he knows you’ll welcome his advances, and it’ll save you some headache trying to parse out what his nonverbal cues are if he is given free reign to just tell you what he would like. 

Dee’s idea of romance is to spend time with you, in whatever way you’ll let him. If you want to park your butt and watch him tinker in his lab or the garage, this turtle is all for it. If you mention there’s a play you want to see or a museum you’d like to go to, he’s already scheming on how to get the two of you in. The turtle disguise doesn’t work as well on him since he’s so tall, but he can sit in the very back and turn into a ninja statue just for you. 

He makes gadgets for you to stay in touch when you’re not with him, and readily goes into tangents about things you’ve said or done, or projects he’s working on for you. His brothers have learned to tune him out to various success. 

As far as changes after the two of you start a relationship, it’s easy to say that that it’s leverage over him and his habits. If he needs to eat, sleep, or just get away from his computer’s before the blue screen fries his brain, his brothers send in you. He gets in a snippy mood and clearly needs a night out or a break, you’re the only one that can convince him to go. Ooo, feel the power.

With you in his corner, Donnie blooms. Yes, he’s a genius and a sarcastic little shit beforehand, but now he has a cheerleader, a partner in crime, someone to fuel his crazy schemes and to be his rubber ducky on occasion. Anytime any old doubt trickles in, he only has to turn to you and be reminded that someone is always there for him, through thick and thin.

Raphael

You ended up confessing your feelings for Raph long before he’d gotten the courage to say anything. He probably would have continued to ignore his feelings, if you hadn’t cornered him in his weight room and spelled it out, angry that he’d been successfully giving you the cold shoulder for weeks.

“Hey, you wanna tell me what I did wrong, or are you gonna go sulk in the corner?” You asked, arms crossed and hip cocked, blocking the entrance to the weight room.

“M’not sulking.” Came the instant reply, though Raph didn’t turn to address you directly. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Leo said I could find you here.” You narrowed your eyes as he rolled his.

“Course he did, stickin’ his nose into-”

“Your brother isn’t my concern, you are.”

“Yeah?” He grumbled, still not looking at you, moving to rack up the manhole covers on his bar. “Why’s that, princess?”

Normally, that nickname made you feel special. Now, it pissed you off. Made you stupidly, sarcastically honest. “It’s probably because I’m not into him, I’m into you, dum dum.”

The weights clanked loudly together, and he turned just his head, glared at you. “Oh, real funny. Don’t go jokin’ about that.”

“I’m hilarious.” You answered. “And I’m 100 percent serious, Raphael.”

He turned to face you fully, head cocked, eyes slowly going from defensive to wide the longer you stood your ground. “You serious?”

You nodded emphatically, and he snorted, ran his hand over his face. “Damn. That’s fucked, babygirl.”

“It is not!” You started angry, but the wide smile on his face broke you out of the emotion.

Raph’s love language is verbal affirmation and physical touch

Yea this turtle can’t decide which is worse, telling you how he feels or seeing his large hands next to your small ones. But he so desperately wants to find the words, so desperately wants to ask you to hold his hand. Expect for him to start coveting private moments with you. He’ll agonize over what to say, what to do. You’ll have to lead the way most of the time, at least at the beginning, until he gets over waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to change your mind about him and all the issues that come along with him. 

Date nights with him are simple. He doesn’t like people, doesn’t like to be out of his comfort zone. He’d rather stay in with you, or up on the roofs where no one can see the two of you. He is very aware of how he is different from a human though, and so he will go out of his way to make sure he can bring normal things to the relationship. His gut instinct is to turn down anything new immediately, but all you have to do is pull out the goo goo eyes and he will bend. He wants to be helpful as possible to you to make up for the things he can’t do, and it’s up to you to make sure he understands how appreciated he is.

He loves to hear you voice your feelings for him, but he won’t outright ask for confirmation. Expect quiet moments where the two of you simply exist in the same space, or maybe cuddling while talking. Raph doesn’t like to be reminded of how different the two of you are though, so you might spend some time reassuring him that you love him, without telling him you don’t care about how different he is, because he will not believe you, or worse will get upset.

The differences in Raph are a long way down the line. At first, he might be even a little more standoffish, doubt and worry overtaking his usual responses. You’ll have to be dedicated to get anywhere past the initial ‘there’s no way this is gonna work, we’re both crazy for thinking this would work, you’re crazy for liking me, and I’m crazy for listening’ phase that will grip him hard. If you can weasel past that, however, be prepared to have someone that will never give up on you, ever. You’ll have a significant other that will come to your aid at the drop of a pin, at the first sign of trouble. 

He’ll mellow out over time, become a little softer around the edges and a little less ‘the world is out to get me and mine’. He might even tolerate his brothers’ teasings over the two of you, as long as they do it where you can’t hear, trading huffs and denial for small smiles and easy laughter at their pointed questions.

Leonardo

You found Leo waiting at your window, the same way you’d found him countless times. This time however, when you let him in, you were concerned at his formal movements. He was always careful, but now he was watching you as though waiting for something.

“Hey, Blue?” You asked, moving automatically to start tea, the way you had every time he came to visit. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He answered, and you could tell it was a knee jerk reaction, but you let it slide.

“M’kay, well, I was just about to start dinner? How does that sweet chicken with the rice I made last month sound?” You asked, already knowing his answer, moving to grab the ingredients.

He surprised you by moving into your space, catching your hand. “Can we talk, for a moment, first?” 

You turned to give him your attention, careful to keep your movements slow as you took his hand. “Sure. Of course.”

Leo stood there for a moment, petting his thumb over the back of your hand, before he took a deep breath. “Stop me if I’m overstepping, but I need to speak my mind.” 

At your nod, he continued. “I like you, more than a friend, more than I should. I wanted- wondered, that is, if you could feel the same for me?”

If he had lifted his head at all, he would have seen your answer in the high wattage smile plastered across your face.

Leo’s love language is verbal affirmation and quality time spent together

This turtle has thought of everything. He’s intimately turned his feelings for you over and over in his mind, viewed them from every angle to inspect for marks or imperfections before he even accepts how he feels for you. Once he’s accepted them, get ready for slow burn romance. He has a sequence of steps the two of you must dance through in his head, and if you try and skip any steps he will want to backtrack to correct it. You want to hold hands for the first time and share a first kiss? He’s not going to turn down smooches, but he might not even notice you are posed for one, considering he’s too busy marveling at the feel of your much smaller hand in his.

Dates are simple things, he’s too paranoid to sneak into movies like Donnie or Mikey, instead he’ll go for walks with you, try and spot stars with you through the light pollution. If you want to do nothing but watch movies and lay against him, he’s in heaven, but he absolutely loves to hear you read from books out loud to him.

Expect lots of talks with Leo, but it’s less about sharing information and more he just wants to hear your voice, turn his brain off and simply exist for a moment where no one expects anything from him. Not to say he doesn’t listen, and not to say what you tell him isn’t important, but its calming to listen to simple workplace gossip after dealing with crime fighting and high stakes espionage. On the flip side, there will be times when he comes to you clearly lost in his head. In those instances, he just wants to be reminded that you care for him, that you’re by his side, that you willingly chose to be with him.

Most of the changes with Leo are the two of you are together happen privately, after all he is a very private person. The others don’t get to see him unravel, set aside everything bothering him. The first time you realized you cracked the code, is when Leo told you something that was bothering him, without getting defensive. Like he knew even if you disagreed with him there would be no judgement. After that, the two of you were inseparable. 

The only outwards change, that everyone picks up on, is his sense of humor. Before, it only came out in high stress situations, during fights, one-liners to goad others into making mistakes. But after meeting you, it morphs into quiet, humorous observations. The first time he dropped a joke in the middle of dinner just to make you snort into your soup, his brothers froze, wondering what the hell was happening. Raph legit asked Donnie if body snatching was a thing and if they needed to quarantine Leo. 

[moralesmilesanhour]

Ooo hi, can you write something with gamer/streamer Miles G? Maybe he and the reader just chill and play games talking about life or whatever.

streamer miles!

Ok this went in a sliiightly different direction but the general premise is the same i hope that's ok lmao (also lowkey trying a new writing style/approach)

A/N: comment which animal crossing villager you think miles would like if u want 🫶🏾

You only really see a fraction of a person online. 

The messy, disagreeable thoughts that don’t fit into a neat little post, every time you’ve ever tripped over something and ate shit, all of your worst outfits - none of it exists if you don’t make it known. If you decide you’ve never stumbled over your own feet a day in your life, then it’s so. No one’s gonna claw their way through your screen and check.

For example, you had never seen Miles Morales smile with his teeth before until you clicked on his livestream, and none of his viewers would ever be able to guess.

He was laughing at some joke being made in the chat. 

“Y’all are terrible,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Miles’ stream had been recommended to you by the ever-mysterious, totally-not-creepy algorithm ‘based on your location’, and the thumbnail with his dimples on full display piqued your curiosity.

He’d been passing by once when you accidentally dropped your books and folders while rushing to class. He knelt down and picked them up without a word, dropping them into your hands in a much neater stack than they had originally been in, from largest to smallest. 

Your eyes met for less than two seconds, but you could’ve sworn that there was a softness to them that couldn’t be caught from a distance. 

“Thanks!” you called out as the late bell rang. He only nodded before turning away, not bothering to walk any faster.

You never spoke to him again, having no idea what you’d even say. He rarely spoke outside of class, but you had assumed that based on the way he skulked down the hallway and the permanent ‘I’m bored’ look on his face, that he’d be playing something a little more…serious? ‘God of War’ maybe, or ‘Last of Us’. Or some sports-related game that you couldn’t understand.

Certainly not ‘Animal Crossing’.

Tentatively, your fingers hovered over the keyboard as the stream of comments began to slow, and you wondered if he’d be more likely to see it if you commented this instant.

–Who’s ur favorite villager?

There, nice and simple. Inoffensive.

Miles squinted his eyes at what was presumably a second monitor.

“Who’s my favorite villager?” His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he put two and two together. “Oh! You mean the li’l animals and shit. Um, the blue penguin? Ace? I like him.”

You sat back and watched him play for another fifteen minutes, most of which were spent figuring out what direction a couch sitting inside his virtual home should face. His voice was low and almost raspy, but…muted. As if someone had turned the volume down on it like you would the radio. He was fortunate to own a decent microphone.

–You got your own PC? 

It seems you got lucky a second time, and Miles paused to read your comment aloud once again.

“Yyup,” he answered proudly. “Put it together myself. I’ll do a tour one day. My setup is wavy, you’ll see!”

He continued going back and forth with the comments in chat, occasionally thanking some for making small donations. The fact of him making anything at all just from playing a video game was impressive. 

Miles remarked on the ‘classical style’ of one of the buildings on his island, and you snorted. Nerd.

–bro thinks he’s an architect

This made him giggle. A light, breathy sound that you would hardly expect to come out of him.

“You’re a hater, man. Watch me get hired as soon as I’m outta college and build yo’ next apartment building.”

You looked down at your phone and realized it was nearly one in the morning. With a yawn, you said your goodbyes in the comments and left the stream.

-

The cafeteria was full by the time you got downstairs, leaving not a single space on the white benches save for two completely empty ones near the back. 

Well, not completely empty.

As you weaved in between students carrying trays of slop with milk cartons, a familiar pair of cornrows came into view.

It’s now or never.

Timidly, you slid onto the bench right beside Miles. Focused on his meal and the tattered sketchbook he carried around, he looked up at you with just his eyes.

“Hey,” you tried to greet him casually with an awkward smile. “I saw you ye–I mean, I…I saw you. In general.”

His blinked slowly. “We all go to the same school.”

You cleared your throat.

“...Right. We-uh, met in the hallway.”

“You dropped all your books on the floor.”

“Yeah!” you replied a little too loudly. “I just, um, wanted to say hi.”

“...hi.”

There was a stretch of silence as you sifted through a list of topics to rescue the conversation, and a lightbulb went off.

“Do you have any hobbies? Other than drawing, I mean.”

Miles gave up on sketching and answered, “Video games.”

“Which ones you been playing recently?”

“Uh, Mortal Kombat, 2K,” he counted on his fingers, “and Animal Crossing, just to see what it was about–”

“Oh, you’re really good at that one!”

You both froze. Uh-oh.

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“I-I mean, you just…look…like the type?” 

You started frantically chipping away at the remaining nail polish on your fingers. Not even you could believe that one.

A tiny grin played on his lips. 

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Soon the bell rang, saving you from making any further incriminating comments.

“See you in class?”

“Yeah, see you in class,” Miles replied, before tilting his head. “Or wherever I see you.”

[oinonsana]

Tactical Combat, Violence Dice and Missing Your Attacks in Gubat Banwa

In this post I talk about game feel and decision points when it comes to the "To-Hit Roll" and the "Damage Roll" in relation to Gubat Banwa's design, the Violence Die.

Let's lay down some groundwork: this post assumes that the reader is familiar and has played with the D&D style of wargame combat common nowadays in TTRPGs, brought about no doubt by the market dominance of a game like D&D. It situates its arguments within that context, because much of new-school design makes these things mostly non-problems. (See: the paradigmatic shift required to play a Powered by the Apocalypse game, that completely changes how combat mechanics are interpreted).

