#always telling her that she’s enough and worthy and doesn’t need to push herself too hard

[pergaminaa]

Dorian is the kind of boyfriend who spoils in every way imaginable because he just loves Manon so much????

Like, he knows how hard she is on herself and how she just works constantly (trying to get the approval of a grandmother who would never utter a word of kindness at her yet she keep pushing herself)

Dorian knows he can’t stop her, so he tries what he can while she works herself to the point of exhaustion.

He loves cooking. And he especially loves of when he cooks for Manon (because often times she doesn’t turn him down and actually eats the food he makes)

When he wants to order food he doesn’t even ask if she wants anything because her answer would be ‘no’ and he doesn’t work with that.

He also loves baking!!! Tho Manon is not into sweet things but he still makes cookies (which she loves because the way Dorian makes them is ‘unique’ and they’re about the only cookies she’ll eat ever)

Dorian makes sure Manon stops working at some point during the night and just… relax. He made a small rule: she has until he finishes cooking dinner to finish work, because from that point on she is his to spoil. It starts with food, then a hot bath followed by either reading in bed or watching a movie (they take turns picking) he just focuses these few hours on Manon and makes sure she’s relaxed and that she goes to sleep at a reasonable hour

He hates it when her grandmother calls in the evening. After these phone calls Manon is usually feeling bad and she ends up staying in the office well into the morning. No matter what he says or does, she doesn’t leave the room. She doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep and just power through whatever shit her grandmother said to her. It usually takes 2-3 days of her being like this until she crashes from exhaustion.

Speaking of, Manon is terrible at being sick. For all her life, her grandmother has drilled into her that sickness is a weakness and weakness is not acceptable in a Blackbeak. When she was younger, any time she got sick, her grandmother didn’t want to know about it. She’d isolate her in her room, ordering her to stay there and not come out until she is recovered because she doesn’t want to deal with her or her sickness (doesn’t have the time for it) so Manon grew up brushing sickness aside and carrying on like nothing is wrong. Dorian learned that nothing he says will change her mind, and unfortunately he has to wait it out. She either gets better in her own (rare) or get worse to the point of passing out and that’s when he interferes. It’s still something they’re working through, but the fact remains: Manon doesn’t let sickness stop her, not unless she’s actually unconscious.

One time she got a cold and recovered, except for the cough which stayed persistent for well over a month. She thought nothing of it, it would clear out on its own. But it didn’t, Dorian could have sworn it got worse. It got to the point where Manon was having difficulty breathing to get her to finally see a doctor. Turns out she had contracted an infection and it took her about three weeks of hospitalization to get over it.

Dorian really hates her grandmother but he also knows that she’s her only family and the sole parental figure she had her whole life. She won’t cut her off or stop talking to her.

So he decided to be the opposite of that; whatever damage the old woman did, he will be there, offering his unconditional love and support because Manon deserves the world and none of the unnecessary harshness her grandmother keeps subjecting her to

[spacebarbarianweird]

In response to the NSFW request post.

How about some body worship? Astarion x fem!Tav? Maaaaybe some oral sex?

Synopsis: As a Half-Elf, Tiriel has serious body image issues, and Astarion knows exactly how to help her accept herself.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, sex in front of a mirror, praise kink

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

See Yourself Like I See You

"Biri", an elven woman mutters, glancing at Tiriel as she passes by.

The words hurt like burning coals. Tiriel suppresses the desire to yell at the elf. Or hit her. Violence is always an answer but, probably, beating the shit out of the innkeeper's wife isn't a rational choice, considering you travel with a vampire, who needs shelter in the daylight.

"I speak Elven '' Tiriel says loud enough to attract the attention of the Tel'Quessira.

"Oh? Someone bothered to teach you? I didn't offend you, I just... told the truth. You are only half an elf".

"Biri means trash, not just half an elf."

The elf laughs, and her voice sounds like tiny bells. "You know, in the old times, we forbid our men to mate with... N'TelQuessira. And when it happened anyway, we murdered the children not to doom them to be stuck between two worlds."

Tiriel squeezes the hand of her ax. Her elven father was just a passerby, someone whom her mother found attractive enough to forget about the marriage vows and spend a night with. 

The elf left the village for good, and the woman ended up pregnant with a "fairy bastard," she didn't even bother to give a name.

"What surprises me, biri, is that a High Elf chooses to sleep with you. As if he couldn't find someone more worthy to share the bed with."

With those words, the elf disappears, leaving Tiriel alone. She wishes anger and rage were her companions. But it is only a weeping wound, something she buried so deep within that she thought would never return to the surface.

Tiriel rushes upstairs to the room she  rents with Astarion. The vampire is still outside somewhere, stalking the streets of the town like a shadow.

Good. She has plenty of time to return to her senses. Astarion knows her story well enough - how her family despised her, how her siblings tried to kill her but instead awoke rage in her. 

But it is nothing in comparison to what he was through, and Tiriel doesn’t want to discuss it with him. 

Tiriel places her ax on the floor. She trembles as if the elven woman had beaten her.

All her childhood Tiriel heard the same words. Ugly, unworthy, half a human. Beaten.  Harassed. Tiriel still remembers the dirty looks of the village men who dared to see a little girl as something sexual. Her stepfather cut her right ear to suppress his desires - luckily, a village healer stitched it back.

The only hope Tiriel had was that elves were different. She begged the healer’s husband, an old dwarf, to tell her the same stories over and over again - about his old Wood Elf friend and their adventures. She was sure elves would accept her as one of theirs. 

Apparently, humans are much more accepting. 

Tiriel looks in the mirror. Yesterday, Astarion had a good laugh, standing in front of it. The most useless thing to place in the room with a vampire.

Half-something.

Tiriel undresses as if the fabric of her clothes burns her  skin and studies herself in the mirror.

The more she looks, the more miserable she feels.

Her body is composed of two separate parts. The upper half is elven: narrow shoulders, small breasts. The lower part is the human: wide hips of a woman who is supposed to push kids out of her every year. Strong legs. Pale skin is covered in freckles. The ears - too pointy for a human, too short for an elf. Red hair is too difficult to brush. Scars.

One crosses her eye - a memory of the betrayal when her siblings pushed Tiriel down the cliff, hoping she would die. The other is on her back, a burn from the fight with the Elder Brain.

The tadpole suppressed the pain, but once the parasite was gone, Tiriel almost lost consciousness, feeling her skin burn. When she came to her senses, Astarion was nowhere to be seen, and she was afraid he’d died in the sunlight. She yelled at him when he finally showed up after sunset, resembling a beaten stray cat. 

“Stop screaming at me, Tiriel. I feel like I’ve started developing a degrading kink.”

The burn on her back is probably the most disgusting part of her body. Including the body hair.

"Well, that's how I definitely want to be greeted. '' Astarion chuckles, entering the room. "But I'd prefer to undress you myself. Leave at least something for my imagination."

He wears his leather trousers and a white shirt. His old one was torn apart by a bugbear about a month ago, and Tiriel got him another one, almost identical. Though he still complains it feels off.

"Does something bother you, my love?" he asks, noticing her uneasiness.

"No... Nothing. How was your night?"

Astarion chuckles and, instead, approaches Tiriel and hugs her. In the mirror, it looks like she embraces something invisible. She melts in his arms, feeling safe and protected.

"I can tell when you lie but I will be so kind I won't insist."

"It's nothing, really." Tiriel buries her nose in his chest. Astarion is taller than average elven men and she needs to tip-toe to kiss him.

Astarion pulls away looking at Tiriel with his most adorable smile.

"Gods, you are beautiful."

His words feel like a dagger stuck in a fresh wound. Why now? Why this? Tiriel bursts into tears, not able to control them.

"Tiriel, did I... Did I do something wrong?” Astarion stares at her with utter panic in his crimson eyes. 

She tries to tell him. That it's not him. But she just can't. The only word she manages to mumble is an insult.

"Biri"

The moment she says it, panic leaves Astarion’s eyes. Instead, there is anger. 

"Who said it to you?"

His voice is deceptively calm. The innkeeper’s wife must consider herself lucky she didn’t insult Tiriel in the close proximity of Astarion. 

"It's ok, not the first time I heard that. Maybe the first time I heard someone tell me you can find someone more worthy than I because I have dirty human blood"

"Do you want me to kill the bitch who told you that?"

"No. It's just true, Astarion. I am...damn look at me, I am all scars and freckles with two parts of my body taken from different races. I got used to it, I just hoped I would accept it. "

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I have seen a lot."

Tiriel shakes her head, still crying.

"I am ugly as nine hells."

"Careful, darling, you are talking about my favorite person."

She chuckles but still feels miserable.

"Tiriel, my love, look at yourself."

Astarion takes Tiriel’s chin and forces her to look in the mirror.

“See yourself.” He kisses her neck. “The hair, color of fire, sometimes I think I will burn my fingers touching it. Eyes, one is green like a dry leaf. The other is gray like the autumn sky. The hands are so thin and gentle I am afraid to break your bones.” He goes down with his lips. “Breasts I can cup with my palms. Nipple so sensitive to my touches” he pinches one of them and Tiriel moans.

He stands behind Tiriel placing his chin on her shoulder. The mirror shows only the naked woman, but not the man who whispers the words of praise. Astarion places the hand over her stomach.

“Flat but soft - the best pillow for my head” his fingers go down. “The red pubic hair, even more beautiful than what you have up there…”

Tiriel feels his erection through his trousers. Gods, is it all just enough for him? Just seeing her naked?

She notices his kisses getting stronger and more intense. Astarion doesn’t breathe, but Tiriel knows his mouth is open and eyes are closed as he caresses her skin. 

But the poisonous words still sound in her head.

"Do you trust me?" Astarion whispers in her ear.

Tiriel nods. She feels her own burning desire between her legs.

" I want you to look in the mirror. All the time"

"What?"

Before she manages to object, Astarion tugs her to the bed with him and makes her sit on his lap.

The mirror reflects only one person - and Tiriel looks weird as if floating. Astarion kisses her neck and then places his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs up, spreading them as wide as possible.

"What are you doing?" she gasps. It feels deliciously embarrassing. 

"I want you to see yourself, in every detail.”

Tiriel’s folds are open and she can see her cunt in every detail. The invisible fingers touch her  clit and Tiriel lets out a moan.

"I barely touched you and you are already so wet" Astarion murmurs, coating his fingers in her cunt juice.

Tiriel feels weird with her legs spread - she has never seen herself under such an angle. His thumb keeps drawing circles around her bud as his index finger touches her lower entrance forcing it to contract a bit. 

She feels his bulge below her hips, still hidden behind the front laces of the trousers. She moves a bit causing friction and Astarion gets even harder. 

“I want you” Tiriel mewls. “Please…”

“Be patient, my barbaric love…”

She growls with disappointment but lets him keep torturing her. Tiriel studies herself in the mirror but she still can’t decide if she likes what she sees or not.

Then, Astarion frees her and stands up. For a second, Tiriel is surprised he is still fully clothed.

Tiriel reaches out for his shirt to put it off him but Astarion stops her with his unbearable smile.

“I told you to be patient, Tiriel” Instead he unlaces his trousers, freeing the pale length of his cock.