With that done, let's specify even more: D&D 5e and 4e are the forerunners of this kind of game--the tactical grid game that prefers a battlemat. 5e's absolute dominance means that there's a 90% chance that you have played the kind of combat I'll be referring to in this post. The one where you roll a d20, add the relevant modifiers, and try to roll equal to or higher than a Target Number to actually hit. Then when you do hit, you roll dice to deal damage. This has been the way of things since OD&D, and has been a staple of many TTRPG combat systems. It's easy to grasp, and has behemoth cultural momentum. Each 1 on a d20 is a 5% chance, so you can essentially do a d100 with smaller increments and thus easier math (smaller numbers are easier to math than larger numbers, generally).

This is how LANCER works, this is how ICON works, this is how SHADOW OF THE DEMON LORD works, this is how TRESPASSER works, this is how WYRDWOOD WAND works, this is how VALIANT QUEST works, etc. etc. It's a tried and true formula, every D&D player has a d20, it's emblematic of the hobby.

There's been a lot more critical discussion lately on D&D's conventions, especially due to the OGL. Many past D&D only people are branching out of the bubble and into the rest of the TTRPG hobby. It's not a new phenomenon--it's happened before. Back in the 2010s, when Apocalypse World came out while D&D was in its 4th Edition, grappling with Pathfinder. Grappling with its stringent GSL License (funny how circular this all is).

Anyway, all of that is just to put in the groundwork. My problem with D&D Violence (particularly, of the 3e, 4e, and 5e version) is that it's a violence that arises from "default fantasy". Default Fantasy is what comes to mind when you say fantasy: dragons, kings, medieval castles, knights, goblins, trolls. It's that fantasy cultivated by people who's played D&D and thus informs D&D. There is much to be said about the majority of this being an American Samsaric Cycle, and it being tied to the greater commodification agenda of Capitalism, but we won't go into that right now. Anyway, D&D Violence is boring. It thinks of fights in HITS and MISSES and DAMAGE PER SECOND.

A Difference Of Paradigm and Philosophies

I believe this is because it stems from D&D still having one foot in the "grungy dungeon crawler" genre it wants to be and the "combat encounter balance MMO" it also wants to be. What ends up happening is that players play it like an immersive sim, finding ways to "cheese" encounters with spells, instead of interacting with the game as the fiction intended. This is exemplified in something like Baldur's Gate 3 for example: a lot of the strats that people love about it includes cheesing, shooting things before they have the chance to react, instead of doing an in-fiction brawl or fight to the death. It's a pragmatist way of approaching the game, and the mechanics of the game kind of reinforce it. People enjoy that approach, so that's good. I don't. Wuxia and Asian Martial Dramas aren't like that, for the most part.

It must be said that this is my paradigm: that the rules and mechanics of the game is what makes the fiction (that shared collective imagination that binds us, penetrates us) arise. A fiction that arises from a set of mechanics is dependent on those mechanics. There is no fiction that arises independently. This is why I commonly say that the mechanics are the narrative. Even if you try to play a game that completely ignores the rules--as is the case in many OSR games where rules elide--your fiction is still arising from shared cultural tropes, shared ideas, shared interests and consumed media.

So for Gubat Banwa, the philosophy was this: when you spend a resource, something happens. This changes the entire battle state--thus changing the mechanics, thus changing the fiction. In a tactical game, very often, the mechanics are the fiction, barring the moments that you or your Umalagad (or both of you!) have honed creativity enough to take advantage of the fiction without mechanical crutches (ie., trying to justify that cold soup on the table can douse the flames on your Kadungganan if he runs across the table).

The other philosophy was this: we're designing fights that feel like kinetic high flying exchanges between fabled heroes and dirty fighters. In these genres, in these fictions, there was no "he attacked thrice, and one of these attacks missed". Every attack was a move forward.

So Gubat Banwa removed itself from the To-Hit/Damage roll dichotomy. It sought to put itself outside of that paradigm, use game conventions and cultural rituals that exist outside of the current West-dominated space. For combat, I looked to Japanese RPGs for mechanical inspiration: in FINAL FANTASY TACTICS and TACTICS OGRE, missing was rare, and when you did miss it was because you didn't take advantage of your battlefield positioning or was using a kind of weapon that didn't work well against the target's armor. It existed as a fail state to encourage positioning and movement. In wuxia and silat films, fighters are constantly running across the environment and battlefield, trying to find good positioning so that they're not overwhelmed or so that they could have a hand up against the target.

The Violence Die: the Visceral Attacking Roll

Gubat Banwa has THE VIOLENCE DIE: this is the initial die or dice that you roll as part of a specific offensive technique.

In the above example, the Inflict Violence that belongs to the HEAVENSPEAR Discipline, the d8 is the Violence Die. When you roll this die, it can be modified by effects that affect the Violence Die specifically. This becomes an accuracy effect: the more accurate your attack, the more damage you deal against your target's Posture. Mas asintado, mas mapinsala.

You compare your Violence Die roll to your target's EVADE [EVD]. If you rolled equal to or lower than the target's EVD, they avoid that attack completely. There: we keep the tacticality of having to make sure your attack doesn't miss, but also EVD values are very low: often they're just 1, or 2. 4 is very often the highest it can go, and that's with significant investment.

If you rolled higher than that? Then you ignore EVD completely. If you rolled a 3 and the target's EVD was 2, then you deal 3 DMG + relevant modifiers to the DMG. When I wrote this, I had no conception of "removing the To-Hit Roll" or "Just rolling Damage Dice". To me this was the ATTACK, and all attacks wore down your target's capacity to defend themselves until they're completely open to a significant wound. In most fights, a single wound is more than enough to spell certain doom and put you out of the fight, which is the most important distinction here.

In the Thundering Spear example, that targets PARRY [PAR], representing it being blocked by physical means of acuity and quickness. Any damage brought about by the attack is directly reduced by the target's PAR. A means for the target to stay in the fight, actively defending.

But if the attack isn't outright EVADED, then they still suffer its effects. So the target of a Thundering Spear might have reduced the damage of an attack to just 1 (1 is minimum damage), they would still be thrown up to 3 tiles away. It matches that sort of, anime combat thing: they strike Goku, but Goku is still flung back. The game keeps going, the fight keeps going.

On Mechanical Weight

When you miss, the mechanical complexity immediately stops--if you miss, you don't do anything else. Move on. To the next Beat, the next Riff, the next Resound, think about where you could go to better your chances next time.

Otherwise, the attack's other parts are a lot more mechanically involved. If you don't miss: roll add your Attacking Prowess, add extra dice from buffs, roll an extra amount of dice representing battlefield positioning or perhaps other attacks you make, apply the effects of your attack, the statuses connected to your attack. It keeps going, and missing is rare, especially once you've learned the systematic intricacies of Gubat Banwa's THUNDERING TACTICS BATTLE SYSTEM.

So there was a lot of setup in the beginning of this post just to sort of contextualize what I was trying to say here. Gubat Banwa inherently arises from those traditions--as a 4e fan, I would be remiss to ignore that. However, the conclusion I wanted to come up to here is the fact that Gubat Banwa tries to step outside of the many conventions of that design due to that design inherently servicing the deliverance of a specific kind of combat fiction, one that isn't 100% conducive to the constantly exchanging attacks that Gubat Banwa tries to make arise in the imagination.

[cherrysha]

Ritual

Summary: Choso Likes sneaking into ur room when ur out on missions...

Warnings: Stalker Choso, Invasion of Privacy, Masturbation

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This was a blurb from a bigger fic that just felt a little too bloated,,, and if you've seen this before its because i posted it on a backup acc! also if formatting is off, ill fix it in the morning <3

It’s a secret. Something he doesn’t plan on letting anyone else know, something he doesn’t ever want you to find out either. Something that, deep down, he knows he should be ashamed of, but he does it anyway.

The halls are quiet as he creeps across the wooden floors of the teacher’s dorms. Lamplight flickers, moths lazily flitting around them as his shadow blinks in and out of existence, the only proof of his late night rendezvous. Rounding the corner, his eyes sharply analyze the inky darkness, ears tuned in to the listless noise of the night, crickets chirping and the sound of trickling water from the koi pond outside. Easily he finds his way, knowing the path all too well. When he approaches the door, the knob lets out little more than a dry creak at the pressure of his hand, but he’s still careful of how the old wooden door moans in protest at his intrusion.

Your room is as quiet as it usually is when he makes these visits. You’re always gone, off on some mission he knows with certainty is below your pay grade. It leaves an ache in his heart he won’t admit to but still feels every time you leave. A deep-seated worry for your safety. He knows your capable, but then again, he had deemed his younger brothers capable of holding their own too.

He soundlessly closes the door before rubbing his sweaty palms on the pajama bottoms Yuuji picked out for him. Still trying to figure out if he likes this new style of dress, arguably finding his robes more comfortable to wear.

When he steps deeper into the room he’s greeted by the sweet smell that tends to linger around you, and it calms the mad thumping of his heart. Your room is neat, organized, like it usually is whenever you leave. Your bedsheets, however, are a different story, and his hand’s twitch that the sight of them. It’s been too long since he’s had this pleasure, its sick, he knows, but he finds solace in the feel of your sheets around him. Cocooned in the scent you leave behind and wrapped in what feels like the proverbial softness that you spare to him.

With a shaky sigh Choso climbs into your bed, cool sheets slowly warming up to him stirs something deep in his chest.

It’s not the first time he’s done this, not even the second, but the searing guilt that momentarily burns through his stomach still makes his wandering hands falter. Of course they continue down his body, lightly grazing the dark hairs that dust just below his navel before continuing lower, past the confinement of his bottoms and down, down, down, until he’s reached his destination. His cock is already firm, warm to the touch and more sensitive than it needs to be as memories of you lazily drift in and out of his consciousness. His skin feels hot, throat tight at the intimacy of it all.

Would you be as open and welcoming if you knew? If you saw how his hand lazily pumped his cock in the one place you thought you had privacy? He tries not to think about it. Instead, busying himself with tracing his fingers on the underside of his shaft, a whimper drawn tight in his throat and only breaching the air once he exchanges the lazy touches for a too firm grip at the base. His grip only lessens once his hand moves upward, coming almost completely off before slowly sliding back down. It’s something that should be savored, he doesn’t get this opportunity very often, and so he takes his time. He’s seen you once, all dolled up to take Nobara and Yuuji shopping in Tokyo. You were wearing tight fitting clothes, something he enjoyed about this century’s fashion. He could see so much skin, your legs on display in a pair of shorts, a blouse that did nothing to hide the valley of your cleavage to his prying eyes. Choso was extremely grateful when you left. Hiding himself away until the urge became too irresistible. Until his hands had greedily pumped his swollen cock at the thought of you. Just as they did now, except this time his movements were careful, precise.

With a lick of his lips, he shifts his gaze to your bedside table. It’s almost ritualistic at this point, an itch he just can’t scratch that rears its ugly head the moment his sweeping gaze finds the picture frame. Your smiling face stares back at him behind the glass. There are other people, but he can only see you. Can only smell you and hear the tinkling sound of your voice as you say his name. His pace becomes faster, breath heavier as he imagines how it’d sound to hear you moan it. How it would feel to have your lips on his neck and your hands on his body. An audible choking noise echoes in the emptiness of the room as Choso’s free hand cups the weight of his balls. As if the movement was unintentional on his part, shocking him with the warmth of his palm and he has to tighten his fist against the base of his cock to keep from cumming. The movement doesn’t work in his favor, the elastic of his pants rubbing against the sensitive underside and making his hips stutter on a broken whine as his orgasm washes through his body. Hot lashes of cum paint the skin of his hips and the front of his pants. Whimpering, he quickly picks up his pace in an effort to prolong the sensation, hand tightening around his balls and eyes dotting with tears as he breaches into the feeling of oversensitivity and forces his body to continue. It’s not fair, none of it is fair. He shouldn’t be so sensitive, biting back a whine he continues lazily fucking his fist, hips arching into the rough feel of it. Surely, you’d be so much softer, your mouth, your hands, your pussy. The thought alone is enough to make his hips jerk up in search of something more. By the time he’s finished torturing himself, cum has started to dry on his pants.

It’s not a big deal, Choso knows exactly where you keep tissues. Knows that once he wipes himself down, he needs to take the evidence with him, stuff the mess into his own pocket. He’ll hesitate as he goes to leave, a sickening urge to stay roiling in the pit of his stomach. Just like always.

The cycle will inevitably repeat itself. You’ll leave, he’ll invite himself in, curse as he gets droplets of cum on your sheets, and leave once the excitement has worn off. You’ll return and give him that same warm smile you always save for him.

Deep down he’s wondering how long until your face twists in disgust. How long until you find out who he truly is. His cock twitches at the thought, blood shooting to his pelvis, his fingers clamp hard around the base as he tries to catch his breath, suddenly winded at the thought. Lazily, he starts pumping again, the only noise being the wet glide of his fist and whispers of your name spoken into the cool night air.

[shadowdaddies]

Hi! I'm relatively new to ACOTAR, only about halfway through ACOWAR. I adore your writing style! Can I please request a fic where Cassian's mate tells him that she's pregnant with his child?

Hi love! Welcome to the chaos that is the maasverse🎉 and thank you so much!

I also have this other request so I went off of this concept:

Illyrian Baby

Cassian x f!Reader

Tears brimmed your eyes as you left Madja’s office, the healer having no good news for you today. You’d been seeing her for years now, trying different tonics and monitoring your cycle in hopes of finally conceiving with Cassian. 

Your mate was notably vocal about wanting a family of his own, to be the father he never had for his own children. It made you sick to your stomach, thinking that you might not ever be able to give that to Cassian. The kindest male you’ve ever known, the most deserving to be a great father - how would he stay with you if you couldn’t give him those things?

Trudging through the door to your home, you made a cup of tea and bundled under the blankets of the couch, thankful that Cassian was gone for training at the Illyrian camps and wouldn’t see you like this. 

Days passed of pacing around your home, trying to find the words to tell Cassian that you still weren’t pregnant. The anxiety was making you physically ill - the smell of certain foods making you nauseous, waking up sick some mornings. 

Feyre came over one morning to check on you, her soft voice ringing through the halls as she entered your home. Wiping away the tears - your emotions felt like they were out of control lately - you pulled yourself together and headed downstairs to greet Feyre. 

“I brought soup, and some medicine from Madja,” Feyre called out, before looking up to see you enter the room. The High Lady froze, nostrils flaring and jaw slack as she gaped at you. A sudden burst of laughter escaped her, her hands clapping over her mouth as tears filled her own eyes. You shifted your weight uncomfortably, thinking you must look even more terrible than you thought for Feyre to react like this.

Sensing your confusion, Feyre lowered her hands. Smiling as she shook her head at you, your friend whispered the news that turned your world upside down. “Your scent... You’re pregnant.” 

Tears brimmed your eyes as your emotions threatened to spiral again - and the realization dawned on you. The  turbulent emotions, the aversion to smells, the morning sickness - you were pregnant. Feyre summoned Madja, who came to your home straight away and confirmed the pregnancy. 

With Cassian due to return from Illyria the next day, Feyre informed Rhys that she would stay the night with you, and the two of you spent the evening preparing for Cassian’s return.

When your mate arrived the next day, you stayed upstairs so that he wouldn’t be able to scent the pregnancy. Cassian called out for you as he barreled through the door, eager to be reunited with his mate. “Sweetheart, are you home?” Holding in your excitement from flowing through the bond, you waited for Cassian to find the clues.

Footsteps sounded throughout the downstairs as he found your letter with instructions, sending him on a scavenger hunt through your home. Biting your lip as you laughed at the sound of Cassian’s shouting, knowing he must have put together the hints. 

The sound of a large warrior bounding up the stairs echoed through the house, and Cassian threw the door open, his hands full with the tiny shoes, onesie, and the blanket you’d embroidered “Illyrian Baby” into, much to Feyre’s amusement.

“Are you serious?” Cass whispered, holding out the items in his hands, disbelief on his face as he slowly approached where you were seated on the mattress. 

You nodded at him, a small joyful laugh escaping you. “You’re going to be a daddy.” The General collapsed between your legs, kissing your stomach through your dress as he cried. You ran your hands through his hair, tilting his face to yours as you confirmed again, “we’re going to have a baby, Cassian.” 

You didn’t lift a finger for the rest of the night, Cassian carrying you everywhere as he made dinner for you, checking in every couple minutes to ask what he could do for you. He ran a bath - insisting that he join you, and wash your hair - all the while discussing potential baby names, already planning how you would rearrange your home to accommodate for a child. 

A peaceful smile graced your features as you closed your eyes, and for the first time in too long allowed yourself to relax - enjoying the warm embrace of your mate, the father of your child. You were certain that there would be no child as loved and cherished as yours.

[purplekiwis]

Summary: It's no secret that as a figure skater, you're fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty... and your ex's status as a player isn't helping much either.

Genre: Exes to Lovers (Enemies to Lovers if you blink 😉)

Warnings: it's angsty and smutty

Wordcount: 8K

A/N: i'd like to thank @sucker4angstt for requesting this concept! it was a blast to work on and i hope you guys have as much fun reading it as i had writing it 🤍

THIS IS A 2 PART SERIES | PART 2 IS HERE ❄️

OTHER WORKS BY ME

“You wanna do black again? Didn’t we do that last time?” Niall inquired as he switched off the car’s ignition.

You had just shown him a dress you had found the night before in hopes he would like it, but as you had already been expecting, he claimed black was boring and wouldn't stand out among the competition. “Well, yes but this one’s a different style from the last one. It would go well with our song.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try something new sometimes, you know? Like white or blue… perhaps even red?” He suggested as he removed both your skating bags from the trunk and placed them down by his feet.

You hid a sigh while you took your bag from him. It never got easier to admit that you had to consider the price before picking the costume. For whatever reason, there was always a hint of embarrassment associated to that admission. Needless to say you would also prefer to wear a bright colored outfit with lots of glitter and transparencies, but those were simply out of reach for your budget.

“We did red once already, that time we did Moulin Rouge.” You reminded him as you walked side by side, each of you steering your own carryon.

“Hm, that’s true. I’d forgotten about that.”

You hadn’t been lucky enough to land a parking spot right at the front of the sports centre that morning, which sucked big time given how chilly it was outside. Getting up early for practice was never fun, but during the winter months it got almost unbearable. Especially when the sky was all hazy and mostly black by the time you woke up.

“How would you feel about like, a nude?” You proposed, despite the fact that you weren't really fond of the color.

“From you?” Niall sniggered. “Thanks but I think I’ll have to pass.”

“Come on, can't you be serious for like 2 seconds? This is important.” You huffed, pretending like you hadn’t found his little joke amusing. “Also, um... I know this is probably like super annoying for you but my budget’s kinda tight right now, so if you’d be willing to repeat one of our previous outfits, that would be awesome.”

Niall laughed a bit. “Stop with that nonsense, will you? It's not annoying and of course I don't mind. Sides, it's not like it'll even matter what we wear. We'll do so well that the judges won't even think to pay attention to our outfits.” He then turned to you and stated, “...That being said, I still don't want to wear black again.”

“Aff, fine.” You grumbled. “Which one do you want to wear then?”

“Hm.. I dunno, actually.” He took a moment to reflect. “How about we just start naming them until we find one we both agree on?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Ready?” He asked, you nodded. “1, 2, 3…”

“Pink.”

“Turquoise.”

“Navy.”

“Green”

“Orange.” You said it in unison, but your faces immediately turned down in distaste after. “Nevermind the orange. I still don't know what we were thinking when we picked those.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You admitted through a deep breath in. “I’d be fine with the green though, as long as it's the dark one.”

“Make it the medium dark, and it’s settled.”

You reached an agreement right as you were approaching the entrance of the sports centre, where some figure skaters you had grown familiar with over the years were gathering. Surprisingly, neither unpacking nor warming up.

“Are you guys all done already?” You asked them as you dashed towards your usual warm-up area. It was spacious and had a canopy that kept you dry in case it rained. “I didn’t realize we were late...” You earned Niall's judgmental stare with your sentence. He had been rushing you all morning, but you were sure you weren't that late. As far as your calculations were concerned, you were just in time for your first warm-up.

In days like these, it was always very tempting to skimp on the off the ice warm-ups and go straight to the rink, but with the championship right around the corner, neither you nor Niall would take that risk. Because although you also competed individually, it was as a pair that you really stood out. Your journey to nationals depended on you both, and you weren't going to jeopardize all that for being too lazy to stretch.

“Don’t bother starting.” One of the skaters, Natalia, intervened when she realized what the two of you were up to. “The Emperors booked early morning.” She clarified, upon noticing your perplexed looks.

“They did what-” You gasped, all the more startled.

“They can’t do that.” Niall said after you, and the look on his face was as distressed as yours. “They already take up most of the rink’s time!”

“When their stupid coach came we tried to tell him that, but he refused to listen. He didn't even pause- just walked straight through as if we weren't here.” The new skater jumped into the conversation. You hadn't officially met her yet, but you knew her name was Mei, a.k.a the girl Niall had been crushing on for weeks.

Redness engulfed his cheeks as soon as she looked his way, but he still managed to respond, albeit stutteringly. “Yeah, I'm not too surprised… Y/N’s ex plays on the team and he always used to say the guy was a moron.” You pointed out Niall’s oversharing by flashing him a chastising look, but he was too engrossed in Mei's beauty to notice your death stare.

You cleared your throat, now feeling a touch hot in the face too, before turning to the remainder of the group, “Have you spoken to couch Jo or Paul? Aren't they supposed to come teach the kids right after we leave?”

“Yeah.” Natalia sighed. “Apparently they’ve had to rescheduled some of the skating classes but nothing much. Basically it's fine for everyone but us.”

“So what time can we come now?” The Emperors could have taken your place, but surely they had to have left a gap somewhere.

“That’s the thing.” Mei explained. “There’s no time apart from the lessons we have with our coaches. A spot is available in the afternoon, but that's just not feasible for anyone.”

“What? No! How’s that even allowed?” Your question was hardly noticed by the other skaters as they were preparing to leave. "Wait- Where are all of you off to? We can’t just leave; have to solve this.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Mei groaned. She was clearly on edge, as was everyone else in the group. “We’ve already tried. We won't get to solve anything right now, so staying here is a waste of time.” She grabbed her skating bag off the floor. “You can still try if you want, though. Didn’t you used to mess around with one of them? Maybe he could help.”

You scoffed as you watched Mei leave with the rest of the group, “Unbelievable...” You commented with Niall, only to find him looking at you like he agreed with her. "Oh no, not you siding with her. Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, she’s got a point…” As he went on, a goofy smile spread over his face. “I can't believe she actually spoke to me. This is crazy... and she’s even hotter up close…” Rolling your eyes, you started gathering both your bags in a tacit plea to leave. “Please, Y/N... can you go talk to him? I don't wanna stop seeing her now that she's speaking to us.”

You took a long, deep breath.

You really weren't in the mood to do all that, but unfortunately your ex happened to play team captain for the hockey team... so perhaps, if you could flip the tables and get him to be on your side, there was a small possibility his opinion could give you some advantage when it came to straightening everything out.

That was what you needed to remind yourself of.

There was a deeper purpose to this than Niall's desire to speak with Mei. It was important for everyone. None of you could afford to miss practice now that the championship was about to start. The time you spent practicing with your instructors was good but having time to skate freely every morning was critical.

“Fine. I'll go, but you’re coming with me.”

You had wanted Niall to come along for the emotional support, but that idea was quickly scrapped once the centre’s receptionist, who was acting a lot more standoffish than usual, refused to let you walk past the front desk.

It occurred to you that his behavior might have something to do with how Mei and the rest of the skaters handled that morning’s dreadful news. If that was the case, his mood was about to get worse because you were planning to bring up the issue as well… until Niall stepped in, “Oh, we're not here to skate. We’re here because my friend thinks she dropped her bracelet on her way out of the rink yesterday. We just wanted to see if we can find it.”

“I have orders not to let anyone in right now. If you want, you can come by after eight to look for it.” He answered monotonously, his gaze fixed on the computer screen.

“Ah, we have school at eight; we can't come at that time I'm afraid.” Niall’s revelation elicited no response. So, after a moment of awkward stares, you continued,

“If we don't go now, someone else might find and keep it.” The man’s expression told you that he thought you were being a nuisance, but you kept playing by Niall’s script and added, “The bracelet was a gift from my mother. It has a lot of sentimental value...”

Finally, just as you were beginning to lose hope, he sighed and said, “If it's just the bracelet you're looking for I'll let you go find it, but he stays.” His head motion indicated that he was referring to Niall.

“I’m sure it would be easier if we searched together...”

The man sat back with a sigh. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I'm simply doing what I've been told by one of the coaches after he got harassed by your little squad at the door… which is not to let anyone in the rink while the boys are there. I'm already making an exception for you when I shouldn't, so it’s either this or you'll come back later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t been informed that the hockey coaches were now in charge of the place...” He ignored your provocation, but his gaze was drawn to the agitated tapping of your nails on the counter. “You know what, it's fine. I get it. I’ll be quick, oh- and don't worry, I'll be careful not to harass the local royalty while I’m there.”

You didn’t stick around for further verbal cues, just swiped your membership card, walked past the barrier and turned toward the rink. It was only after you got there that you realized how angry you were. Knowing that the hockey team was being treated like kings and given the freedom to do whatever and however they pleased with zero regard for anyone else was one of the most infuriating things you'd ever witnessed. It wasn't exactly surprising taken they always got prioritized for being the bigger sport, but they had never taken things this far before. This situation was ridiculous, and you weren't going to tolerate it.

So although you agreed to come speak with your ex, now you were actually hoping to speak directly with the coach instead. Maybe your efforts were in vain, but you had to, at least, try to get your point across. There was only one problem - he was nowhere to be found, and you didn’t know anyone else on the team well enough to ask on his whereabouts.

Speaking of the team, the guys were dressed in practice gear, which was far more basic than their game jersey’s, but still had the same colors of red and gold. You assumed they hadn't started properly training yet, as they were still warming up with crossovers and pivots.