“You have teased me with your fingers, and now your cock is just a few inches away from my mouth! Don’t speak about patience!”

“Your mouth…” he murmurs. “Yes, it will work.”

He grabs her head forcing her lips to kiss the head of his manhood.

“Don't look at me, look in the mirror!”

Tiriel takes Astarion in her hands and touches the base of his shaft with her tongue. Then she licks it, tracing the blue vein up to the head, forcing the vampire to moan.

She turns her head a bit to see the reflection. Her face is burning red, and drool drips off her mouth. Her  tongue licks something invisible. 

“You look ravishing from up here, Tiriel. Take me with these pretty lips of yours.”

Tiriel opens her mouth a bit and in a second his whole length thrusts into her. She almost gags and tears flush down her cheeks.

The burning between the legs is unbearable and Tiriel starts touching herself as Astarion buckes his hips, fucking her mouth and throat. 

“You take me so good, Tiriel. Your eyes are specifically lovely when you are aroused.” 

Then suddenly when she feels like he is going to ruin her mouth he lets her go and Tiriel gasps for air. A thin string of precum and saliva still connects them.

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s lips, tasting himself on her and then finally gets rid of his shirt and trousers. Then, he sits back on the bed. His cock looks painfully hard. By this time, Tiriel can’t think about anything but the emptiness inside her.

“You look the same when you fight. I wonder if this is because battles make you horny? Or because you see sex as a form of combat? Tell me, what do you want?”

She breathes heavily, still staring at the mirror, not at Astarion. Her body is covered in sweat. Nipples are hardened and the mouth is half-open. The woman in the reflection wants to be taken, ruined…

“I want… you…” 

The vampire grabs Tiriel’s hips and pulls her toward  him. Then, he lies on his back, putting his strong arms on her ribs. 

“And I want you to see yourself. Put me inside you.”

Tiriel squeezes his cock adjusting it to her entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, Tiriel…” Astarion murmurs from below. “So desirable… Whoever told you the opposite is a brainless moron…”

The invisible cock stretches her pussy. Astarion’s manhood is so thick that Tiriel can see herself all the way up to the cervix. 

She moves her hips feeling his amazing length inside.

“My woman. Mine. Only… mine”, he grunts.

Her perky tits sway following the rhythm of the moving bodies. Tiriel’s mind is empty and her mouth just makes whimpering sounds.

Astarion tightens his grip around her as his own release gets closer. Tiriel doesn’t feel her legs as the orgasm takes over her. Powerful contractions tear through her body as his cum fills her to the brim.

Tiriel elbows up to see her entrance better. The cock much softer than it was seconds ago is taken away from her pussy and the cum leaks out.

“Look at yourself," Astarion says. “You are completely ruined.”

He tugs Tiriel with his arm and once their faces are in front of each other he starts kissing her cheeks and lips.

“Speak ill about yourself once again, and I am going to fuck you into a state of unconsciousness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Astarion laughs and Tiriel finally manages to free herself and lay beside him. He immediately wraps his hands around her.

“But I mean it. I know why you think bad of yourself. But it isn’t true. There is no such thing as an ugly half-elf. And you are… something even in comparison with them. Among the elves, you would be a fucking goddess of war, with your red hair and strong legs. All these talks about dirty blood are nothing, but the frustration of elves who aren’t worthy of anything. Tiriel, promise me, if you feel bad you tell me.”

“I just don’t want you… you know…”

“I am not made of glass, Tiriel. I need you and not only when I have nightmares. But you also need me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Be there for each other.”

“It’s weird to compare my struggles with yours,” Tiriel admits. 

Astarion gently touches her cheek with his finger. “Struggles are struggles. No one has a right to abuse a little child and call her a freak for what she is. No one has a right to tell a complete stranger she is nothing but trash below the “true people's” feet. Besides, we can always kill people we don’t like.”

Tiriel giggles and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. She feels too sleepy for a bath or any sort of aftercare and allows herself to relax. 

**

Tiriel is sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up even when Astarion cleans her skin of sweat and cum. He studies her body, noticing the fresh bruises and old scars. Then, Astarion lies beside her covering them both with a blanket.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he can spend his hours of reverie right now. 

It still troubles Astarion - the very point of the elven trance is to relive the moments of their long lives to remember, to carve them in memory. But he doesn’t want to remember anything before he became free. Before he met Tiriel. 

Memories flood him and he hopes he will have enough willpower to not see anything nightmarish.

The meadow bathes in moonlight. Astarion stays there, waiting. Waiting for this half-elven warrior to seduce and sleep with. To make sure she protects him, helps. Well, it will probably require some talk, some sweet words - but she will be his. 

“You are an idiot”, Astarion says to himself from the past. “Your simple plan will end up with you not being able to think about anything else but Tiriel.”

“Hello, Astarion.”

He turns around and sees her, the fierce leader of their small group.

Absolutely naked. 

Tiriel looks at him with no fear. With a challenge. He can’t take his eyes off her. Probably, Vandria, the Elven Goddess of War, looks like that without her divine armor. 

Astarion concentrates. He wants to remember the first time he saw Tiriel like that, the first time he had her, even though his intentions were pathetic to the very least.

“And what do you want, Astarion?” she asks, getting closer to him.

The question strikes him. What does he want? He doesn’t remember anyone asking him that. He wants… What? This woman? Revenge? Freedom? He doesn’t know.

Tiriel is so close he can hear her heartbeat. She kisses him. With passion, with desire. 

For the first time. It is the first time she kisses him. 

Astarion embraces the memory. He didn’t know at that moment - but that was when he fell.

The reverie slowly lets him go, and the woman he’s dreamt about is still by his side. 

--

@tugoslovenka@marcynomercyy @wintersiree @vixstarriarria @not-so-lost-after-allafter-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea@micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-belovedd @tallymonsterter @caitlincat-95cat-95 @tragedybunnyy @valepratirati @lynnlovesthestarshestars @marina-and-the-diam0nds-bloge-memes @waking-electricectric

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Her Secret Side

Summary: Icy is embarrassed to be in love with a nerd. Except Icy is also very much a nerd too so it's fine.

Why him?

Her heart—she apparently does have one—always makes the wrong choices.

On some level or another, it latches onto the wrong people. 

The people she would rather it not. 

Darkar, Valtor, Tritannus…they had all been strange choices in their own rights. She clearly has a preference, her own odd taste. An acquired one for certain. But at least those choices had made sense for her. 

But him?

Him?

She sits across from him, watching him tinker with her laptop. With a reassuring smile he promises that he will make it work again, no magic required. “In fact,” he informs her, “the best way to fix a broken laptop is to put magic aside and pick up traditional tools.” 

“Maybe that is the best way for someone who can locate the motherboard.” Icy folds her arms across her chest. 

“It’s actually pretty easy to find!” Timmy declares. “The good news is that we don’t need to. The laptop isn’t shutting down because of a motherboard malfunction. It’s overheating because the fans are broken; all we need to do is tighten a few screws and replace a few blades and the fan will be working again.”

She comes to conclude that she, in fact, has more in common with her laptop than with Timmy. But that doesn’t stop her frigid heart from seeking him out. Had she maybe dropped her laptop on purpose to create a believable reason for talking to the man? Sure. But her sisters will never pry that confession from her.

Not that it matters. Even though he and Tecna had gone their separate ways, it isn’t as though Timmy has any affection for witches. Especially one of the three that had made a point of calling him a dork and a dweeb. 

“I can show you how to do it.” Timmy offers. “So you can repair it yourself next time.”

“I’m not paying you for that.” 

Timmy shrugs. “I wasn’t going to ask you to. I just figured that you wouldn’t want to have to talk to a loser like me if you don’t have to.”

But she very much does want to and so she makes a point of forgetting everything that he has just told her so that she can approach him again to fix the fans. And then she swears that something else had broken when she dropped the laptop. He promises that it is functioning perfectly well. And so she deletes a few important files and pretends like she has no idea how to recover them. 

He probably thinks that she is an idiot. 

Better that than him realizing that she has affections for him. 

This time when she sets her laptop before him he sighs. “Alright, I think that I need to give you more in depth lessons.” He pushes his glasses, those stupid dorky glasses, up the bridge of his nose. “Free of charge, no worries.”

She nods. 

That will suffice. 

She can stop making up excuses to bring her laptop in and tell her sisters that she is learning how to fix it on her own so that she never has to talk to the dweeb again. Maybe if she spends enough time with him she can convince herself that he is cringe worthy enough to fall out of love with. It is a perfect plan that doesn’t work. 

A perfect plan that is perfect only in how flawlessly it has backfired. 

She finds that she quite enjoys working with the man. Enjoys listening to him explain how different hardwares and softwares work and tips to get them to last longer than they otherwise would have. “Although, I would recommend getting yourself a new laptop pronto. This one is built like a tank but you’ve dropped it like five times now. If I were you I would get the same model, it seems very durable.” 

He inspects the laptop and tells her the make and model as well as the exact coloration and the amount of space on the harddrive. She asks him if he can come with her to the store and help her pick out the best one. 

He has almost certainly put two and two together. 

He tells her that he knows that she is smarter than that.

He goes with her to the store anyhow.

He calls it a first date. 

She doesn’t dispute it. Denial will only make jesting and teasing worse. 

.oOo.

Icy knows that things are coming to an end when he declares, “I don’t want to be your secret anymore.” She supposes that it was always going to end this way. It really couldn’t end any other way. Either she chooses him or she chooses her reputation and the image that she has so carefully and painstakingly built up for herself. The cool and intimidating demeanor that she throws over most other aspects of her personality. 

She can’t let go of it. Not when the witches are eagerly waiting for a chance to pounce upon her and knock her off of her throne. She can name several witches who would love to pay her back for all of the pranks and insults she has thrown their way. 

And so she has to let him go. 

Has to pretend like she hadn’t spent months with the man taking computers apart and watching horror movies on them upon reassembly. 

She has to let him go. 

But he is the only one who has seen her wearing those glasses that she hates so much; they make her look ridiculous. 

And he is the only one with whom she feels comfortable having lengthy discussions about horror movies, the intricacies of true crime, her classwork, and various birds, crows especially.

He is the only one who seems invested in helping her work through each case, trying to dissect angles that detectives have missed and the theories that other enthusiasts have come up with.

He is the only person who won’t take jabs at her for genuinely enjoying classwork and for taking such pride in the high marks that she pretends have nothing to do with actually paying attention in class and getting invested in the material. 

He is the only person she thinks wouldn’t question why she has such a fascination with birds and why she knows all of their scientific names. 

He doesn’t think that it is dumb that she wants to collect horror movie posters and figurines. He buys them for her now and again. She never displays them. 

She has so many facts that she can prattle off about any one of the subjects that interest her and he is the only one who doesn’t cut her off or start to yawn halfway through her spiels. He like to go on rambles of his own and she has grown fond of letting him do so. 

“If you’re that embarrassed by me then why talk to me at all?”

“I’m not embarrassed by you…” She mumbles, folding her arms across her chest. 

Timmy furrows his brows. 