Among the many broad-shouldered athletes there, your eyes were immediately drawn to the player whose number you knew best: 77.

Not that you’d ever need a number to identify him.

Even with hockey armor covering his frame, you knew his body’s contours like the back of your hand. Picturing the tousled curls hidden under his helmet, the green of his eyes, and the curvature of his lips was easy. A little too easy.

“Styles,”

He turned when he heard your voice. His eyes were obscured by the visor, but you could swear you saw his brows quirk. “Y/N,” He didn't look too surprised by your presence. In fact, he looked more amused at you yelling his name than at you being there.

After a few seconds of skating by he came closer, and as he stopped next to the board, his skates scratched the ice a little too harshly for someone who wasn't aiming to make a spectacle of himself. You weren't wowed by his effort. You could execute that same slide better and with greater polish if you wanted to.

“Where’s your coach? I’d like to have a word…”

He signaled the rooms on the top level with his head. “Up there in a meeting. Why, what do you want from him?”

“Not that it's any of your business but it looks like there’s an issue with the rink’s scheduling.”

You saw the grin he was trying to hide. “Oh, what’s that?”

“The skaters had it for 6am, as usual.” You attempted to highlight. “Ergo, you shouldn't be here.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I don't think we would be here if you had booked it, would we? If we took the spot, it was because it was available.”

“Well yeah, because we’ve never had to book it - because we had a spoken agreement and we’ve always followed through on it.” He didn't respond, nor did he appear very willing to engage in the conversation you were trying to have. “Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” His voice felt harsh and didn't quite fit the easy stance he showed as he shrugged. “I'm just not sure of what you want me to say – I’m sorry? Does that make you feel any better?”

His cynical tone didn't sit well in your stomach, but your face didn’t let that show. “Okay, look - I get it. You’re in the league and you need to practice, but that doesn’t give you the right to take early mornings from us. It's only two hours out of the entire day, couldn't you just let us keep them?”

He appeared somewhat bored by your approach, but not completely. His facial expression had an edge to it. He was irritated. “It wasn’t me who made the call. If you want to lash out at someone, try the guy at the front-desk or whatever. I can't help you.”

He was really starting to piss you off, but worse than that, there was a part of you that was getting legitimately hurt by his indifference. He used to be one of your biggest supporters, and now it was like he simply didn't care. “Even if it wasn't you who made the decision, you knew better than anybody that this would disrupt our practice and you still didn't say anything.”

“Why would I? Wasn't it you who just said it's none of my business? If you have an issue, it’s your place to handle it - not mine.”

“Harry, your stupid team already takes up most of the rink’s time! Our qualifying season starts in two weeks, we need to practice.”

“Well, I'm not sure if the news has reached your self-centered little world yet but our season has already started, and we have big games coming up. So sorry to break it to you but we're going to take all the extra rink time we can get.”

“Not unless I can’t do something about it.” Your implied threat was meaningless. You had no plan whatsoever... apart from the original one to get on Harry’s good side, which had just been blown. You'd figure something out though, anything to ensure they wouldn't get their way. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

He got closer, coming right up to your face as he leaned over the border and uttered one last, quiet “Gladly,” before skating away to rejoin his team.

The bleachers were packed by screaming fans in replica shirts. 

The big day had come. The Emperors were playing their first home game of the season and as the concentration of bodies suggested, a considerable portion of people had come out to witness it firsthand… including you and Niall.

After what the fuckers had done to you, you almost felt like a traitor for showing up to their game. However, you had purchased tickets weeks ago and since you had spent the money, you figured you might as well come and root for them to lose. That worked for a while, until they actually started losing.

As soon as the visiting team scored a goal, it became impossible to disguise who your heart was really rooting for. The Emperors were jackasses, that was beyond dispute, but they were the local team and it was hard to cheer for strangers when the other players were people you had “known” for years.

“You haven’t touched your pretzel…”

Niall's comment drew your gaze away from the game for a millisecond. “I don’t want it right now, I’m not hungry.” Your reply came out garbled due to the way your cheeks were getting smothered between your hands.

“It’s gonna go cold if you don’t eat it now...”

“You’re right. Here- you can have it.”

“You sure?” His hesitant smile expanded when he heard a fragmented “Yes” fall from your mouth. The “Thanks,” that followed was mumbled around a large bite. “Oh man, this is nothing like the hot dogs they sell here.” He chewed as he spoke, “Have you ever had one? They always put sauerkraut on them and it’s like, who even likes sauerkraut that much, you know what I mean?”

“Mhm,” you hummed again, eyes fixed on the local team captain and the player battling him for the puck. "Get off his ass, shithead." you blurted as another player floated over and pushed him against the board. It was the same player who kept harassing him throughout the first two frames of the game. There had already been insults, menacing stares, and provoking shoves exchanged. This wasn’t going to end well.

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore, don’t you?” Niall asked after a lengthy pause in conversation, what caught you off guard.

“Don’t have to do what? Eat sauerkraut?” You questioned back, a little confused.

“Get nervous for the games.” He clarified, which sort of took you by surprise. You weren't aware that your feelings were showing that clearly. “Since, you know…  you and Styles aren’t a thing anymore and all. You don’t have to get all anxious over him.”

Your focus immediately diverted from the rink as a result of Niall’s remark. “This isn’t about him, Niall. It’s about the game- I want us to win.”

“Uh huh… because of your deep love for hockey, I assume.” His face lit up with laughter. “Not any of the players in particular, just the sport itself.”

“Shut up- Oh, that son of a... oh, great! Now he's starting a fight...” You muttered inwardly once you saw Harry's gloves hit the ice first, followed by the other player's.

The initial strikes to the head sent the helmets flying. Thereafter, it was all direct blows. The two boys faced each other angrily as they dodged and struck each other with bare hands and faces. The crowd roared loudly as the violence between the two players increased. “God, I hate when they fight.” You admitted, despite it being nothing new. “Why does it always take the referees so long to split them?”

“Ah, well, you know that's how the game works. The crowd loves it.”

“No, I know that but… it’s barbaric.”

The other player’s left hand was gripping Harry's jersey as if he was going to rip it apart, while the right continued to strike jabs in his stomach. But Harry didn't cut loose; he whacked him with the same force. They both went down, and just like that there was blood on the ice. A laceration over Harry's eyebrow had resulted in what looked like a crimson mask covering his face, most likely caused by his helmet’s visor as it leapt out of his head.

As the boys hit the floor the referees finally intervened and broke up the fight.

But the two were back on the ice as if nothing had happened after spending five minutes in the penalty box. Harry’s cut was no longer bleeding, but the bloodied towel he left behind served as a solid memento.

“I swear my Nan is more flexible than you.” You teased Niall as he tried to strike the mermaid pose. He was struggling, so his tongue was sticking out.

“You can't compare your Nan's yoga to mine. She's been doing it for longer than I've been alive!” He grumbled as he attempted to move his elbow to the proper position by imitating your posture. “I’ll have you know though, that I've never had any complaints on my flexibility before. In fact, it’s what I usually get the most compliments on aside from my-”

“Shhhh.” You were shushed by the yoga instructor for speaking over the soothing music.

You had never taken a yoga class before but considering your time on the rink had been compromised, you figured it might be a good idea to give it a shot since it still allowed you to practice your balance and flexibility.

You'd gotten cocky and chosen advanced yoga, assuming it wouldn't be too difficult to keep up given your figure skating background. Big, big mistake. You were living it up at first… however, as the class progressed and poses like 'the crow' and 'the flying pigeon' began to appear, you found yourselves admiring everyone rather than trying to keep up.

As a result, you were only doing the same five poses over and over, which got boring really quick. Besides, you weren’t even mastering the intermediate ones...  as Niall was struggling with flexibility, while you were having trouble with all the arm strength exercises. That was when you started to get chatty, even though you were well aware that it wasn't appropriate.

You'd already been told to be quiet twice, so when your phone went off in the middle of class you didn't hesitate to roll up your mats and leave, figuring you had already caused enough disturbance.

“We'll never be allowed back there again...” Niall remarked on the way to the locker rooms. “Did you see how she looked at us when your phone rang? That wasn’t very Yin and Yang of her…”

“Well… to be fair, we were being incredibly rude...” You checked your phone for the notification you had received during class. “Speaking of rude, you won't believe who was texting me just now…”

“Who?” He realized who you were referring to when you made a face and pointed your head toward the rink. The yoga classes were held in the same section, the one dedicated to indoor sports. Despite being on opposite ends, you knew the hockey team was there because you had passed by and heard them. “No way... are you serious? What did he say? Does it have anything to do with the rink?”

“He didn't say... just asked if I could meet him at that cafe we used to go to after class. He says it’s urgent.”

“Do you need a ride? I can drop you off on the way back from class; it's close by.”

“No, don't worry. I end class earlier than you today, so I can take the shuttle like I used to.” You were guessing Harry had remembered you had a similar school schedule on Fridays, which is why he didn't bother telling you a time. He knew you would be there by 3pm... supposedly. “I don’t know if I’m going, though… I don’t know what he wants.”

“Yes you are.” Niall asserted, as if the idea of you not going was the most insane thing ever. “What if it’s something to do the rink?”

“What if it’s nothing to do with the rink?”

“No, come on… it has to have something to do with it.” He insisted. “I know you want to go; you're just nervous about seeing him.”

“No, the only reason why I am nervous is because he isn’t telling me what he wants. It's weird.”

Niall paused for a moment as you reached the door for the women’s locker rooms. His face let you know he was debating whether or not to tell you what was on his mind. He decided to do so. “It's obviously up to you whether you go or not, but if I were you I’d go just to see what he wants. You don't have to sit there all afternoon if you don't want to... and if things get too awkward, you can text me and I'll show up there to save you.”

“Right.” You replied even though you knew it wasn't the most appropriate answer.

You realized it would be stupid not to go knowing it could be about the rink. There was a good chance it was, which was supposed to get you excited, but in reality was doing the exact opposite. Selfishly, you wanted this to be about you and nothing else.

As petty as it sounds, you wanted to get there and hear Harry admit that he missed you, that karma had gotten him good, or something else that made you feel like your suffering had been worthwhile even if you were never getting back together. That was why you were afraid to go… because you would be disappointed if he looked as fine as he did last time.

“Does that mean you're going?” Niall asked, cutting through the pitiful thoughts racing through your mind.

You chewed on your lower lip. “I guess.”

You saw him as soon as you walked into the cafe.

He was sitting alone, but there was a girl “standing” next to his table. To refer to that as plain standing would be inaccurate. You knew what she was doing, and most of all you knew what for.

She was showcasing the best she had to offer. That was why her hips were pushed back, and her gut was pinched so firmly.

She fixed her hair over her shoulder, and you got a glimpse of her face. She was hot enough to get you to stand up straighter, but not to make you wonder if you should have spent more time getting ready before coming.

You stayed back and waited for their interaction to be over. For you, this was nothing new. You’d grown so used to watching girls fawning over him that it rarely made you jealous anymore, despite it always being slightly unpleasant to witness.

The bright side was that experience taught you when to worry… and now wasn't the time.

She appeared to be asking a question about game tickets, but you could tell by the look on Harry's face that he wasn't all that interested in chatting with her. He looked like he wanted to be left alone. He was doing that thing that he used to do when random people approached him back when you were together - he smiled politely but barely said a word.

It took the girl some time to catch on, but eventually she got the hint. He wasn’t interested, and no amount of flashing her cleavage would change his mind. She stepped away, and you took it as your cue to walk over.

“Hey.” You greeted as you got to the table, hurrying to remove your scarf and jacket before you took the chair facing Harry’s. Not that there was any other option to pick, anyway.

“Hi.” He smiled slightly, before pushing one of the coffee cups on the table towards you. “I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered you a drink...”

His gesture brought you back to memories frozen in time, but you didn't allow yourself to linger on them too long. You and Harry used to meet at this coffee shop all the time. In fact, it was once one of your favorite places in town but being here now only brought back sensations you'd rather avoid. Still, for the sake of politeness, you accepted his drink. “Oh, um… thanks. You didn't have to get me anything...”

“I know I didn’t.” He took a sip of his cup, and you impulsively mimicked his action. The coffee which used to taste like love, suddenly seemed almost too dull to drink. “You still like those, right?”

You wondered if he had noticed your grimace. “Yeah, it's what I always used to get from here. I'm surprised you remember…”

“I guess I haven't had enough time to forget most things about you yet.” A twinge of discomfort shot through your chest at his words. You suspect he caused it on purpose. “I have a sharp memory.”

“I'm not sure that'll last if you keep hitting your head like that.” Your point was lost on him, which kind of made you regret making it in the first place. “You've got a bruise… on your...”

“Oh, that.” He tried to mask it with a quick ruffle of his hair, but you could still see it. “That's nothing, forget about it.”

“I wouldn't exactly call it nothing, when-”

“I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about that.” He intervened before you finished. “There’s something I need from you.” He admitted, crossing his arms over the table.

“'All right then, what is it?”

“That jersey I gave you, do you still have it?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need it back.” His request caught you completely off guard. Your mouth opened and tried to speak, but nothing came out. “Mine got ripped and the spare I gave you is the only one I have left.”

When you finally spoke, it was quickly and angrily. “I'm not giving it back.” You said, and Harry let out a groan. “You never mentioned I was only allowed to keep it until you needed it back. It looked like a gift to me.”

Another sigh followed, this time deeper and more frustrated. “That’s because it was a gift… but now I need it, and I'm pretty sure you're not wearing it, so what difference does it make?”

You crossed your arms and shook your head. “You can't ask for gifts back, that's nasty.”

Why, of all things, did he have to ask you to give back his jersey? It was the most special gift he had ever given you. And now just because he never got to see you wear it, it automatically meant you didn't care for it?

That was simply not true!

Behind closed doors, his jersey was still a favorite.

Frankly, the only reason why you stopped wearing it during games was because you thought it would be demeaning not to. It would have been weird for everyone, plus you didn't think Harry would appreciate you walking around with his number on your back when you weren't together anymore.

Not that people thinking he had a girlfriend would have been enough to keep any hookups from happening if he wanted them to. When it came to Harry, it seemed nothing was ever enough to discourage girls from trying their luck. It wasn't just because he played on the hockey team. That was a bonus, but it was insignificant compared to the rest. His looks, his character, his sense of humor… from the surface, Harry looked like a catch, and finding that he was everything but, hurt. You still loved him, so it hurt. You hated how it all still hurt.

“I'm not asking for any of the other stuff back. I'm asking for my jersey because I desperately need it; else, I wouldn't be asking.” He explained as you sat there, feeling your chest squeeze as you half-listened to his reasoning. “Please Y/N, this is sort of critical for me.”

His slightly pouted lips suggested that he had also not forgotten how to sneak his way inside your heart. It wasn't a difficult task, but it was aggravating how well it still worked.

The worst part is that he didn't even do it on purpose; it was just the way his face looked whenever he wanted something and was told no. It was the same face that managed to get your panties to come off that one time right before a game, despite your fear of getting caught.

“Fine. I'll give your stupid jersey back,” When he smiled in relief, you halted your words, but only for a moment. “Under one condition.” His nostrils flared as he took a long breath, gearing himself up for what you were about to say next. “You'll have to convince your coach to give us our ice time back, otherwise you can forget it.”

“Y/N, can we not do this right now, please? I already told you that I had nothing to do with that shit.”

Harry’s reaction left you feeling oddly disappointed. Not angry, but close to it. That was when you realized you had made the same mistake again. You had been expecting him to be concerned, or at least to act as if he cared. It wasn't his job to care. It wasn't his job to make sure you were happy.

Nonetheless, Harry could still be the key to getting what you wanted.

It didn't feel good to have to coax him into backing you, but it was your duty to do so for Niall and the rest of the skaters. The hockey team had crossed a line, and if this was the only way to stop them, so be it.

He might not be thrilled to help you, but he had the means to do so. If he wanted to get a favor, he would have to do one for you as well. In the end, it was only fair.

“I believe you, but you're the team captain, and I know he'll listen to you.” You took another sip of the coffee you had almost forgotten was there. “I'm only taking a favor for a favor… sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll see what I can do.”

You cocked a brow at his reaction. “That's not enough. If I can't see any improvements, the deal is off.”

Harry stretched in his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck while he mused. “That's called extortion, you know? It’s a felony.”

Your lips curled as you snorted at his remark. “It's not my fault you got in a fight and need a new jersey; I'm simply taking advantage of the circumstances. Besides, you aren't so innocent yourself... or did you think I couldn’t tell you were trying to butter me up earlier by getting me my favorite drink?”

Harry’s eyes widened with what looked to be confusion and amusement... and perhaps even a little happiness. “You were at the game?”

Your face got warm. “Oh, uh… yeah. I went with Niall. He likes watching sports, so...”

“Ha, I see...” His face turned expressionless. “You're wrong about your drink, by the way... I wasn’t trying to butter you up, I just thought it'd be a nice gesture.”

“Yeah, I guess...” You smiled a bit, before deciding to congratulate him on his team's victory. “You played well yesterday. Everyone went crazy when you scored that goal at the end.” The moment you finished talking, you noticed Harry was slouching in his chair, just staring at you. It was almost trance-like, the way his eyes weren’t able to stop smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked, but then in a sudden move, he got up, picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I have to get going. I've got homework.”

You didn't really buy his excuse, but you also didn’t question it since you knew he wouldn't tell you whatever it was that was on his mind. “Yeah, okay.” You said instead, despite your enquiring face. “I guess I’ll see you...”

“Tuesday.” He completed. “I'm not sure what time yet, but I'll let you know.”

He was gone in an instant, leaving you alone with nothing but two unfinished cups of sad, tasteless coffee to keep you company.

Tuesday came by quickly.

Amidst the week's rush of lectures at university, runs and yoga classes with Niall, as well as preparations for the championship, you barely registered the days passing by.

As far as your agreement with Harry goes, you knew he had kept true to his word since there were no hulking hockey players in sight that day when you got to the rink.

Given that you had agreed on Tuesday, you didn't bother getting up early the mornings before to check on the rink's availability... and considering that you had the schedule for it over the weekend, you ended up booking that open spot in the afternoon right after lunch for free skating, even though it wasn't the most ideal.

The return to the ice on Tuesday morning, however, was a welcome relief.

The weather was peaceful… the ice was fresh, and you and Niall were able to make progress on a tricky jump that had been giving you the willies as of lately. It wasn’t perfect yet, but at least by the end of the morning you no longer felt like you were putting Niall through the danger of getting a neck fracture every time you leapt onto his shoulders.

Later that day, you met with your choreographer and he too noticed a positive shift in your performance. Having barely been on the ice over the week other than with your instructors, the shift was somewhat surprising... but it also made sense to an extent, since the break had allowed you to focus on other forms of training that you normally considered supplementary – like practicing balance and endurance.

After your choreography lesson, Niall invited you to go to the mall with him.

He wanted to check out a new tech store that had opened there, and since you had nothing better to do than finish the schoolwork you were procrastinating on, you accepted his invitation.

It was a fun afternoon, though you ended up spending much longer than you’d originally planned just browsing around. You barely noticed the hours passing, which was mostly Niall's fault because he had this extraordinary ability to beguile people with conversation topics that were seemingly random but made for weirdly interesting discussions.

His conversation starters almost always initiated with “Have you ever thought about...” and then something crazy would follow. It was impossible to stop the tangents after that, especially if he happened to touch on a subject that you considered to be interesting too. When that was the case, the two of you would just go on and on like a never-ending pit.

This happened several times that noon.

So, despite having been anxious as hell for the better part of the day knowing you’d be meeting up with Harry later, the whole thing had almost slipped your mind by the time he texted you asking if you'd at the centre soon.

“Shit.” You muttered while replying to his message saying you were on your way. “Can you drive me to the sports centre? I need to get something to Harry and I'm too late to walk there.”

“Yeah, sure.” Niall said as you began making your way to the escalator that took you to the underground parking lot. It had become less crowded since you arrived, so finding the car wasn't too difficult. “So what’s going, you’ve been talking with him again?”

“Nothing is going on. I told you about him asking for his jersey back. I'm surprised you forgot…”

“Ah! True, true.” He responded as he climbed into the driver's seat. “I just wanted to ask if there was anything else besides that. I know you aren't fully over him yet, which is understandable, but...” He paused, then let out a sigh. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I don't want my friend to end up in the same position again if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” You leaned back in your seat and stared out the window. “But don't worry, that's not going to happen. It's pretty obvious he doesn't like me, but even if he did…well, as the saying puts it… once bitten, twice shy.”

You talked about something lighter the rest of the way there. Niall wasn’t the type to bring up uncomfortable topics or force you to talk when you didn't feel like it. He usually just listened when you shared, which was good. He still gave his advice if you asked for it, but when it came to your situation with Harry, that wasn't what you needed, and he was aware of that.

What you needed was a friend that respected your decisions, but still cared about your well-being at the same time. A friend who understood you'd want to go meet your ex on your own but still offered to wait and give you a ride home afterward, so you didn’t have to walk alone at night.

The next day, the hockey team was playing outside of town, so there was a big, tall bus parked at the back of the sports centre.. and a shadowy man standing right next to it. The sky had already darkened so it was hard to see, especially on the side he was on, which wasn't getting bathed by the centre’s lights like the opposite one was.

Logically, you knew it must be Harry, but you didn't want to get too close without being sure. It could be the bus driver, or someone who happened to be there for something else. So instead of walking over, you stood at a reasonable distance and cast a wide-eyed glance in all directions, before lowering your gaze to your phone screen to text Harry letting him know you were outside.

But before you could send him anything, you were startled by his voice. “You can come over here, I don’t bite.”

You hoped the nighttime blindness worked both ways because you had jumped a little with the scare, which had to have looked a little stupid. “Oh, it is you! I couldn't tell from back there… it’s er…dark.”

If he saw you jump, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead he asked, “Did you walk all the way here by yourself?”

He seemed concerned that you had, which gave you a warm feeling in your belly. You didn't know what to make of it. “Oh, no. I was at the mall with Niall when you called so, he drove me. He’s parked at the front.”

“Hm.” Harry grunted dryly, which sparked a little awkward pause until he finally asked the dreaded question, “Do you have the jersey?”

“Oh yeah- one second... it's in my bag.” You smiled stiffly before you started rummaging around for it. “I’m not the best at doing laundry so the color might have gotten bit worn off from the washer, I hope that’s not an issue.”

“That’s fine.” He tossed the jersey over his shoulder, disregarding how neatly you'd folded it. “Thanks.”

“Okay, um… you must be pressed for time, so…”

“Not necessarily.” You found the coldness in his voice upsetting, and you couldn't figure out why he was stalling you when he obviously wasn't delighted to see you. “So how’s the situation with the rink, did it all work out?”

“It did.” It was a brief response, but you didn't feel like standing there chit-chatting just for the sake of it. “Thanks, for helping and… I guess for asking too.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said it brusquely, which irritated you even more. “Okay, um… I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Yeah, that.” You curled your lips in a weak smile, and Harry did the same before setting out to go back inside the building. Sadly, upon watching him leave, you couldn't resist calling his name to see his face again. “Hey, Harry-” His head jerked back at the sound. “Have a good game tomorrow. I hope you win!”

He looked like he was about to look away, but he didn’t. Instead, he returned your gaze, as though he was contemplating something. There was a strange glint in his eyes, and it lingered there as he began walking back towards you. And then, wordlessly, swiftly and without a warning, his hands reached for your face… and his lips reached for a kiss.

You squeaked in surprise at the feeling, but that was all there was to it. After Harry’s lips' familiar texture took over, there wasn't much room left for surprises. His body steered yours backwards against the side of the bus, sheltering you from any curious eyes peering through the windows above. “Harry, what-”

“Stop talking,” He muttered against your lips, still laying kisses in between. “I know it's messed up but if we both keep quiet, no one has to know it happened.”

Your throat was itching to respond, but his kissing made your head blurry. His mouth lowered to taste your neck, kissing every inch of skin it swept by. Then, just when you thought it couldn't be any better, his tongue slipped out and found a spot that had you gasping quietly.

The touch of his body was setting yours on fire, reviving it in a way it hadn't been in ages. Your kisses grew hotter and heavier, and before either of you could pause and wonder if this was right, Harry was already fumbling with the button of your jeans - and you were letting him.

“Do you still think of my hands?” You could feel the warmth of his words on your skin as his fingers slid in. His pace was slow, almost too slow, as if he was enjoying listening to the eagerness of your heartbeats. “I think of yours most times; whenever I play with myself, it’s always you… your hands... your mouth... your pussy…”

You both moaned as Harry reached the hot spot hidden beneath your panties. He rubbed a bit around it, in slow and steady circles. “I’ve always loved how fast it reacts to my touch… it gets so wet and creamy, and your clit… fuck, ‘s all puffy and twitchy…” His fingers pressed harder on it, stroking more firmly.

And shit, you were getting there already. So, so close that your entire body was twitching uncontrollably against his. “Please… d-don’t stop.”

“Already? Fuck baby… you haven't been giving it the proper attention lately, have you?” You shook your head in response to his question. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you had gotten to that point, but Harry was right; you hadn't had an orgasm in a while… and of course, he could tell. “I'm not gonna lie, I already suspected that she wasn't being well taken care of, but shit... that's just disgraceful, isn't it?”

You could hardly gather the strength to answer him. The only sound you could muster were a few high-pitched "mhmms" that were muffled against his neck. You groaned when he pushed his fingers in and pierced through your hymen a little too briskly. “Still?”

You felt a little offended by how surprised he sounded but acknowledged his question with a nod. “It’s okay, just breathe…” He whispered softly into your jaw as his motions became gentler.

This wasn’t the first time Harry had used his fingers on you, but usually it was more the outside bits that he focused on. He loved giving oral, so you did a lot of that… the fingering thing only came later once you started having conversations about him taking your virginity. If it were up to you, you’d no longer have it, but Harry had wanted to take things slow. He knew your mind was prepared, but he had wanted to make sure your body was too… just so the experience was painless and pleasurable for both, and not just for him.

The stretching burn you were feeling eased after a while. It still stinged a little, but it wasn’t a bad type of feeling. Slowly but surely, it was transforming into a different type of heat, the kind that spread through your abdomen and got you to spasm around Harry’s fingertips.