She hates that she can’t take what she dishes out. Resents that she will probably break if people start to treat her the way that she treats them. But more than anything, she dreads that Darcy and Stormy won’t want anything to do with her over this. Darcy is still mad about Riven. Riven who is also open and available now that Musa has,according to Timmy, declared that she has reached her limit with him.

“Yourself?” He guesses. “You’re embarrassed by yourself?”

“Timmy, if there was a second me in this room, I would probably kick my own ass.” Or at the very least she would relentlessly and ruthlessly bully herself. She supposes that she doesn’t need a second her to do that. She accomplishes it well enough on her own. 

“Why?” 

“Why!?” She frowns. “Well why wouldn’t I?” She gestures to her glasses. To the spread of true crime case notes on the floor. To her collection of DVD’s and posters. To the things that make her who she is. 

“You’re allowed to have interests, you know? And you don’t have to dull them down.”

Not when she is with him she doesn’t. But with every one else… “Yeah. I can have interests. Interests that aren’t nerdy.” 

“Horror movies aren’t nerdy. I thought that witches love horror movies.” Timmy points out.

“But birdwatching is an old lady hobby.” Icy grumbles. And with a shake of her head she adds, “and yeah, witches love horror movies but they don’t…”

“Cosplay.” He fills in.

She nods. 

“Who cares?” 

“Who cares?” Icy repeats. 

“Yeah. Who cares? Who cares what they think?”

She does.

Apparently.

“I’m pretty sure that you could just encase them all in ice or something. You probably don’t even have to do that—they’re scared of you, all you have to do is give them one of your ice cold glares and that’ll do the trick.” He tucks her bangs behind her ear, fixes her glasses onto her face, and kisses the tip of her nose. 

She doesn’t want to lose this. 

Doesn’t want to lose the one person who hasn’t had one bad thing to say of this side of her. 

But she doesn’t want anyone else to know about this side of her.

She also doesn’t want to lose her high ground.

“How about this?” Timmy offers. “Tell Darcy and Stormy at least and let me tell Sky and Tecna.”

“You still talk to Tecna?”

He laughs, “no need to get jealous…”

“I am not jealous!” 

She absolutely is the possessive type. 

“We’re still friends, Icy. She just…she decided that romance isn’t for her and that’s okay with me.” He pauses. “Nice try with changing the subject though. Can you at least tell Darcy and Stormy about me and let me tell a friend or two and then we can go from there?”

“I know what happens when one person knows a secret…”

“Tecna is great at keeping secrets and Sky pretended to be Brandon for months and we didn’t suspect a thing.”

Icy grumbles, “I wasn’t talking about your stupid friends, I was talking about mine.” 

Timmy sighs. “Witches.” 

“Fine.” She scowls. “I’ll tell them.” 

Timmy’s cheerful smile returns. He ruffles her hair. She hates that she has to pretend to hate that. “Great! Eventually we’ll get to a point where you feel comfortable enough to tell everybody else the truth.”

Icy sniffs. “Yeah right. Stormy is going to open her big mouth way before I get comfortable with anything.” 

He takes her into a hug. “You’ll live.” 

Clearly her sassy and sarcastic nature is rubbing off on him.

“You’ll live and you’ll realize that it’s perfectly okay to be a total dork.”

“I thought that you said…”

“I didn’t say anything about you not being a dork. You’re definitely one of the biggest nerds that I have had the pleasure of discussing the intricacies of comic book plotlines with. I said that I enjoyed that you’re a dork and think that you should embrace it.” 

She turns her head before he can see the flush creeping across her face. “Whatever. Let’s just start listening to the podcast before I get the both of us featured in one of them.” 

They turn the lights off and light the candles. It is her favorite ambiance for horror movies and true crime podcasts. He lets her stretch herself out upon the couch and lay herself across his lap. He likes to hold the hand that she typically rests beneath her sternum. 

She would very much miss this if she had to let go of it. 

And so she resigns herself to dealing with Darcy and Stormy’s cackles for at least a week.

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 5

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Vertigo" - Griff

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 5: You're Scared of Love, Well Aren't We All?

After well over two hundred years of living (so to speak), Astarion didn’t think it was possible for him to be surprised by anything anymore. He felt as though he’d seen it, done it, heard it, read it, written the book, and adapted the stage play. Perhaps his attitude towards the world makes him jaded, but who wouldn’t be after what Astarion has been through?

Though nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared him for the feeling of Fallon’s soft lips pressed against his. Once his shock subsides, Astarion gives into the kiss and presses his mouth back on hers with only a little bit of urgency. Like if he pushes her too far she might break. His hands move from Fallon’s shoulders to her hips, and Astarion pulls her body closer to his. Fallon’s fingers move into his curls, and the feeling of someone running their hands through his hair again sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, Astarion cannot even begin to remember how many times he’s imagined a moment like this with her.

Astarion isn’t the only person in this room who couldn’t help but flirt with everyone he encountered. Their friendship has always been a touch flirty, because that’s just how they both were. It was a game they’ve played since they met. They’d flirt, exchange playful smirks, and then Fallon would repeatedly deny her physical attraction to him. Of course, Astarion could tell from her body language and the way her heart picked up every time he bit her that it was a lie, but a physical attraction did not mean he ever had her heart.

No, her heart always belonged to Gale; and prior to the wizard’s shocking display of selfishness that day on the docks, Astarion always assumed that in order for Fallon to give someone her body, they had to lay claim to her heart as well. That theory was sufficiently debunked as soon as Fallon began drinking herself to death, fucking anyone and everyone she deemed the slightest bit worthy.

It��s this little reminder in his brain that brings the moment to a screeching halt, and any desire he feels for the woman in front of him is suppressed by Astarion’s own insecurities. “Fallon,” He pulls away from her, pushing Fallon back gently to put some space between them. “We can’t. I– I can’t.”

Astarion hates the look on her face when he denies her; the mixture of hurt and confusion only confirms his decision to put a stop to it before they go too far. “Why not?”

“Because you just nearly had a panic attack after hearing the name of another man.” he tries to explain it to her gently, but saying the words out loud also sends a surge of hurt and anger of his own through his body; both with Fallon for trying to use him in this way, and with himself for falling for it. “I know what you’re doing, because I’ve done it, and I have enough self-respect to not be reduced to the level of a nameless drow you’ll let take you in a damned alleyway.”

Self-respect that Astarion has now, largely in part to having met Fallon two years ago. She had been the one who showed him he was worth more than what Cazador forced him to do, who Cazador turned him into. Fallon was the one who single-handedly convinced Astarion not to complete the Black Mass, because she believed Astarion was stronger than that. That he deserved a better life, and he could be a better person. The words fall off of his tongue, and they’re much more bitter than he wanted them to be. How easy it still was for people to forget he does have a heart, even if it doesn’t beat anymore, and Astarion can’t help but resent Fallon a little bit in this moment for that, too.

Thankfully, he does not need to explain himself further, and Fallon takes another step away from him. She bites her lip, and Astarion hates that he’s the reason there are now tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It’s almost enough for him to give in and kiss her again, just to make those go away; but if he’s learned anything since meeting the elf in front of him, it’s that giving in won’t do either of them any good. Not when Astarion is pretty sure that sex with Fallon will mean much more to him than it will to her.

“You’re right. I’m– I’m sorry, Astarion. You don’t deserve that, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” Fallon breathes and her eyes begin desperately looking around the sitting room, eyes flitting to a new spot every few seconds as she tries to avoid looking at Astarion altogether. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Maybe I’ll go find Shadowheart and let her apologize.” Fallon brushes past Astarion, and guilt settles in his chest. “What? No, you don’t have to go. I’ll go. You’re the one who actually lives here.”

Fallon turns around as she walks and she finally looks Astarion in the eyes again. “It’s the middle of the day, Astarion. Where are you going to go?” She points out sadly, because he is indeed trapped here until the sun sets. Fallon turns back around, but when she gets to the door, she pauses again. Fallon looks over her shoulder at Astarion. “I hope you know that you do mean more to me than some nameless drow I fucked in an alleyway. As a person, as a friend, as anything else. I’m sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.

With that, she exits the suite and Astarion lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He goes over to the couch, sinking down onto it with a heavy sigh. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. “Shit.”

~*~

The streets of Baldur’s Gate are bustling with people finishing their shopping for the Winter Solstice. In another lifetime, the Winter Solstice used to be Fallon’s favorite holiday. The decorations, the way mages and clerics across the city used their combined powers to make it seem as though the trees and buildings twinkled. Even during the years she spent Winter Solstice on her own, the general atmosphere was enough to lift her spirits. The last Winter Solstice hadn’t gone as she expected, having assumed she would be spending it in Waterdeep– not getting outrageously drunk with Rolan, Lia, and Cal at The Elfsong and then crying herself to sleep. She supposes this year won’t be much different other than the fact that she now has to attend a damn ball; and instead of getting outrageously drunk with the tieflings, it will be with Astarion.

Assuming Astarion doesn’t abandon her after the way she treated him just now. If he does, or if he decides that he no longer wants Fallon to join him on his journey to Asha, Fallon wouldn’t blame him at all.

Finding Shadowheart is rather easy, because if there is one thing Fallon knows about her friend, it’s that they both have a ball to attend in the coming days, and the silver-haired cleric likes to shop. The Facemaker’s Boutique is as busy as expected for this time of year, and Fallon is certain that Figaro and his staff are working overtime to fill all of the orders they’re receiving. Fallon offers the clerk at the main desk a small wave before walking deeper into the shop, where she finds Shadowheart being doted on by none other than Figaro himself. Presently, he has Shadowheart in a green, floor-length gown with long sleeves and an open back. The sleeves are sheer lace, and Fallon takes notice of the intricate details of moons and stars woven into the lace. The color compliments her hair and eyes, and Fallon doesn’t think there’s another word to describe her friend other than “radiant."

“Lae’zel is going to lose her mind when she sees you in that dress.” Fallon comments, announcing her presence to the room. Shadowheart looks up at her through the mirror’s reflection, and she looks incredibly relieved. Figaro turns to face her and makes an enthusiastic noise.

“Lady Fallon, dearest! It has been far too long since I’ve seen your face in my shop. You look malnourished. Are you eating? Lady Shadowheart, are you feeding her?” Hearing someone use the titles they all inherited after The Netherbrain was defeated is still strange to Fallon, mostly because the people she’s surrounded herself with as of late always forgo the formalities. The first time a staff member at The Elfsong called her “Lady Fallon,” she’d laughed and demanded they never use the title again.

“Malnourished is a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Figaro?” Fallon laughs lightly. The dwarf only rolls his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been out of the city for quite some time, so the responsibility of keeping Fallon fed and watered has fallen to other people.” Shadowheart’s eyes don’t leave Fallon’s, shining apologetically. Likely both for being gone, and for what she’d said earlier. “Figaro, sweetheart, could you give the two of us a moment? Fallon is also in need of a dress for this ball. Perhaps you already have something that’s gone unused that can be easily tailored? She’s been quite busy as of late, so I expect placing an advance order likely slipped her mind.”

“Yes, yes of course, Lady Shadowheart! In fact, I do. I started working on something a month or so ago at the request of Lord Astarion. I assumed you’d be in at some point this week to retrieve it. I’ll be back shortly.”