He was going to make you cum if he kept on doing what he was doing…

Which he didn't.

He stopped right before you got there.

You stared up at him in confusion, right before you started glancing around to make sure no one was walking out of one of the buildings or approaching the bus. “What- what happened? Why did you stop?”

“Stop with what, hm?” That feeling of disorientation pervaded your mind for a moment, but reality set in once he started re-tucking your jeans back into place with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

This was it.

He was done.

“That was a cute little warm up, wasn't it?” He shamelessly asked as he zipped up your fly. “It's a shame it had to end so abruptly… you seemed to be enjoying yourself... but don't get me wrong, this has been good fun for me too.”

With nothing to say or do, you just stood there astounded. You were torn between sobbing out of frustration, seeking an explanation, and simply leaving without uttering another word. It wasn't like whatever decision you made mattered anyway since none of those options would accomplish you anything.

The mess had already been made.

You shouldn't have allowed this to happen, and shouldn't have enjoyed it, but you did. It would have been much smarter to put a stop to things right the moment Harry kissed you but, despite the circumstances, you couldn't bring yourself to do it… and now, after everything he'd already done, he was ridiculing you.

When you looked at him again, you noticed that all of the traces of humor that had been gracing his features had dissipated. His gaze felt like steel, harsh and bitterly cold. “You should go. Niall's waiting for you, remember?”

His chest got shoved back by your clasped fists. “You’re an asshole!”

He tried to grab your wrists, but you shoved his chest again. It was enough to make him back down, although he still managed to get a hold of your arm. He used that to keep you from leaving. “I may be.” He spoke right in your ear. “Now you know what it feels like to be left stranded. I hope you fucking liked it as much as I fucking did.”  

PART 2

[exhaslo]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well! 💚

I was hoping a for a fluffy one shot of a reader who wants to cut their hair short and is second guessing themself and Miguel’s trying to convince them it’ll be ok bc it’s just hair right? If possible could the reader be gender neutral?

Thanks and have a good day/night!! 💚

Yea of course!!!! I actually just cut my hair short again recently (although the lady messed up and made it too short) but I got you. No worries!

Also, sorry this was so late. I'm trying to catch up on requests!!!

Warning: None, just fluff

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

New Year, New You.

At least, that was what you kept telling yourself for the past month. It had been a tough year and once the new year rolled in, you wanted to express your change. You wanted to give yourself the motivation to change and the way you were going to do that was to cut your hair short!

It had felt like hours since you stared at yourself in the mirror. Honestly, it was a good thing that it was a slow day at work. Your coworkers might kill you otherwise. Not like they could, you had the perfect guardian at work.

Your crush; your mentor; your friend; your tall, handsome coworker, Miguel O'Hara.

You worked at Alchemax as one of the marketing agents. Your job was mainly sitting at a desk and working on how to promote the company in a good light. Miguel was always checking up on you, wanting to help.

"I've passed by about...four times...and you've been engulfed in that mirror," Miguel said as he leaned over your little cubicle.

"Oh," You raised your head, staring at the tall man, "Sorry, I've been thinking."

"About?"

"I want to cut my hair short, but I just..." You sighed heavily, "I can't decide if I should do it or not. I want the motivation to make some changes in my life...but..."

"But it's just hair?" Miguel muttered in confusion. You glanced up at him, huffing your cheeks out,

"But it's my hair. Whatever style I decide, I'll be stuck like that for months."

"What styles have you looked at?" Miguel asked as he pulled a chair beside you, "Cutting your hair that short?"

"Is it bad?"

"No, it's just different," Miguel said as he looked at your computer, "You'll look fine no matter what style you go with."

"Even if I shave it all off?" You asked, leaning back into your seat. Miguel turned you towards him,

"Even if you shave it all off."

Honestly, you had to hold the tears back. Miguel was far too good for you and honestly, one of your goals this year was to ask him out. Hopefully, cutting your hair short will give you the motivation you need to do so.

"Honestly, I wonder how you're still single." You said with a laugh as you scrolled through different hair styles again.

"Who knows."

---------

It was finally the day. You had made the hair stylist appointment and arrived at your set time. Bonus, Miguel decided to join you for this momentous occasion. Something about being there more for your emotional support.

"Alright, how did you want your hair cut today?" The stylist asked while playing with your hair.

"Um, this short?" You asked hesitantly while showing him a picture. Miguel smiled towards you,

"Doing good," He whispered, picking up one of the maganizes.

"Alright, let's get this started. You have such lovely hair, but I can just see you rock this style!"

You couldn't help but smile as your heart raced a mile a minute. You took deep breathes as you watched your stylist start to cut your hair off. It was very nervous racking, but the deed was already starting. Little by little, your hair was being cut off.

"Wow, you look amazing!" Miguel said in awe as he approached from behind. The stylist chuckled, dusting off the little hairs,

"Stunning!"

"Oh my god. It's really gone," You whispered, touching your head, "It's all gone."

"I'll give you two a moment." The stylist said before taking off the cloak.

You were still in disbelief as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth agape as you touched your head. Miguel approached you, leaning over the seat you were in. A grin on his face as he grabbed your attention,

"Does this help with your motivation now?" He asked. You looked at him through the mirror,

"How bad would it be if I said no?"

"Haha, not bad at all. Take things one step at a time. At least you had the courage to do this. I could never." He said with a hum. You chuckled,

"Ah yes, Miguel the man with the fancy hair. Even the gods have blessed your natural looks." You said with a tease, getting up from your seat.

Miguel followed behind you as you went to pay. Before you even got your card out, Miguel took out some cash and paid for you. You tried to complain, but Miguel had already started to drag you out of the hair salon. He held your shoulders,

"It's fine. Why don't get go get some lunch to celebrate?"

---------

This was it. You were going to do it. You had stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant, telling yourself to confess to Miguel. This was your time to shine. You had finally given yourself the courage to ask him!

Stepping out of the bathroom, you nearly gasped as Miguel paid for both his and your lunch. That man was one step ahead of you again, but not this time.

"Miguel, let's go for a quick walk. I want to ask you something." You asked, tugging on his arm slightly. Miguel just smiled towards you,

"Of course."

Feeling your heart in your throat, you walked beside Miguel to the nearby park. This was it. This was your chance. Right as you were about to ask, you nearly held your breathe as Miguel wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

"What a nice day," He hummed. You just nodded,

"Yea...Great day for uh walking."

"Just walking?" Miguel chuckled, watching you grow more nervous, "Walking and walking."

"Yep. Walking." Man, was the sweat rolling down your neck, "Walking and asking...scary questions..."

"Like?"

"Like if...you like...walking like this with me?" You whispered, wondering what the hell you were even saying. Miguel raised a brow towards your statement,

"Are you asking if I can keep...walking with you?" He asked, his hand gently grazing your remaining hair, "New haircut give you the courage to ask while walking?"

"Oh my god. You are such a hot idiot. I'm an idiot too. I'm trying to ask you if you want to go out with me!" You whined. Miguel laughed towards you, sitting you down on a nearby bench,

"I wouldn't have gotten so close to you if I wasn't interested." He said with a grin, "So, are you okay with me walking with you and paying for your next haircut?"

"Gosh, I can't-" You just laughed and leaned back in the bench, "Yes. I will be happy to walk with you. But I can pay next time."

Miguel grabbed your hand, kissing the top of it before the two of you kept walking.

Perhaps getting this haircut was the best choice.

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

I hope you enjoyed!! Sorry for it being so short! And sorry again for this being so late!!!

[velvetstreets]

Can I request that the reader is an actress and she jokingly said she had a crush on Jack in an interview then he slides in her dms bc he saw that she was filming in a location close to one of his shows in the UK and the reader is akdhdlslslsjsk and goes and she goes backstage and then after his show she invites him out to a late dinner or something and he eats more than dinner 🤭🤭🤭

miss Blanca it’s an honor to write for u again my bby 🙇🏽‍♀️🫶

also I forgot they were in the UK for a moment and have Jack driving in this, which we all know that man would probably die driving on the other side of the road - but for this, we pretend! :)

None of the people in my writings portray the actual people I write about! It’s all a work of fiction, I have no idea how they are/act irl.

Warnings: basically fluff!! w a side of smut :), just some good ol’ making out, and oral sex (f!receiving)

—————————————— 

“So who’ve you got your eye on then, hmm?” Amelia questioned you as you sat across from her a chicken shop in London.

“Wha- I don’t have an eye on any-“ you started to laugh, feeling the camera pan in on you.

“Don’t lie, you’ve got to! You’re the breakout star of the year with your new film, and have caught the eyes of everyone, let’s be real!” She said smiling.

“Harry Styles?”

“He’s a sweetheart, but no.”

“C’mon, Drake?”

“No!” You laughed loudly. “He’s my older brother. Nothing going on there.”

“How about Jack Harlow?” She pressed you in a loving fashion.

“Yeah, Jack Harlow.” You tried to keep your composure, playing it off as a joke even though you did think he was cute.

“I’ve got an in with him you know? He took me out on a date once, different chicken shop though. Nothing further though, my eyes are more focused on Idris Elba.” She jokes.

The interview finishes filming after while later after some more banter and questions; and Amelia approaches you after.

“You know I can set you two up if you want? I have his number.” She offered, whipping out her phone and giving you an encouraged look.

“No, no that’s really okay.” You motioned at her, heat slightly running to your cheeks. “I’d rather get at him myself; or him at me. Not anyone in between.” You told her.

“Oh he’ll absolutely slide into your DM’s after seeing that. He won’t be able to resist you.” She laughed, giving you a wink before going to talk to her producers.

Nah, he’ll ignore it. It’s whatever! You thought to yourself, trying to release the nerves of Jack possibly reaching out.

—

The episode aired a few weeks later, and as you were getting ready for bed, you got a certain notification.

jackharlow wants to message you.

“Oh shit.” You said, eyes widening and sitting up in your bed. Immediately you called your best friend.

“Hey boo-boo, what’s up?” She answered the FaceTime snacking on a cookie.

“Yeah, so fuckin’ Jack Harlow just DMed me?”

“Bitch!-” She lept up out of her seat, pushing her face closer to the camera/ “What did he say?!” She yelled excitedly.

“I don’t know! I haven’t opened it yet.” You stared at your DMs, fidgeting with your nails.

“Bitch I swear if you don’t open it right the fuck now-“ she urged you.

“Wait, lemme just wait a few minutes, I don’t want him to see me see his message yet-“ you compromised with her as she rolled her eyes, but let you be. You finally decided to open it and see what he said.

He had sent the instagram post from Chicken Shop Date with a message.

jackharlow: 🙇‍♂️ it’s an honor to be crushed on by thee Y/N. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been crushin’ on you for awhileee now tho.

“Oh god.” You mumbled in shock.

“What? What did he say?” Your best friend pressed you excitedly. You repeated his message out as she let out a squeal.

“AHHH I told you he’s into you too!! I see you girl, shiiiit lemme start with them manifestations you’re always doin’, I’m tryna get me some dick too.” She smirked at you.

You chewed at your lip before deciding on how to respond.

y/ninstagram: Oh really? 🤔 Amelia should’ve mentioned that when she tried to give me your number.

jackharlow: did you take it? 👀

y/ninstagram: nah, I like when people ask me out themselves.

jackharlow: good thing I asked her for your number. Can I call you right now?

You swallowed, hard.

“He wants to call me right now.” You told your friend.

“SHUT UP! Oh my god, okay BYE! Go make babies with that fine ass white man- call me after, love you boo.” She squealed before hanging up.

You looked as his message, and grinned to yourself as you hearted his message.

Soon enough, your phone rang, and your heart was beating out of your throat at this point. You took a small breath and exhaled before answering his FaceTime.

He was laid against some pillows, probably in his hotel room, wearing a blue zip up sweatsuit. His curls framed his face perfectly, and his teeth basically sparkled as he smiled at you.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Jack.” He said.

You rolled your eyes and laughed a little.

“I know. Hi Jack, how are you?” You asked.

“I’m good, better now.” He confidently responded. “And you?” He asked.

“I’m good.. a little tired from work, but good nonetheless. This was also a nice surprise.” You flirted back at him.

He smiled widely, and softly laughed. “Well I’m not gonna hold you up too long, beautiful. I just noticed you’re in London, and was wondering if you would like to come see my show on Friday? We could hang out after and have dinner if you’d like?” He asked in a charming tone.

“Yeah okay, that’d be really nice.” You agreed, biting your lip to hold back your excitement.

“Great. I’ll see you soon then mamas, sleep well.” He said before you said your goodbyes and hung up.

“Oh god.. what’d I just get myself into?” You shook your head, smiling to yourself in disbelief.

—

It was now Friday, and Jack was almost done with his show. You had FaceTimed him all week before today, and as well as the two of you had hit it off; the sexual tension was almost unbearable. He had met you at the entrance and introduced you to everyone before the two of you hung out in the green room for a bit. The two of you bonded and flirted; playful comments and touches thrown here and there before it was time for Jack to perform. Something felt different about him; like the way he made you laugh, like genuinely laugh - not the fake laugh you used in interviews and when meeting upper business executives. Jack was caring and respectful, it was like you could see how soft his heart truly was, with every smile and witty comment with a glint in his eye - it was like you could see his heart glowing. He brought you backstage where you got to hang out with his friend Urban and a few others while Jack performed. You danced and sang along with everyone, and every once in a while, Jack would look over and smile brightly as he saw you having a good time. 

“I can see why he likes you.” Urban said as he stood next to you, cheering his best friend on from the sidelines. 

You turned to face him, a smile still on your face as you watched Jack perform from the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah? Hope it stays that way, ‘cause I kinda like him too.” You admitted to the blonde. 

“Oh no doubt. I haven’t heard him talk this much about a girl before; I can’t get him to shut up.” He laughed. “But I see why, now.” He turned to look at you, smiling. You blushed and lightly bit at your lips, looking over at Jack again. 

“Don’t gas me up too much now Urban, I may end up with an ego like your friend.” You joked, laughing with him as he put a friendly arm around you, continuing to sing and rap along with you as Jack put on an energetic show.

He finally finished with First Class, and the crowd was roaring. He thanked the crowd and made his way to the side of the stage where you stood.

“Sooo... what’d ya think? Not too bad I hope, I know I forgot some of the lyrics, but I think it was salvageable, no?” He said coming up to you; his dazzling smile and the dimples that accompanied it making you swoon.

“You were incredible, they loved you! Pretty sure they didn’t wanna let you go so soon.” You told him, eyes still wide at his work ethic and charisma he brought with him on stage. 

“Mmm, so kinda how I feel about you then?” He smoothly commented, blue eyes never leaving yours. 

“You still got me, we have dinner remember?” You countered, giving him a wink. 

“Of course, I could never forget. It’s all I’ve been thinking about this week.” He flashed another smile. “Let me just shower real quick, and then we can get going, yeah?” He said, and you nodded.

“I’ll be quick, I promise!” He yelled to you as he sprinted to his green room like his life depended on it, making you giggle. 

—

When he was ready, Jack told his team he wanted to take a car alone with you, and he guided you outside with him, holding your hand as the two of you talked about any and everything. He opened the door and helped you into the car before jogging over to the driver’s seat. 

“So I realized I never asked you what you wanted to eat- M’sorry about that, but there’s Italian, Chinese, or maybe you want something authentic since we’re in England-” Jack started to nervously babble as he pulled out of the parking lot before he felt you kiss his cheek. 

“No need to apologize Jack, I think it’s very cute that you wanna plan all of this out. But you must be tired no? D’ya wanna just go back to your hotel and order room service?” 

“I’m not that tired, plus I’m tryna treat this amazing girl with what she deserves; the very best.” He said. “Unless you wanna do that? I’m down for whatever you want, really.” He answered honestly. 

You gently kissed his hand that was intertwined with yours. 

“You’re too sweet. But I’ve always been a low-key, take out at home kinda girl. You can save the fancy dates for later on.” You smiled at him. 

“Room service it is then. Whatever my girl wants.” He grinned at you, changing course to his hotel. 

—

Jack basically ordered the entire menu, just so the two of you would have options, even though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he insisted. 

The two of you ate and talked, sharing laughs and playful touches as some Netflix show played in the background; neither of you paying attention to it anymore. You were now sitting next to him, his arm slung around the back of the couch, yearning to feel his touch, but you could tell he was ever the gentleman, not wanting to push any boundaries, but at this point, you were desperate to feel him. 

You turned you head and looked at him, and he did the same, meeting your eyes. You admired the golden, wispy, wiry tufts of facial hair that sculpted his face perfectly, his soft ringlet curls that made you want to lightly pull on them to see them spring back into place, his blue eyes - which were anything but cold, the slope of his nose, the freckled that adorned his cheeks; and finally, his pink lips that looked so soft and supple, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

You leant in and kissed him, with Jack kissing you back passionately. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to that all night, all week really.” He breathed out after you pulled away. 

“Me too, Harlow.” You giggled at him before he pulled you back in for another kiss.

What started out as innocent and mellow, the kiss diverged into a heated make-out session. You turned to straddle Jack as he helped you into his lap, his hands roaming your body, before he started to kiss your neck and down to your chest.

“Fuck, Jack-” you moaned out, his every touch electrifying you. 

“S’it feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, like he wasn’t about to combust with you on his lap. 

“So good.. really good,” you whimpered softly, starting to rut your hips into his, the friction from his jeans hitting against your clothed clit deliciously. 

You tugged at his curls, earning a low groan from him, as you pulled his head up from your neck, devouring him in another heated kiss. Jack moaned into your mouth, his tongue finding yours as you continued to rock against him.

“Bed, Jack- bed, please baby.” You whispered to the curly haired boy. 

“You sure? D-Don’t wanna make you feel like you gotta do anything-” He stuttered. 

“Such a gentleman, Jack Harlow.” You smiled at him before lowering your lips to his, pressing a soft kiss to him. 

“But, I want this, and by the strain I can feel through your pants, I’m pretty sure you want the same thing.” You whispered in his ear, making him shiver and groan. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me Y/N, I swear.” Jack said before picking you up in his arms, making you squeal and giggle as he brought the two of you to his bed. He gently tossed you onto the white sheets, and kissed you, slowly grinding against you as he held your head in his hands intimately. After a few more minutes of soft gasps and groans, and groping eachother, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please Jack, fuck me.” You told him. He stopped momentarily, and let out a sigh of defeat. You froze. Maybe he didn’t want this? Had you misconstrued his signals? Was he not into it anymore?

“Get out of that pretty little head of yours. I want to, believe me I want to - god I can’t even believe I’m saying no to you right now-” He started, eyes boring into yours with a genuine warmth. “But I like you too much, I really don’t wanna fuck this up with you by going too fast, too soon.” He explained. 

Your heart melted at his words, how the hell did this sweetheart of a man fall into your lap?

“Yeah, I get it.” You said. “We have plenty of time to get to that later on.” You agreed, despite your pussy scolding you for denying her what you could only imagine as ‘life changing dick’. 

Jack smiled at you, relived you understood where he was coming from. He kissed you again, savoring the taste of you, the feeling of you on him.

“Buuut...” he started, leaving warm hot kisses along your neck. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a lil’ fun.” Jack said as his hands began to run down your sides.

“Oh yeah?” You feigned obliviousness. “What’d you have in mind?” You asked. 

“Just wanna make you feel good, s’that okay baby?” He asked, continuing to kiss you. 

“Yes, more than okay.” You breathed out, his touch making your head spin.

“Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop, no questions asked.” He told you, squeezing your hand in reassurance. 

Jack kissed down your neck, kissing between the valley of your clothed breasts, down to where the skin of your tummy peeked out - kissing right above your navel, and all over your pooch. His hands slid up the skirt you were wearing and you momentarily thanked god in your head that you decided against pants today. His fingertips reached the lace of your panties, and he pressed his thumb against your clit through your panties. 

“Fuck- just like that, yeah.” You whined.

“So wet, shit-, this all for me?” He inquired

“Yes-, all for you Jack, just you.” You cried out as he continued to rub you through the thin material.

“Fuck Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me..” he groaned out, as he rutted his hips against the mattress, desperate for a little relief.

His fingers tucked into the waistband of your panties, and he looked at you to see if you had a change of heart. You smiled at him.

“Please Jack, make me feel good.” You bit your lip, pleading for him to make a move.”

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

Jack pulled your panties from your pussy, a string of arousal connecting between the two before it broke as he threw the black thong to the side.

Without warning, Jack dipped his head between your legs and began to eat you out.

“Fuck! Oh my god- yesyesyes-“ you cried out as he demolished your sweet pussy. His nose pressed on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing against you as he pulled at your hips to nuzzle his face closer against your cunt.

“God you taste phenomenal, of course you fuckin’ do.” He laughed before taking your hands in his intertwining your fingers as he dove back into your pussy, face first.

Jack alternated between licking and tongue fucking you, and sucking and kissing your clit, driving you crazy at how fucking good he was at this.

You felt your core tighten, your release close. “G-gonna cum Jack, fuck don’t stop-“ you moaned, your hands squeezing his as you rutted your hips against his face. Jack let go of your hands and settled them on your hips with a firm grip. He groaned and the vibration from his throat sent you over the edge.

“Oh, shitshitshit, ah!” You cried out, your hands in his hair now, pulling on his curls as you rode your orgasm out. Jack kept sucking on your clit, overstimulating you until you pushed at his head.

You laid back in the sheets, sweat gleaming on your skin as a few strands of hair stuck to your forehead; and Jack was mesmerized at the sight. He couldn’t picture anything else more beautiful than your blissed out face- eyes screwed shut, lips puffy from your precious make-out sesh, and your skin gleaming so beautifully from the orgasm he just caused you to have.

He crawled up next to you as you recovered from your intense orgasm, kissing your lips a few times before planting a kiss on your forehead and bringing you into his arms.

“Fuck, you’re really good at that.” You finally broke the silence. Jack let out a hearty laugh as he pulled you closer to him.

“Thanks. I’ve been meaning to practice some more though be a little more selfless, ya know?” He joked.

“Well, anytime you’re in the spirit of giving again, don’t be afraid to hit my line.” You laughed into his neck.

“Trust me baby, you’ll be the first and only person I call.” He chuckled, bringing you into another sweet kiss.

——————————————————

Tag list: @hoodharlow @moody4world @watercolorskyy @lcandothisallday @harlowthot @triplexdoublex @thinkingaboutjharlow @bbyharlow @jackharlows-world @primadxna-girl @curlyhairclub @dessmxsworld @inluvwithladybug @babyharleezy @thysagclub @harlowcomehome @rebelxsun @jackharloww

[fl3shm4id3n]

ₐ Gₗₐₛₛ ₛₗᵢₚₚₑᵣ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ᴛᴀᴠ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: None ♡

A/N: I really liked that Cinderella idea from that lovely Anon, I began to think of something. I hope you like this. Now I want to write more princess inspired fics.

Masterlist

You and your companions had stopped at a city, in which there was a ball. You along with your party were invited, you didn't think it would be a good idea at first, but you thought about it and you were convinced to go. You could either go dressed in your regular clothes or go dressed up. You thought about trying to buy a dress or at least rent one out. But you didn't find anything you liked, you were almost desperate to find a dress. While everyone found something to wear, you still haven't, it was very close to the ball and you had nothing to wear.

It was already getting late, everyone had gone to the ball already. Meanwhile you were debating whether you should get whatever dress or just go not go, you were really excited for it too. To have some fun and relax, not having to worry about everything that was happening. Then you saw Gale approached you, he was wearing something very different and very fancy. "Why aren't you at the ball?" He asked, seen that you were still wearing your regular clothes. "I have nothing to wear..." you admitted, he saw the sad look on your face, he knew that you were really wanted to go.

Gale stopped to think, then he had it. "I know something that could help." He said, making you raise your eyebrow at him. "You do?" you asked him, he nodded. "Yeah, I've been practicing this spell to change into a disguise and that sort of thing, do you trust me?" he asked you. At this point, you were willing to try whatever. "Yeah, go for it." You replied to him. Gale then grew excited, finally being able to use this spell he has been working on. He cracked his fingers a bit, then he began to do his trick.

Next thing you knew, your regular clothes, then changed into a beautiful dress. Looking down, the grown had layers of silver and blue fabrics sown together, it was beautiful. Looking closer, you lifted the gown up to look at your feet. Seen a pair of glass slippers. You then walked over to the fountain and got up on the molded concrete. Looking at yourself in the reflection of the water. Seen how your hair was now style nicely, like a work of art. You also noticed the small hint of makeup on your eyelids, cheeks, and lips. "I love it, thank you Gale!" you said, getting down back on the floor. "Your welcome, but the spell might wear off, maybe in a couple hours? I think midnight is when the spell wears off." He explained, you only nodded while looking down at the glass slippers on your shoes. "I understand." You responded.

You and Gale arrived at the ball, it was a very lovely view, seen the many people in the ball room. You parted your ways from Gale, beginning to look around the place, it was nicely decorated and not to mention how the people were dressed. As you walked around, you didn't notice someone going right up to you. Right as you were about to go outside, you felt a hand grab yours. You stopped and looked to see who it was. It was Astarion. He looked even more handsome that he already was, he was wearing a black and red formal attire, it really suited him.

"Hello there beautiful, I don't think we haven't met." He said with a small smirk on his lips. Then he brought up your hand up to his lips and gave it a small kiss. Did he not recognize you? Probably because he's never seen you all dolled up like this. "I'm Astarion" he asked, while admiring your beauty. "I'm sorry, but do I know you my dear?" He asked, studying you some more. You looked familiar to him, but he didn't know where to connect the dots, before you could answer, music had began to start playing. "Oh, no time to talk, please, allow me to have this dance with you my lady." He said, very charmingly. Then he took you to the dance floor.

You both danced along with the other couples who were also dancing on the first floor. You were nervous that you'd step on his shoes, but he didn't seem to mind at all. He was actually teaching you how to properly square dance, you did not step on his toes at all. He had commented on how you were a natural. As you both danced, Shadowheart, Karlach, Lae'zel, and Wyll were wondering who Astarion was dancing with. They were trying to figure it out all together, while Gale just watched, amused, knowing full well who it was.