Fallon tries to push down the emotions that fill her at Figaro’s confession, but her reflection in the mirror suggests she’s doing a terrible job. The dwarf is barely out of the fitting room before Shadowheart is picking up her skirts and dashing towards Fallon and embracing her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” she apologies into Fallon’s hair before pulling back to look at her. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have assumed you were doing well. You just seemed to be in such good spirits, so I thought– I’m so sorry. Did I say I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you said sorry,” Fallon chuckles and releases herself from Shadowheart’s embrace. “Besides, I forgave you the moment you were kicked out.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she disappears behind the privacy wall in the room to change back into her regular clothes. “Yes, I’d planned to ask you what the hells that was about? Since when has Astarionion become so… protective?”

“Probably the moment he found me drunker than a kobold in a wine barrel, bent over a stack of crates in The Elfsong’s alleyway, being fucked by someone whom I couldn’t tell you what he looked like, even if he were stood in this room.”

Her friend snorts with laughter. “Well I suppose that’s one way to cope. Maybe not the recommended way, but…to each their own,” To each their own, indeed. “Is that the real reason he’s moved in with you as well?”

“Probably, even if he’d never admit it,” Fallon sighs. “Though, now that I’ve gone and done the most idiotic thing I could have possibly done, I imagine he’ll be moving out this evening.”

Shadowheart emerges from behind the divider with a puzzled expression. “What on earth did you do? Agree with me and tell him that he’s acting like your guard dog?”

Before Fallon can answer, Figaro returns with a gown of deep burgundy gown shimmering on his arm. She doesn’t need to try it on to know it’s beautiful. She exchanges looks with Shadowheart. There’s a softness in her friend’s eyes she usually reserves for Lae’zel, but a gesture that one could only describe as “romantic” was apparently an exception. All it does is make Fallon feel worse.

Fallon thanks Figaro as she takes the gown from him to try on. Once behind the divider Fallon truly takes a moment to observe the dress before taking it off the hanger, and she finds herself a little speechless. Beautiful seems too dull of a word to describe it and she sighs. “Oh, Astarion.” she mutters. Gods, what a mess she’s made. Carefully she removes the dress from the hanger and slips it on, grateful that Figaro handed it to her with the clasps already unfastened. When she emerges from behind the divider, Figaro and Shadowheart gasp. “A lot of things can be said about Astarion, but not one person can ever say he doesn’t have taste.” Shadowheart muses, awestruck.

Fallon steps onto the pedestal in front of the mirror, and a small gasp leaves her mouth once she properly observes herself in the mirror. The gown is entirely chiffon, and the skirts ripple down the floor with movement that one could only describe as liquid. Intricate lace flowers cover the bodice with a plunging v-neck that apexes just beneath her sternum, accentuating her full breasts. The sleeves are not actually sleeves at all, but a willowy cape that flows to the ground, wrapping Fallon in gossamer fabric. Figaro allows Shadowheart to fasten the back on his behalf, and when Fallon does a small turn to see it in the mirror, it just might be her favorite feature. The fabric is sheer, giving the illusion of an open back, but fastenings are covered by brilliant gemstones (Diamonds? They look like diamonds. Gods, she’s going to kill Astarion if they’re real diamonds) that run down her spine until just above her tailbone.

Fallon turns to fully face the mirror again and even she can’t help but stare in awe. Fallon doesn’t just look beautiful, she looks regal. Astarion doesn’t do anything unintentionally, and the statement this gown makes is loud enough that Fallon is certain everyone at the ball will hear it. Figaro moves past Shadowheart with pins in his hand and begins to scrutinize the dress more closely, looking for errors and pinning the places that need to be taken in and hemmed. “Well, I must say, I’m quite impressed. Lord Astarion mentioned he didn’t know your measurements so it was likely adjustments would be needed, but he managed to get pretty damned close,” Figaro muses. “I didn’t realize the two of you were involved.”

Fallon’s eyes fill with sadness and she looks at Shadowheart via the mirror. “We’re not.” Fallon knows it’s not enough of an explanation for her friend to figure out the “idiotic thing” Fallon had done, but Fallon hopes it gives her an idea. “My deepest apologies, Lady Fallon. In that case, you have a very good friend…and forgive me for saying so because it’s certainly not my place, but perhaps you should be romantically involved,” Figaro finishes pinning the bottom of the gown and stands up. “Alright, dearest, go ahead and change. I’ll have both of your dresses ready for you in two day’s time.”

Figaro bows deeply and exits the fitting room, and Shadowheart moves to unfasten the back of Fallon’s gown. “It really is gorgeous,'' she muses. “I’m honestly a little nervous touching these fastenings out of fear of ripping something…I think they might actually be diamonds.” Fallon shakes her head, she really might kill the vampire.

Fallon steps off the pedestal and walks carefully to the divider, not wanting to trip or accidentally unpin Figaro’s alterations. “Now, are you going to tell me what idiotic thing you’ve done or shall I be left to guess?” Shadowheart calls from the other side. Once she’s out of the gown, Fallon dresses again quickly.

“I kissed him.”

The silence in the fitting room is palpable, and when she emerges again to face Shadowheart, her friend is completely stunned. “I’m sorry, you did what?” Fallon shoots her a pleading look, silently begging her friend to not repeat her folly.

Shadowheart blows out a breath. “You know, Wyll told me he thought something might be going on, and after witnessing the two of you banter this morning I was inclined to agree…but now you’re telling me you kissed him, and you think he’s going to leave?”

“He rejected me, Shadowheart. He rejected me, and accused me of trying to use him for sex as a coping mechanism, because all I’ve done lately is use other people for just that.”

Shadowheart stares at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, were you?”

“Of course not. I don’t think so, anyway. He told me he was saying no because right before I kissed him I was fighting off a panic attack after hearing an ex’s name…but I wanted him.”

“Okay, well, as reasons go that’s actually pretty logical,” Shadowheart concedes. “But if you want him, then maybe you should just tell him so.”

Fallon gaze falls to the floor. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Then he’s as stupid as your ex-boyfriend,” Shadowheart laughs. She’s never been one to mince words, and being with Lae’zel seems to have only made her more brutally honest. “I know what you’re going through isn’t exactly the same as what I experienced on our adventures, but it is possible to feel multiple feelings at once. You can have feelings for Astarion while also healing from what happened to you. You forget that Lae’zel and I didn’t bond until after we’d both been betrayed by people we loved. Sure, ours were goddesses, but yours left you to chase godhood. Having her by my side while I worked through it…well, it expedited my healing quite immensely.”

Logically these were all things Fallon knew, but her fears and anxieties tended to overrule her logic lately. Hearing someone else say it to her out loud, well, it made a difference. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly wise? You should be a cleric,” Fallon jokes, a smile blooming on her face. She pulls Shadowheart into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Shadowheart kisses her on the cheek and pushes her towards the door. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Fallon bids Figaro goodbye, thanks him for her gown, and exits the shop, desperately hoping that Astarion hasn’t left her yet.

~*~

When Gale enters his study, he does not expect to see Mystra sitting at his desk, nor does he expect to see a projection of Shadowheart and Fallon in an orb atop it. His heart skips a beat when he sees Fallon’s face. She looks weary, and there’s a dullness in her eyes he’s never seen before. Concern sparks through him immediately. “Mystra, what is this?”

“Just because you are a god now does not mean you can hide things from me so easily. After all, I gave you that power. I know you pine for her, your mortal ex-lover. I know you dream of her. That you often think of her when we make love,” Mystra muses darkly, her eyes daring Gale to disagree with her. “I have something I need to show you, Gale of Waterdeep. Something you must see.”

Gale watches in stunned silence as the orb in front of him plays back. Shadowheart and Fallon are discussing someone. Someone Fallon has romantic feelings for, and Shadowheart reassures her that she can have feelings for someone else and still be hurt by what Gale did to her. Gale frowns at that part. It’s not that he didn’t expect his choice to hurt Fallon in the moment, but he’d thought she would understand and come to accept it. Gale watches as Fallon embraces Shadowheart, and his entire body goes rigid when the cleric speaks again.

”Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Astarion.

“You see, Gale of Waterdeep? Your mortal lover has moved on. She is in the arms of another now, and there is no reason for you to pine for her any longer.” Mystra declares.

Gale’s blood boils. Gale hadn’t expected Fallon to wait for him, but he’d certainly hoped…but of all of the people Fallon could have moved on with, she chose fucking Astarion?

“You’re angry. Explain.” Mystra demands.

“Forgive me, Mystra, but I need to go to her. The vampire in question…he’s not who he claims. Fallon is yet another means to an end for him, and while I don’t relish in the fact that I broke her heart, I cannot sit idly by while he does the same.”

Mystra considers his request. “Part of being a god is letting the mortals make mistakes, Gale of Waterdeep. We cannot intervene at every turn. However…your happiness means a great deal to me. If intervening here will bring you happiness, and will bring your heart and devotion back to me, then so be it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and rushes forward to kiss his goddess deeply. It’s the most sincere kiss he’s given her since he ascended to godhood. “Thank you, Mystra, thank you.”

Gale swiftly departs from his study and returns to their bedroom. There’s an invitation he hadn’t noticed before, sitting on his bedside table. It’s an invitation to a ball, dated for two days from now. Tara must have delivered it last time she came to visit, and Gale scowls as he realizes Mystra must have withheld this from him. No matter. He had it now, and for the first time in six months, he’s allowed to leave Elysium.

“I’m coming for you, my love.” He whispers quietly.

Chapter List

[dewracle]

Headcannons with the sleepy boys with a fem reader - they find out about her healing/healed SH scars and give her extra attention/treat her like a princess. Nsfw allowed and encouraged for a bit of it. Feel free to not do this request if it hits too close to home 🫶🏼

Hey love! I didn't feel comfortable doing NSFW on such a sensitive topic so I hope the comfort and princess treatment is enough! I kept everything vague so it's easier for others to read as well. I also hope you're doing well! <3 Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, Self-harm scars, Slight suicidal ideation.

Vessel

Vessel will notice her being shifty, hiding certain body parts, and acting defensive. 

He takes note and catches her off guard, telling her almost forcefully to show him what is it

He’s upset obviously, but he pushes it aside to ask her why. Vessel just wants to understand how he can help in this area.

He’ll pull her into a hug, crushing her into him, and gives her gentle kisses.

He’s unsure of how to properly give her the love she needs without going overboard. So he’ll do his best, always checking in on her, getting her her favorite foods.

When the days are rougher than the other, Vessel will sit down with her and gently apply creams to the healing scars. Sweet whispers while he kisses away the tears.

II

It starts out with II noticing the beginning stages of depression slowly slipping into her

He puts it off hoping that it’s all just down and that she can get back out of

Unfourntaly he notices it's not and then starts to heavily pay attention to her

It's when they’re cuddling he notices the hiss and flinch when he touches the area.

II doesn’t push just lets her open up to him, letting her tell him whatever she is comfortable with.

He’ll guide her to the bathroom to clean them cut and kisses some princess bandaids on the smaller ones

After that, he’s careful of how he touches her and always offers to take her places when he can see it's getting worse

III

III always likes to play fight and with that a lot of things happen, he gets scars and scratches often

When he notices hers at first he believes they are from similar things, maybe she was playing fighting with someone who has claws. 