A couple minutes after dancing, Astarion decided to take you out on a walk the late night. The whole time you both talked and walked around the garden, enjoying each other's company. He was very nice and charming the whole time. As if, you saw a whole new Astarion. You were very caught up in the conversation that you didn't even notice how fast the time went, it was almost as if it went slow.

After a while, while you and Astarion was sitting on one of the benches talking, you looked up and saw how high the moon was, it was close to being midnight, that made you panic. "Oh! I have to get going!" You said, getting up quickly, followed by a now confused Astarion. "Leave? How so?" he asked, watching you picking up the layered skirt and attempted to walk away but was stopped by him. "Come on darling, stay a bit more. Pretty please?" He asked, as much as you didn't want to say no, you couldn't. "I can't, I'm sorry, goodbye!" You said, turning around and now you began to run.

As you ran, Astarion followed right behind you. "At least tell me your name!" He asked, but you ignored him, you continued to run, it was hard due to the glass slipper. You manage to slip through a crowd that prevented him from passing by. That was good. So gone outside, as you walked down the stair, you stumped but manage to catch yourself, but your slipper had slipped off your left foot. You saw it on the step, you attempted to grab it but you saw Astarion's shadow approaching, so you just left it and continued to run away, as fast as you could.

Now you were hiding behind an alley, now dressed in your regular clothes. You didn't see or hear Astarion near by, you must have lost him. As you took a breather, you looked down at your feet. Seen that your left foot was bare, but not your right. Reaching down you took off the glass slipper and brought it up to you, it was beautiful, you thought about keeping it as a reminder of the night and how you spend it with Astarion.

The next day, everyone was back, they had asked about your whereabouts. So you just told them that you didn't find anything and decided not to go. But when you looked at Astarion, he seemed, sad? Not only that, but he also had the glass slipper that you lost. He wouldn't stop looking at the shoe, as if it was the most precious thing in his hands. It broke your heart a bit seen this, but you didn't want to tell him that it was you who he was dancing and hanging out with last night, you didn't want to break his illusions.

You were still staying in the city for the next couple days, at the moment you were in your spot of the camp, sharpening your blade while everyone did their thing. Then Astarion approached you. "Hello darling, I need for you to help me with something." He said to you, getting your attention. "What is it? Do you need more blood?" you asked, while looking at him. "That would be nice, but no dear. I need your help with finding someone." He said, this made your ears perk up. "Who?" you asked him. "Last night at the ball, I was with this lovely lady, but she had to leave in a rush and I didn't get her name. She only left her slipper behind and I intend to find her by having ladies in the city try it on, will you help me with that? Pretty please?" he asked you, with a pleading smirk. You raised your brows at him, you didn't know what to say to him, then you sighed. "Alright, I'll help you, but I just don't get too carried away with this." You said to him, seen the happy smile on his lips. "Oh thank you darling! You're the absolute best!" He said, excitedly.

For the next two days, you and Astarion were in the city, searching for his 'mystery' woman from last night. We've asked lots of women to try on the slipper, but non of them fit the shoe. This made Astarion a little desperate, it made you feel bad, because you didn't how to explained to him that his mystery girl was you! You felt so bad. After a long day, you were back at camp, it was already getting late. "Did she disappear or something? Was she a fairy of some kind!? What!?" He said, dramatically kicking the dirt floor like child. He was genuinely upset. You couldn't take it anymore, you had to tell him.

"Astarion, I have something to tell you." You told him, then he looked at you, with a sad kicked puppy look. "I... I..." you couldn't say a full sentence. You felt nervous that you almost felt nauseous. "Take your time dear." He said, sweetly towards you. You took another deep breath and wiped the sweat off your forehead. "I may... or may not have been..." You paused, then you looked at the slipper, you felt your heart race like crazy. You felt as if you were about to pass out. Then Astarion stopped you. "I know, how about you put on the slipper?" he asked, then you felt like your stomach dropped. "What?" you asked. "Try the slipper on dear." He said, giving you the slipper and put in your hands. "But... but." You kept repeating. "Come on dear, don't be shy, try it on. Here let me help you." He said, helping you sit on a wooden crate and got on his knees in front of you.

He took off your foot on your left foot, then he softly grabbed your foot and gently slipped on the glass slipper, adjusting it correctly. You felt like you were about to die. It fits perfectly. "Well you look at that." He said with a smirk, and out of nowhere, your clothes changed back into the silver and blue dress, along with your hair and make up also appeared. Not only that, but the other slipper appeared at your feet. "Took you long enough to confess!" Astarion said with a tease.

"Wait! You knew!?" You asked shocked. "Of course I did! I just wanted you to confess, but since you didn't, I thought about taking a bit of a drastic measures to see what you would so, also you were also very nervous the whole the time, it was quite adorable." He said with a grin, then got up and pulled you back up on your feet. Admiring you like that night. "You're just so beautiful! I could just look at you all day, you look like a princess." He said teasingly. All you could feel if your face heating up by his compliments. "Alright can I take these shoes off? I'd like to go back into my regular clothes now." You added. "Come on! Not yet dear! Just let me admire you a bit more, please love?" he asked, with a puppy eye look. All you did was sigh with a small laugh. "Fine, but only for a bit, I don't want the other to see me like this." You explained. "Oh let them! Let them see your beauty!" he said with a smile, while looking at you some more.

[allsaiint]

↠ master chief/gender neutral!reader

↠ word count: 1800

↠ chapter one | chapter two

↠ masterlist

↠ description: john has no idea how to date, but he'll try his best.

↠ warnings: potential for out of character | potential for dismantling of canon | gender neutral!reader may change in future chapters

↠ author’s notes: this is based on a mix of game-canon chief and television series chief. take it as you will. if i did happen to use specific terminology to describe the reader, let me know.

-- /// --

The instant John entered the park, he sensed something was different. So late on a Wednesday evening, the only thing playing in the open air theatre was a group of young violinists, no more than high school aged. There were a few people milling about, most likely parents there to encourage the group. Others were gathered on the outskirts, at the top of the coliseum style seats. They were cloistered in twos and threes, their conversations jumbling together over the sounds of the music.

You were the lone exception, standing towards the top of the steps, half-hidden by shadows. John had never seen you before, though there had been a recent influx of newcomers to the Reach. It was mostly scientists, after a mass exodus had left gaping holes in their military programs.

He caught the way your brow furrowed a split second before he realised he had been staring. You shifted back when he tried for a smile, and gave it up as a lost cause. In some ways, the act of interacting with new people still bemused him.

He was surprised, then, to hear footsteps approach, and turned just enough to witness you falter three steps above him. Over the din of the crowd, he could hear the race of your heart, so fast that he was surprised when you managed an actual greeting.

“You’re new to Reach?” 

He had to change tracks at the last minute, turning it from a statement into a question. He had also had no designs to sit, but found himself doing so anyway when you introduced yourself.

You nodded. “I took a job at the USMC. Have you been here long?”

“My entire career,” he answered, and watched close for your reaction. He suspected that you were unaware of who he was, as most civilians were. Few knew what the Master Chief looked like without his helmet on, and a majority were within the USMC.

His suspicion was proven right when you asked, “You’re a Marine, I take it? How long have you been in?”

Something in the way you asked, or perhaps it was the lack of starstruck wonder he was so used to, made him lie through his teeth, answering, “Thirty years, give or take a few.”

Eyebrows raising, you replied, “You look so young, though.”

A product of spending so much time in a suit of armour, he supposed. Instead though, he said, “You look fairly young yourself. What made you want to take a job here?”

Your smile slipped, and you ducked your head to face your knees. “My homeworld was glassed not long ago. I figured here would be the safest place to go, after that.”

“I’m sorry,” John offered, watching the way you began to pick at a split in your lip before, very abruptly, you turned to snap a tie around your wrist. “I heard about it, after I returned from a deployment. I’m glad you made it out.”

“Me too,” you replied with a quiet laugh. “You’re actually the first person I’ve met outside of work here.”

That made John chuckle and over it, he heard the way your heartbeat skipped. “I’m honoured, really.”

Conversation stalled for a few moments, and John could see how you pretended to watch the violinists to make it seem natural. There was a tension in your shoulders that gave away your desire to say something though, and you were rubbing your palm with your thumb. You would press hard in the very centre then relent before looking at John. It was quite nice to know that your nervousness was genuine, and not borne of being in the presence of the great Master Chief.

“Do you deploy a lot?” you asked at last, drawing John from his thoughts. The way you asked was stilted, as though you had dredged the question from the depths of your desire to say anything at all. “It seems like I never see the same face twice.”

“I do,” he agreed, and wondered what to tell you. The people you would deal with most often were the general ranks, those who stood a worse chance of surviving an encounter with Covenant. “I’m between drops, at the moment, but one will likely come in in the next few days. Covenant has been busier than usual.”

“I heard rumours that they were looking for something, but couldn’t find it. The Spartans either found it first or destroyed it or something like that.” You snapped the tie on your wrist once, hard. “That’s why they started glassing so many planets— they were really upset, whatever they were looking for.”

It always surprised John to find out how close the rumours turned out to be to the truth. He often wondered who started with the truth, and how long it took the details to be lost. It reminded him of the game he played as a child with the other trainees. One would whisper a sentence from across a room or through a glass, and it was the listener’s job to relay what was said. It had taken him a long time to realise that the “game” was actually training, learning to lip-read. The more serious the children took the task, the better the results were, but not until their augmentations were there ever perfect results.

“Well, in any case,” you said, drawing John from his thoughts again and offering him a smile, “maybe when you’re here, you can come visit me at the aquarium. Since I’ll never be able to find and all.”

With a rough, quiet laugh, John said, “Could see about making that work. Do you have to go now?”

“Should,” you agreed, but lingered where you stood. “I have an early shift tomorrow, and a bit of a ride home.”

Shifting to his feet as well, he said, “Let me walk you?”

“Oh, it’s— I live all the way in Immoria. It’s too much to ask—”

“I don’t mind,” John said, cutting your rambling off with a small smile. He found them rising easier in your presence. “I’d rather be sure you get home safe. Call it paranoia.”

“Well, if you insist,” you agreed, though it was with an air of exasperation. The tick playing at the corner of your mouth indicated that you were pleased beneath that though.

The next bullet train was due in five minutes, and you sidled closer as the waiting crowd grew and closed in. The way you flinched was almost imperceptible when you leaned into John, and your laugh was embarrassed.

“I don’t even like eating in the caf at work,” you admitted, but allowed his hand to stay where it was on  your back. “I don’t care much for crowds since—”

“I get it,” John said as the train came to an abrupt stop in front of you. There was just the one, and it hurtled back and forth across the city twenty-four hours a day. You remained close as the train began to move, curling your free hand into his shirt when someone knocked into you. The culprit offered John a smile full of mock apology that dwindled beneath his scowl, until they shifted to give you your space.

You were busy watching the scenery pass, and startled when John asked, “If you dislike crowds, what do you do at the complex?”

“Oh, they stuffed me into some little corner room with a few other researchers. I don’t really have to deal with too many people. Thankfully.”

“I see. What did you do before this?”

You shook your head. “I travelled around, studying species in their natural habitats, how we affected them, boring stuff like that.”

“It doesn’t sound boring,” John said, and watched your eyes widen as though you were surprised to hear it. If he had to describe it, it sounded peaceful. “If you enjoyed it, it wasn’t boring.”

“Well, fair enough,” you said with a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

“Yes,” he replied on reflex. No one in recent memory had asked him that and, in truth, he was unsure of the truth in his answer. He had never been given the choice to decide if he enjoyed what he did or not.

Something must have shown through in his response, because the look you cast him came with a frown. You seemed to come to some decision or assumption on your own though, and uncurled your fist to lay flat on his chest.

A little too mired in his own thoughts again, John let silence reign after that. He followed you down the street with an absent mind, aware somewhere in the recesses of it that the inattention was unbecoming of the Master Chief. He found it happening with more frequency though, since—

“Well, this is me,” you said. “Thank you for walking me.”

“Like I said, I’d rather know you got home safe,” he replied, taking the building in. It was twenty something stories, but still short compared to most in the city. A pair of doormen stood just inside, prepared to open the doors for you.

You stalled again; it seemed you had something more to say. He heard the pace of your heart increase, and his focus narrowed in on the flicker of your pulse beneath your skin.

“Do you have a data pad, by chance?” you asked after a harsh swallow.

“It’s broken,” John said. His attention turned to your face just in time to register the way it crumpled in disappointment. With more gentleness, he continued, “I’d like to see you again, though.”

The words felt foreign, coming from him. If you noticed, you chose to ignore it when you agreed. John was surprised at how eager you seemed, and found it hard not to let it envelop him.

“At the park tomorrow? Same time?” he said. Again, he was met with eager agreement that made him smile. “Good. Goodnight then.”

Your sharp inhale in response was so subtle that even he almost missed it. Your eyes widened and your throat bobbed before you replied, “Night, John.”

Even you seemed to realise how hoarse you sounded and made to turn away, but not before John caught look of embarrassment flash across your face. He watched you scurry inside, and waited until the door was securely latched before allowing himself the laugh that had been brewing all evening.