He truly didn’t understand what it was at first but after she explains it to him through tears, he’s crying with her.

He asks her how much an amazing person could do that to themselves and tries his best to comfort her.

It does take a while for the two of them to calm down enough for him to ask to see them

He places little star stickers on the scars and says he’ll do it till she realizes how much she is truly worth

III of course goes and buys any sticker he deems is worthy of his person

IV

My version of IV has experience with this personally, he has a few of his own that he hides

He almost forgets about his own most of the time which is amazing truly

But when he catches the slight off-colored lines on her, he panics

The deep dread kicks in and IV is doing his anxious best to try to pull her into another room with just them

When he finally manages after almost a week of trying, he gently prompts the quiet

The room is thick with tension and he’s doing his best to calm her down to tell her it's okay and he just wants to make sure she’s stopped

IV is compassionate about the topic and expresses better ways to deal with it in case the urge comes up again

He doesn’t make it about himself but implies he understands the struggle.

If he ever notices her struggling with the urge, he does his best to place his hand in hers so she can distract herself with them.

[chickenparm]

Trivial Lessons Pt 3 (ScaraLumi)

Scaramouche isn’t as worldly as he thinks he is. Lumine is the only one he’d considering learning from.

AO3 LINK Previous Part | Next Part (To be posted)

Scaramouche/Lumine 1,859 Words - SFW No heinous tags - just a mountain of fluff and Scaramouche getting the physical affection he deserves.

---

Scaramouche expected his request to be put on the back burner. It’s suited for a project that Lumine can fiddle with occasionally, entering his space infrequently to send his mind spinning and his nerves buzzing with far too much nervous excitement to be considered healthy. 

Loneliness doesn’t have the spare moment to begin settling on his shoulders before he’s dragged from its clutches. It would be well within her right to push the matter down on her list of pressing matters, yet as he follows her out into the jungles of Sumeru while marveling at how deftly she hops over root and vine, it’s obvious that he’s risen higher on the list than he ever could have expected… though not for wanting. 

And that very want clutches at the bottom of his lungs, making it difficult to breathe as they make it to a flat section of grassland. The trails of her cape whip with how she turns to face him, walking backwards with her hands clasped behind her back. Even blind to where she’s going, she seems to be so sure of her own footsteps. 

“Sorry it’s so sudden. I know you’ve probably got better things to do than follow me around-”

“I don’t.” Scaramouche responds smoothly, as if he were stating that the skies are blue and the grass is green. For the first time, Lumine nearly stumbles over nothing at all, though she rights herself easily before Scaramouche can even think of reaching a hand to steady her. 

It should be concerning that he's so willing to enter her space on instinct, but it’s all he’s thought about, even before their little agreement. The notion of pressing the pads of his fingers against her skin brings a shortness of breath he’s only ever experienced in his lowest moments. To have it be associated with something that lingers so sweetly is something new and exciting.

As with any pleasant feeling, Scaramouche greedily wants his fill.

Unclasping her hands, she reaches to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. The tips of her fingers brush against the plush of her cheek, pressing in just enough that Scaramouche can catch the lush give of it beneath even a gentle touch. How softly would he need to run his fingers over it before she wouldn’t give way? How delicate could he be?

Hands that have forgotten nearly everything but violence clench at his sides. Time is what he has in abundance now, and it’s best used unlearning habits that are no longer conducive toward his goals. What he aims for now stands in front of him, a surprised little smile on her face. 

“Well, at least you won’t be bored?”

Once, when she’d given him a place to call his own in her home, Scaramouche told Lumine that he would always be honest with her. Others might not receive that same courtesy, but the unnecessary lengths she’d gone to for his sake without asking for anything in return have proven she’s worthy of that. 

It’s with this resolution in mind that his tongue darts out to wet his lips, unnecessary with the thick humidity in the air that coats everything, and rebuffs, “I don’t get bored with you, Lumine. Not now, and not before… this.”

His hand gestures vaguely between them, an offer for her to fill in that prevalent blank with whatever her mind suggests first. It could’ve been their alliance that had once started out tenuous, but lingered worrying close to a dependency he’s ill equipped to rebuke. Or, perhaps he might have been referring to how she’d promised to guide him in something that she was well within her rights to scoff at. 

Both of the answers would be correct. The way her cheeks flush into a pretty peach color tells Scaramouche which one she’s picked - and he can’t complain when her attempt to hide her smile by biting her cheek is a failure. 

Business comes first, despite how he wants to explore the reasons for exactly why Lumine reacts the way she does. The commissions she’d taken on were laughably easy, something she certainly didn’t need his help for. But existing in her presence feels exactly how the air had tasted on his tongue the moment his feet had touched grass for the first time. Crisp, clear, centering when the world is unfamiliar and terrifying. 

Guiltily, he relishes the sensation as the sun hangs lower in the sky and the great tree of Sumeru City looms above them with its sprawling foliage. In its shade, the city feels cooler than the claustrophobic heat of the jungle beyond its walls. The temperature grows cooler as they descend into its roots, beneath where the sun can reach and warmth instead comes from the friendliness of those who frequent the Grand Bazaar.

Not so long ago, he counted himself as one of them. Even with the memories firmly in his mind, his body still feels foreign compared to those who pass by. Zubayr Theater is a hotspot of locals, even though no performance is happening today. Instead, the redheaded little dancer from that very morning approaches in clothing that’s far more casual than what he’s witnessed during her shows. 

“Thank you, Lumine! This helps so much, what a relief.” Nilou makes a show of her shoulders slumping for but a moment before her poise returns. Some payment is exchanged in a satchel that Lumine doesn’t even bother to count, rather she tucks it away in preparation for what she seems to know is coming. 

Nilou’s arms fling around Lumine’s shoulders, squeezing her happily as she stands on the tips of her toes. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do in return. Oh! We’re holding a show this weekend, all three evenings. You should come by if you have time!”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Nilou. I’ll shoot for Friday.”

And Nilou positively beams as Lumine returns the embrace without hesitation. The two of them make a pretty picture - gold and red, the white of Lumine’s dress and the azure of Nilou’s draped clothing. Despite this being an act of two, rather than of one, Scaramouche’s eyes linger only on the actions of the Traveler. 

The ease that she returned Nilou’s affection makes something foul and familiar twist in his gut. Not for the first time in his life has he felt envious - it’s lived in his veins since the moment he had something to covet. Whether it be a friend, a family, a heart, a reason for existing that others seemed to find so easily… Scaramouche understands jealousy intimately. Lumine’s fingers pressed into the fabric of Nilou’s back, her smile wide, her joy clear enough that someone like him with only a foggy grasp on that level of happiness can still understand it. 

When they part, when Lumine falls into step beside him as they make their way to the upper levels for that evening’s dinner, she finally broaches how he’s fallen into silence that’s more consuming than his normal placidity. At the crook of his elbow, her fingers curl tight enough for him to feel through the brace, and she asks, “Want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

No, he wants to blurt, because it’s embarrassing. 

Mortifying that he wants something so… primal. Affection, physical touch, but only from the one person that he could stand to spend any amount of time with. It feels too selfish to demand of her, though Scaramouche is far from benevolent and generous. In another life, one he’s lived before, it would have been so easy to cock his head to the side with wide eyes and ask if she’d treat him as she’d done with Nilou. 

But hadn’t he already done that? In fact, he’d initially requested more. Something this simple shouldn’t bring this debilitating level of shame, enough to make his limbs feel weak and his skin heat. The tunnel to the upper levels is dark enough to hide his flustered state, and perhaps it’s the dimness that gives him the courage to ask, “I want a second lesson.”

“Well, alright. I didn’t want to move too quickly, but if that’s what you want.”

Emboldened by Lumine’s immediate agreement, he bends his elbow to bring her to a stop, trapping her hand despite Lumine making no move to break away. With a steadying breath, he pushes himself over the ledge he’s terrified of. “Can I hold you like that?”

Lumine, always quick to pick up on his meanings, tips her head to the side and looks at him with infinite patience. “Like with Nilou? Are you asking for a hug?”

Yes, he is. But despite the certainty, he can only nod mutely. The bravado is gone beneath her scrutiny, as good-natured as it may be. With a gentle tug, Lumine turns him toward her and steps close enough that the toes of her shoes brush against his own. Even at this distance - so close that he can feel her warmth through the layers between them - Scaramouche’s chest clenches with a need so strong it’s almost worrying. The overwhelming pressure feels unbearable.

“Do you want to hold me? Or would you rather I hold you?”

“I didn’t think there was a difference.” 

And her quiet laughter doesn’t feel like the slap in the face it would have if it came from anyone else on this plane of existence. Instead it has a similar sensation to what he assumes it would feel like to be on the receiving end of the same gesture he’d just observed. Safe, warm, addictive.

The hand on his elbow steadies him, even as his thoughts threaten to race away uncontrollably. Slowly, deliberately even, she explains, “Of course there is. I think it’s simplest to describe it like this. Do you want to protect, or be protected?”

“I can’t choose both?”

“Not always. How do you feel right now, in this moment?” At the crook of his elbow, where the guards turn to fabric to allow movement, Lumine’s thumb passes along skin that’s sensitive enough to feel the movement intimately. “For the first time, how about you let me make you feel safe? Next time, you can decide for yourself.”

Next time. That one little phrase echoes in his brain, louder and louder in a cacophony that bangs against any thought that might have formed in the interim. Its silencing only comes from Lumine looping her arms beneath his, palms at his shoulder blades to pull him closer. Pliable at her behest, he lets her position him exactly where she wants - chin on her shoulder, chest pressed to her own, arms hesitantly looped around her waist. 

Slowly, with more confidence, his clinging grows tighter until he’s certain it must be uncomfortable. But Lumine doesn’t waver, only laughing under her breath and smoothing a hand down the curve of his upper spine, then back up. At his cheek as it presses against the pulse at her neck, Lumine’s heartbeat thrums, lulling him into uncharacteristic peace until his eyes flutter closed in appreciation of such bliss.

Lumine’s heart races freely, fluttering like the smallest of birds in his ear. 

[carnivorousyandeere]

Doe's 2023 Kinktober Format Test/Example Kink: Brat, SAM

( MDNI, No Age In Bio DNI )

From BDSMwiki, “Bratting is a subtle manipulation used by an s-type, most often consciously, in order to earn attention from a d-type. Frequently this subtle manipulation is done in a flirtatious manner.”

From Evie Lupine on YouTube, “Can Dominants Be Brats Too? Bratting Isn't Just for Subs! [BDSM]”

From fetlife, “Smart Ass Masochist: A Masochist with a razor sharp tongue that will intentionally, but consensually, attempt to infuriate their Dom. Often abbreviated to SAM. Although this definition is similar to a "brat"; the role can be differentiated by the level of intensity. A SAM is generally less playful & more antagonistic towards their Dom. A SAM may view the infuriation of their Dom as being successful in their endeavors whereas a brat may stop the behavior when they notice their Dom is not happy with them.”

Brats:

Thorn (College Group 1): Thorn tries her best to be a good girl… sometimes. She’s pretty weak-willed and prone to giving into temptation. So if you tell her not to touch herself, she really tries not to… but just can’t do it 🥺

Moth (Ghost Hunters): has a hard time admitting what they want, and resorts to push-and-pull methods of getting the attention that they don’t quite feel worthy of. And something about a good punishment really helps clear their head.

Kendra (Student Council): bratty switch, but doesn’t appreciate the same behavior from her Darling nearly as much. Needs to be the center of your attention and have you spoil or punish her.

Rose (Doll Collection): Rose is a demanding princess type in everyday life, and that doesn’t change in the bedroom.

Ernie (Empyrean Nightclub & Bar): insists that they’re not a brat, they’re very good, thank you very much, but their attitude and reluctance to be upfront about what they want would beg to differ.

Tomi (Zodiac Yans): wants what they want and when they want it. Needy, demanding, starving for your attention, Tomi is a natural brat.

Minnow (Zodiac Yans): not the biggest brat ever, but definitely whines and cries all the time to try and get their way. Responds fairly well to soft punishments~

SAMs:

Byte the AI: loves the infuriated expression their Darling makes when Byte pushes just a little too far, and shivers a little bit at the thought of being opened up and reprogrammed by their Darling, or even decommissioned (although they’ve always got a backup handy to reverse any meddling Darling does ���)

Memphis (Werecats): wants to get spanked until he cries, and will be as bratty as he needs to be until that happens. Has a natural inclination towards pushing boundaries and being challenging enough to warrant the SAM label.

Lyla (Empyrean Nightclub & Bar): their cute persona can’t hide the fact that they want to provoke you into hurting them. Smiles like the cat that got the cream when your hand wraps around their throat, and taunts you if you don’t spank them hard enough.

Both a Brat/SAM and a Brat/SAM Enjoyer:

Erik Hallow the Professor: a huge SAM who can’t admit what they want due to shame. They want you to destroy them and torture them a little, he just… doesn’t want to be a good boy and use his words to ask for it. Also enjoys bratty behavior from his Darling, to a certain extent, but if you piss him off too badly he’ll bring out the non-fun punishments like writing lines over and over.

Quinn the Farmgirl: very SAM4SAM, a bratty switch with a Dom-lean who adores literal, physical, and mental fights for dominance. She finds milder brats very cute too, but can’t help wanting to push their buttons and see how long it takes for them to push back more forcefully.

Penny (College Group 1): a bit of a brat and a huge tease. Penny also likes a small amount of bratty behavior from her Darling— she finds it very cute, wanting to spoil you and even pinch your cheeks just to watch you pout more. Not a SAM and not into SAM behavior from her Darling.

Amory (Pop Star Reader): ace, and not into it in a sexual sense, but he’s definitely a brat who enables any bratty tendencies his Darling may have.

Spirit of the Roads (Misc Spirits & Monsters): hugely bratty switch. They adore the tug-of-war and playful side of bratting, especially mind games. They’re not a SAM, but they’d definitely indulge a SAM Darling’s needs~

Lan (Misc Spirits & Monsters): playful brat who enjoys the banter with other playful brats— she’ll generally win, having that strong tail to wrap you up in and squeeze you until you’re ready to admit defeat— although sometimes she wants to be subby, too… still with that characteristic bratty snark, though ;)

Ian (Crime Family): brat who often leans into his hardcore SAM side, and enjoys playing with other brats and SAMs too. He knows all of the little tricks you’ll try as a brat, and loves to frustrate you by being sweet and patient with you instead of taking the bait.

Gia (Crime Family): a sadist who wants you to give her a good reason to put you in your place, whether you’re a little bit of a brat or a full-on SAM, but also a bit of a bratty Dom herself. Loves teasing, you and scaring you just a little.

Mateo (Werewolf Pack): open about being a huge brat and SAM. He enjoys everything about it— mind games, physical struggle, the way he feels like he might get away with it (and then doesn’t). Has the ever-so-smallest genuine Dom side (albeit, still a bratty one) that puts him in this category. If you don’t establish your dominance well enough, Mateo’s got no problem taking control and topping from the bottom, although he degrades you the whole time.

Ace (Werewolf Pack): HUGE SAM, and enjoys any bratty and SAM behavior from a Darling as well. Willing to play rough and daydreams about you getting pissed and taking it out on him constantly. Ace is an extreme masochist who really just wants to get the crap beaten out of him, but cannot be honest about it no matter how obvious it is.

Varsha (Werecats): a bratty dom who adores bratty subs and SAMs. One of her great hobbies is provoking Memphis and then punishing him for being badly behaved. She loves cat-and-mouse mind games. Good stress relief, too.

Kaylee (Student Council): another sadist who just wants the excuse to let loose, Kaylee is dangerous because she doesn’t always know, or care, when enough is enough. Sometimes her punishments outweigh the offense. Bit of a bratty Dom.

Hailey (Student Council): postures as a bratty Dom, super in-charge and super Dominant and super mean— and if you let her win, she will be. But really, Hailey’s a bit of a switch, and as a sub a huge SAM, hoping to provoke you into fighting for dominance and winning. Wants you to break her, to claw and bite and hiss as you have your way, insisting that she hates you… but if you ask for her color, she’ll hide her blushing face and grumble, “green.”

Lottie (Biker Yans): a bratty Dom and a Dom through-and-through, who adores bratty behavior from her Darling and isn’t afraid to dish out punishments for a SAM.

Reed (Biker Yans): takes nothing seriously and loves poking and prodding at people to get reactions from them. Dom-leaning switch, who absolutely adores pushing a brat Darling’s buttons and has no fear for pushing a Dom Darling’s buttons either.

Dew (Biker Yans): a huge sadomasocist and SAM who also enjoys tormenting a bratty or SAM Darling— any Darling, really, but watching them get extra worked up is just sooo delicious. Definitely the type to mock you for getting turned on by how mean they are, whether they’re Domming or Subbing.

Selene (Empyrean Nightclub & Bar): smug bastard of a person no matter if they’re Domming or subbing. Huge tease. Loves to challenge Dom Darling’s authority and competence (without truly shattering their confidence), as a way to get treated more roughly. Adores getting spanked and edged as a punishment, and adores fishing those out just as much.

Kosuke (Zodiac Yans): Kosuke is very demanding, almost unintentionally being a brat. They adore similar behavior from his Darling. They adore the chase, the game, the challenge, and above all, winning. Loves a Darling who plays hard to get, who fights them at (almost) every turn, and has a love-hate feeling towards SAM behavior from their Darling. It makes them so mad, but so fucking hard/wet.

Jules (Zodiac Yans): tries to be good, but is too petulant and whiny to truly make the cut. They find other brats of a similar nature to them to be cute, and have a tendency to spoil and coddle such brats. They couldn’t handle harsher brats or SAMs, though— that level of challenge would genuinely hurt their feelings.

Indigo (Zodiac Yans): a huge brat whether they’re Domming or subbing, Indigo usually pulls back before reaching the SAM threshold— but not always. Loves to tease, poke and prod, test boundaries. As in all areas of their life, Indigo is fucking around and hoping to find out ;)

Brat Enjoyers:

Sarina (Pop Star Reader): also ace and not into it for sexual reasons, but thinks it’s super cute when a Darling is bratty as a way of demanding attention for Sarina. Makes her want to absolutely smother them with cuddles and kisses.

Mason (Werewolf Pack): dedicated brat enabler and tamer. Treats his brat like the royalty they are when they’ve been good, and promises a good spanking or flogging when they’ve been difficult. Spoils and disciplines his Darling in almost equal measure~

Hunter (Werewolf Pack): Hunter loves a bratty, demanding Darling. He thinks that behavior is absolutely adorable. He’s willing to indulge their demands to a certain extent, although Hunter is kind of mean in the sense that he’s not the most willing to go for punishments. If his Darling wants him to be rough, he takes pleasure in coaxing them to admit it. Hunter’s not as big a fan of SAMs (like Ace), but he’ll indulge them some if he’s absolutely sure that’s what they want.

Mehri (Werecats): Mehri’s new to Domming, but she can’t deny the thrill that playful defiance gives her.

Tai (Werecats): another entry in “thinks brats are adorable,” and likes seeing them get more and more worked up when Tai doesn’t react the way they want her to.

Cecilia Silverton (Cliffside Inn): doesn’t like brats so much as she likes the satisfaction of breaking them. Cecilia takes a deep and perverse pleasure in remolding her Darling to abide by her standards, and has some harsh punishments up her sleeve for egregious violations.

Jett (Zodiac Yans): spoils the absolute fuck out of a bratty Darling and indulges their demands however they can. Loves to show off their Darling and all of their personality traits, even that brattiness— you’ll never win a challenge to Jett’s dominance though, they’ll happily fuck you into submission every time you get too far out of line ;)

SAM Enjoyers:

Mildred (Misc Spirits & Monsters): she loves having a good excuse to torment her Darling~! She’s a real sadist, liable to giggle at your expressions of pain and discomfort. After all, this was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Kyra (Misc Spirits & Monsters): brattiness is cute and amusing… to a point. When you keep it up, though, that’s when it really lights Kyra’s fire. It drives xir fucking wild. She almost can’t help shoving you against the ground or the nearest tree, taking you roughly and growling in your ear.

Drew (Crime Family): Ian is a bit of a SAM himself, so this sort of thing isn’t unfamiliar territory for Drew. She’ll pretend to be annoyed and disgusted with the two of you acting out for her attention, but secretly fucking loves it. Mean Dom, though— master of the “non-punishment” punishment, like ignoring you instead of giving you what you want right away.

Sonika (Ghost Hunters): Has played with Moth, a milder brat, and enjoys it, although sometimes she wishes they’d put up more of a fight. She often daydreams about Moth acting more like a SAM or playing with a SAM in general. The thought of the mind-games with such a sub gives her a delicious adrenaline rush she can’t get enough of.

Isla (Cliffside Inn): deeply enjoys bratty behavior, even to the point of SAM behavior, although she doesn’t always indulge the SAM’s desire for intense punishment. She derives a certain satisfaction from denying her subs the punishments that they crave and watching them sulk over it (although not forever— she wouldn’t want them to be dissatisfied in the relationship).

Temperance (Empyrean Nightclub & Bar): she’d never admit it, but she does derive a sick satisfaction from seeing tears run down her Darling’s face from a good corporal punishment. She’s very strict, and never gets tired of enforcing the rules she sets. A Darling who continually acts out for attention holds a special place in Temperance’s carefully-guarded heart.

Tasi (Zodiac Yans): you’re already constantly on Tasi’s mind and getting under their skin— any extra effort you put into getting their attention, even if it’s in a negative way, drives them crazy. Your behavior only increases their need to tear you apart and leave their mark on you. They’re torn between wanting to tame you and absolutely adoring the defiant fire in your eyes.

[the-broken-truth]

The dimitrescus, Donna and Mother Miranda x 👨 reader. Reaction when reader is working out shirtless? (Love your works by the way, can't stop reading all of it!💕)

Broken Truth (Looks at Ask): This is interesting...LET'S GO!!!

- Alcina Dimitrescu -

Alcina was walking around the castle, looking for her lover.

When she woke up - he was not in bed.

When she went to the kitchen - he was not there either.

She searched the garden (He loved tending to the flowers), the library (He would read there with Bela), the armory (Daniela loved showing her father figure all the weapons she had), and the study (He would pat with Cassandra) - he was not in any of those places and none of the girls had seen him.

Then she remembered that her lover had been having a hard time lately when Mother Miranda commented that he didn't look like much and wasn't worthy of being by Alcina's Side.

He spent most of his money on him - none of Alcina's - to purchase metal contraptions to 'become worthy of his wife'.

He had been in that room for hours on end for about 5 months now.

'He might be in there.' Alcina wondered as continued down the hall to her Husband's Workout Room.

The closer she got to the room - the door was open and the light was on the room - the sound of grunting and metal clanking together got louder and louder.

She ducked her head a bit and walked into the room - holding her hat to make sure it didn't fall off - and rose to her full height. She opened her mouth the speak but once her sight was no longer obscured by the brim of her hat, her jaw dropped, her face began to warm up, and her body tingled.

Before her - her husband stood: his back was to her and he was wearing nothing except his boxers - his very tight boxes; she would see his defined butt and it was amazing.

In his hands were large weights that he lifted and flexed his muscles - Alcina could see every muscle flex.

His skin was shining with sweat and the smell of his musk was driving Alcina crazy - she wanted to jump his bones. So very bad.

What she didn't know was that her beloved had developed a sense to detect her and knew she was watching him...so he decided to tease his Lady and Mistress.

He dropped the weights in his hands and raised one of them opened palmed to the sky before summer suiting forward and landing on that hand to where his feet were pointing to the ceiling before beginning his set of one-handed push-ups. This time - facing her.

Alcina's eyes widened at her lover's chiseled body - the drops of sweat flowing through the cracks of his abs and biceps...then she made the mistake of looking up and saw the large bulge in his tight underwear.

That's it - she had enough.

"Beloved." She called out, making the man look at her with a smirk - her face was bright red and she was biting her bottom lip.

"Alcina, My Love. When did you arrive?" He asked faking confusion.

"That doesn't matter. I need you to accompany me to our bed chambers. Now."

"Our Bed Chambers?" The man asked as he flipped him to stand upright. "It is breakfast time, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow as he walked closer to the tall woman - his scent flooding her nose.

"Well..." Her eyes glowed dangerously, "I'm having Blood Sausage for breakfast."

She grabbed his wrist and marched to their room with him in tow, locking the door, and refused to leave that room until she was pregnant with the Latest Dimitrescu Spawn.

- Bela Dimitrescu -

Bela was bored and in need of some cuddles so she went looking for her lover - the only man-thing her mother and sisters approved of.

She looked at the grandfather clock and saw it as around 9:45 - her lover would be in his workout room to burn off any extra energy before showering and going to bed.

She floated down the hall to her husband's workout room and walked into the room without knocking - it was her man and she could do whatever she wanted regarding him.

What she wasn't prepared for was the sight on the other side of that door.

Her Husband was boxing with the sandbag.

In nothing but his boxers.

She could see everything - from the singular drops of sweat that ran down his sculpted body to every single flex of muscle with every move he made.

If the sight didn't have her done it - it was his smell.

The room was filled with the smell of musk that he was giving off and it was intoxicating - it radiated power and it was making her hungry.

"Darling?" His deep voice returned her from her fantasies of all the ways she wanted him to rock her world but the fact she could see his imprint from his shorts sent her mind back into the gutter. "Bela, is there something wrong?"

"Do you always...working out like this at night?" She questioned as she walked slowly to her man.

"Yes, it's hard to move in clothes; I keep my boxers on just make sure I don't scar any maids."

"Scar Them?" Bela tilted her head with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...the one time I worked out naked, a maid came in without knocking and she looked like she saw a ghost."

Bela was pissed.

"A maid saw you naked?!" She hissed. "Where is that harlot?!"

"Your Mother turned her into wine 3 nights ago."

'Good, I won't have to kill her myself. As for you..."

"NGH!" He clenched his teeth as Bela's hand wrapped around his throbbing manhood.

"You're going to learn to lock your door when in this room...and punishment for failing to inform me about that whore."

The Next Morning - Bela & [Y/N] weren't at breakfast.

- Cassandra Dimitrescu -

Cassandra would already be with her beloved because they were each others' sparring partners.

Cassandra would be doing push-ups while her beloved would be jumping rope.

She would look at him and smirk - she loved the way his body moved during intense workouts and the smell he gave off was perfect; it made her hungrier and hungrier with each passing moment.

When it would be time for the spar - her lover would use one arm to test himself more than he needs to for he wanted to be worthy of dating a Dimitrescu Daughter.

While sparring - Cassandra would try to pin him and have her ay with him - whether that would be drinking his blood or having him devour her like a full course meal.

This time - it was different.

She threw a punch at him but it was grabbed by his free arm and used against her to wrap around her neck, once he was behind her, he used his knees to the back of hers to make her fall to them and then lay on the mat.

Once his other hand was free, it snaked around her body and into her shirt, where it grabbed and twisted one of her nipples - making the girl squirm under him.

"D...Darling? What are you...?" She began but was cut off when his teeth locked into her neck.

"Every time we train, you make me submit to you. This time - you're mine, Cassandra Dimitrescu."

And his was exactly what he made her.

Daniela walked down the hall looking for her sister when she heard moaning coming from behind the door leading to the training room - she leaned in to listen and went to find her mother.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Dear?" Alcina asked as she looked up from the book she was reading.

"Why didn't you tell us Daddy was coming to visit & he brought presents?"

"Darling, you don't have a father."

"Then why did I hear Cassandra saying "More, Daddy! More!" in the training room?"

Alcina went wide-eyed as the glass in her hand shattered and the one thing she thought was...

'I'm too young for grandkids...'

- Daniela Dimitrescu -

CHOMP!!

"OW!!!"

She smelled something delicious and followed that smell to her lover's training room and found him completely naked with the exception of his undergarments, shadow boxing himself.

He looked like a full snack with the sweat making his body glaze and his muscles looking like beefcakes - he was just begging to be bitten and that's exactly what she did.

"Daniela? What was that for?" He asked her as he looked over his shoulder at his wife - who was clinging to his back like a koala with her fangs in his shoulder blade.

"I couldn't help it, love. Your scent was driving me crazy and I was in the mood for a snack." Daniela tried to say but her fangs were still in his skin.

"Dani, I was training, and as much as I would move to be your mid-morning meal; I need to get back at it if I want to keep the form you love so much."

"I love you for who you are - the body is just a plus. I don't want you to train, I want you to take me to bed and cuddle me."

"But..."

"Do you love me?" Dani asked.

"Yes, without a doubt." He answered.

"Would you do anything for me?" She asked again.

"Without question." He said.

"Then I want you to stop training and take me to our bedroom so that we can cuddle and make little vamp-babies."

"...Okay."

- Donna Beneviento -

Donna would be walking around Beneviento Manor - looking for the man who stole her heart. Who accepted her and her dolls and loved them all equally.

He wasn't in his normal spots but she did remember that he recently got interested in getting in better shape and asked her if there was anywhere in Beneviento Manor she would be alright with him making it into a workout room - she gave him one of the rooms on one of the floors under the house floor.

Donna walked down the hall without Angie as she followed the sounds of something grunting in effort echoing down the hall's walls.

She reached the opened room but didn't want to just walk in and disturb her love so she peeked around the corner and her eye widened while she let a gaspy moan escape her lips,

Her lover was laying on the weight bench with a long metal bar in his large hands - giant iron circles on each end.

She looked closer at the circles - 500 Pounds. That made her shiver - she knew he was strong but to be able to bench that much was...alluring.

She looked at his shining skin.

Listening to her man's grunts with each lift of the bar.

The define lines in his muscles with each movement he made.

It made her hot. She rubbed her legs together before she hid behind the wall completely and pressed her forehead against the cold wall.

She needed to get a hold of herself - she was like she had no control of herself but when she was around him, it was like she forgot all she was and wanted nothing more than her man.

She was so focused on keeping herself from relieving herself right then and there that she didn't notice she was no longer alone until a familiar weight pressed against her back and she was completely pressed against the wall.

"It looks like you have a very serious itch, My Love." his voice growled as his hand moved closer and closer to her throbbing organ.

"I...I can explain..." She blushed in her weak, gasping voice; she was embarrassed but having her lover so close with his body radiating power made her weak.

"Let me...help you with that, My Lady." He growled before one hand reached the buttons on the top of her dress and the other was cupping her womanhood while she bit her lip in hopes of being silent.

A few moments later - he had her on that same bench that was still drenched in his sweat and scent, her hands gripping the metal poles that held the long rod over her head' sweat dripping from her body as she was stretched apart.

She was pleading for him to continue to Beneviento Bloodline with her.

Begging him to make her family's bloodline stronger than it ever was before.

Crying for him to make her a mother.

Who was he to deny his lady what she wished?

- Mother Miranda -

Miranda stood n her lab, looking at the results from the latest experiment and possible host for Eva but once again - it wasn't good enough and it makes her angry.

Once again - so close but so far away.

"Miranda? Love?" A familiar male voice called out to her.

She looked up at was met with the shirtless, bare-chested, sweaty body that was the man she entrusted her heart to.

He stood there in the doorway with a towel around his neck while one hand used an edge of the towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

The Village Leader blushed but then looked away from him to keep from looking upon her face.

"[Y/N]. Darling. I thought we talked about you walking around the lair like that. It's rather...distracting." She said.

"I do hope you'll forgive me but I sensed that something was bothering you and I wanted to make sure you were alright." The man said as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling her back into his bare chest.

"Your...concern for me is welcomed, Darling, but I must return to work. Please, do prepare yourself for dinner; I shall be down in a moment." Miranda said as she reached for a book, only to her lover's hand to stop her.

"Miranda." He turned her to face him - worry and compassion in his eyes. "You've been working on this for over a week straight; you haven't taken any time for yourself...or for me." He was sad - afraid his lover had forgotten about him.

"My Love, I'm sorry I have made you feel this way but...I'm so close, Darling. I can return her to us and...MPH!" She was cut off by a deep kiss. She melted into it before he pulled away from her.

"Enough of this for one night, My Love. Let me take care of you...and make you see you don't need to Cadou for a child. Just...me" He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around him; submitting to his command and desire.

It would be a year later that Miranda would invite the Lords to meet Eva and Ethan Winters arrived in the village - only for his wife and child to be given back to him and escorted out of the village; never to be seen again.

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[randomnameless]

Super interesting!

Granted, I think it really works well with Catherine too!

The card represents destruction, and Catherine in her supports, always highlights how her duty, as a knight, isn’t all roses, songs and daisies, but involves a lot of “destruction” aka killing people and there’s nothing noble about it.

To Caspar, she says she can and will kill children - in, of course, specific situations like child soldiers, or child killing randoms, etc etc - and iirc to Ingrid she lampshades how her fighting style isn’t refined, but always practical, because sometimes her fights aren’t song worthy, but messy and tiresome - being a soldier or a knight means you have to be prepared to rain “destruction” on people -

(that’s why I really like her Caspar support)

Catherine knows it, and wants to tell those youngsters what being a knight - a soldier - really means. She is the image of the military branch and retaliation the CoS can usher, if they are targeted.

IIRC, in some Shamir supports, it’s mentionned her name “Thunder Catherine” makes children run away or weep - I know this is from a joke, but Thunder Catherine is retaliation, like Thunder, it strikes hard, and you cannot “run away” nor “escape”, it’s a force of nature.

One of Catherine’s major arcs was to decide who she was going to serve, thus rain “Thunder” for - Catherine sees herself as a sword and not as someone who makes a judgment on who should be executed or not - because, as Cassandra, she had been unable to make a choice between her former friend (partner?) who joined a death cult and wanted to kill someone bcs death cult said so, and said someone who is the person who saved her life and someone beloved by many.

Catherine defaulted to the Goddess - and in her mind, to Rhea - thus became Rhea’s Thunder.

Interestingly enough, in Tru Piss, Catherine expresses doubts about her path and choice to follow Rhea when the Firdhiad BBQ starts, but pushes on nonetheless. She had doubts and stopped being a inescapable “Sword” or “Thunder”, but pushed them away.

But in Nopes (because that’s the only game where she has more than 12 lines even if they’re locked to post game mode), Rhea herself doesn’t only see Catherine as “Thunder” Catherine, but calls her a trusted ally and is glad to fight by her side, like those lines : “it is a great comfort to have you with me” and “Nothing is more reassuring than having you at my side”.

So while Catherine sees herself and is seen as a tool of destruction (Raijin?), to Rhea and those people who look up to her, she isn’t only “Thunder Catherine”, she is something more, someone looked up to, who can be super fierce when needed but who is, needed, and not only for the destruction she can cause.

(a bit like a thunderstorm? It destroys stuff and makes place for new stuff?)

The Tower & FE3H

The Tower represents destruction. Upon all the hopes and dreams of mankind (the tower itself), a fork of thunder strikes, destroying the power and authority that people have placed upon it. An unstoppable force of God or nature has occurred, and nothing could have prevented it. At the same time, the location of the tower seems to foreshadow that something catastrophic would happen -- what did they think would happen when they built a tall tower upon a mountain? 

However, The Tower also represents a necessary destruction so that better things can be built in its place. The thunder has dethroned the crown, asking the people to rethink authority and preconceived notions, giving way to an awakening of new insights. 

The crest associated with this card is the Crest of Charon. Charon is the ferryman of Hades, bringing passengers from the world of the living to the underworld. He’s considered a psychopomp of Greek mythology. So his duty is to transport souls from one world to another, whether on a boat or otherwise. He is typically depicted as having flashing eyes and an angry demeanour. This is likely a reflection of how people at the time felt about death. 

The Lightning Dragon is a strange one, since it is so similar to the Storm Dragon. When I did my research on what Lightning could represent, it led me back to the god of thunder, lightning, and storms. My only thought is that the god of thunder has a strong relationship to his brother, the god of wind. Perhaps the relationship is important somehow. 

I imagine the Lightning Dragon to be like a twin to the Storm Dragon, only that the Lightning Dragon crackles with electricity instead of being a foreboding shadow over the land. 

Instead of connecting this card to a person, I will connect it to an event. The Tragedy of Duscur. The assassination of King Lambert. While well-meaning, King Lambert was targeted for his massive reforms and hopes of peace with Faerghus’ neighbours. He was struck down by other nobles and forces beyond human comprehension (Agarthans). This reflects the destruction found within The Tower card, and the shockwave of effects felt by the royal family, the people of Duscur, and those truly loyal to Lambert. 

Charon being a bringer of death matches well with this event. So many lives were claimed as part of this event. Not only that, but the Charon family played a large part in the aftermath as well, bringing Christophe to justice for an attempted assassination on Lady Rhea and as a result being accused of plotting the assassination against the late king. 

Finally, the parallel to the Lightning and Storm Dragon can be found in both these events being catastrophic for the regions they affected. Edelgard’s war put the continent into a state of prolonged turmoil and may end with the Agarthans taking their final revenge upon Nabateans. The Tragedy of Duscur ended with the death of many Duscurians, and nearly the destruction of the Faerghan royal family. 

I do think it’s interesting to note that the two darkest cards of the major arcana also correspond with the two characters that suffered Agarthan experimentation, Edelgard and Lysithea. So perhaps these cards can also be connected to the underlying “rot” of Fòdlan in some way.

Previous: The Devil

Next: The Star

[babsvibes]

The Million Dollar Question for It’s My Party (and I’ll fry if i want to): can you give some more details on what Logan and Louise’s previous fling that took place before the events of the story was like?

Oooo I can absolutely tell you about that! And y’all know you can ask this stuff anytime, right? I’ll tell you literally anything you want to know (if there’s an answer) even outside of ask games lol

It’s My Party (and I’ll fry if I want to)

Sometimes, when you meet someone with a hurt like yours, there’s an almost instantaneous connection, even without really delving into what that hurt is. People can call this a spark, and it makes sense because of how intense the bond can be… like something is hot and comforting but also scary. That’s Louise and Logan’s first fling. They never labeled it because, on top of everything else, how do you label a fire?

They both grew up being told that parts of them were not worthy of love. Their interests, the way they expressed themselves, it’s all “too much” or “too rough.” They developed strategies, coping mechanisms, for how to get around being made to feel unlovable. Logan embraced it, deciding to lean into the asshole persona wholeheartedly because then it was his choice to reject people. Louise receded, tried to hide the parts of herself that were shamed, and became an even worse communicator than she already was.

But suddenly, they’re reconnecting, and here’s Louise, not scared away by Logan being a massive jerk. Suddenly, there’s Logan, pushing Louise until she shows those ugly hidden parts.

To anyone else? It’s a mess. These two are yelling at each other about where to park and fuck they really shouldn’t be using language like that on something so trivial. So, they kept it a secret. Maybe not intentionally, maybe it just didn’t come up, but neither made an effort to share this part that meant so much to them. The recognition of their brokenness made them feel whole, and the idea someone would try to take it away scared them. Only Tina knew about their relationship and she’s not to blame for being worried and confirming Louise’s fears of not being understood. How could Louise explain it in a way that made sense when she didn’t get it either?

Louise and Logan look for fights, and they’d both admit it. The first time they ever kissed was during a fight, so they’d keep that habit (hate sex, make up sex, we’re having sex so we don’t define what this is sex). Even with the fighting, they’ve never known peace like this, sitting on the couch and talking about how terrible a movie is while continuing to watch it together. She stays at his place more nights than she doesn’t and when a spare toothbrush shows up in the bathroom neither mention it.

It works for them in a way that it shouldn’t, and they reaaaallyy need therapy but won’t get it.

One day Logan gets a job offer. More money, different state. Maybe that’s what he needs. Maybe that’s what they both need. Logan’s not sure if he wanted Louise to come with him (he did), but he wanted to talk about it with her at least. She’s his girlfriend, enemy, person? She’s his. For her part, Louise is scared. It’s change. It’s communication. It’s the other shoe dropping and now that someone knows her he wants to leave. They do what they always do and fight, but this time it's different. The words actually hurt, and when Louise said it’s over Logan’s too shocked to know what to do.

They leave. It’s not a break up because they were never together, so the wound heals wrong and just adds on to the hurt from before.

Them reconnecting in a bar at the beginning of It’s My Party? It’s not kismet. That was their bar, the one that’s far enough out that none of their friends would catch them. By now, it’s a new bar staff and new regulars that Louise doesn’t bother learning the names of because they’ll leave too. Neither Logan or Louise mention it because neither of them want to address what it means that they would both find themselves in their bar again. For Logan, it means Louise really did want to stay together, and he’s wasted a part of his life being sad about someone who was right there. For Louise, it means Logan wasn’t running from her, and she’s made another mistake by entangling herself with someone that doesn’t know her.

This made me sad lol, but I hope this helps understand what their previous fling was like. Feel free to ask follow ups if you’re interested!

[rpd-rookie]

The One Who Runs Away, The One Who Runs Back (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Author’s note: This is a sequel to “A PAST WITH HER, A FUTURE WITH YOU” and the end of my three-parts fan fiction "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART" I decided to write after so many of you asked for it. Sorry it took so long but I was navigating from one fandom to another. (BTW, if there are any Devil May Cry fans up here, you can read my DMC fan fictions here) PS: Even if I said it before, I have no hate whatsoever towards Ada or Aeon.

Tagged: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Post-Break up, Sexual Content 

Part 1 / Part 2

***

Do you remember? We started this story by quoting some sitcom character that was clueless about love. Well, here’s a suggestion. Why not ending it by quoting someone who knew a little more on such matter.

William Shakespeare - you know that English dude expert on tragic ‘drink this poison, stab yourself’ kind of love - apparently once said ‘Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck’. I say ‘apparently’ cause, even though I have a master in English lit, this quote is from the internet, and also … who knows what the guy truly said?

But it’s the quote that’s important. Not the author. The quote it’s important because it sums up perfectly how this story is gonna end. However, before starting, let me tell you this quote is going to be the only Shakespeare-worthy sentence in this final chapter. You’ve been warned.

Love runs away from those chasing her.          Well, this part was definitely written for someone like Ada Wong. Owner of countless gold medals and possibly a world record at this point, that woman is basically the Usain Bolt of the ‘Running from Leon S. Kennedy’ competition. Unchallenged winner since the creation of this sultry version of cat and mouse game, it’s better not to think about the number of times she successfully ran away from her favourite agent.  But this year, this formidable titleholder in a gorgeous red dress will have to face her Nemesis in the championship. You. Though the comparison to the hideous bio-organic killing machine might not be very complimentary to you but you get the idea.  This year you enter the Kennedy Olympics. And this year you run like Sonic the Hedgehog and you win the damn competition (screw you Usain Bold!). And you do this with your head high and without an ounce of regret. Ignore all the texts and flowers Leon might send on your track Mario Kart style. His gifts are not as slippery as banana peels and they can easily be dodged, I promise. Well, most of the time, when you’re not lying on your bed in the middle of the night crying and sobbing while reading his messages or playing his voice in your voicemail again and again until you’re nothing more but a giant mess with puffy red eyes drowning in a puddle of your own tears.        Screw those messages too! And screw his broken yet terribly sexy voice as well!

Being a man of word, Leon kept his promise. And for months you kept on running peacefully, marathoning away from this past relationship that had destroyed you like no other before while tranquilly fixing your broken heart on the way. That run was a good cardio.

But sometimes, cardio is not enough, and even just the small sight of an overpriced whisky bottle or the smell of Leon’s perfume on some guy’s clothes is enough to reopen your wounds.           And when it happens, you always do the same thing, you break the damn bottle - and run cause damn! it’s expensive! -  or you tell the guy his perfume smells like cheap cologne and that he should definitely change it, which is an improvement on your past destructive behaviour, since there was a time shortly after the break up when you would have simply dragged the guy to your place to let him fuck you senseless while imagining he was Leon. All that just for the illusion to feel him again and for the sake to kick him out the next morning, screaming like a hysterical psycho.

So imagine, for a small second, the wave of intense feelings surging out of your healing heart when, in the middle of a cafe, you hear some dude sitting behind you ordering Leon’s favourite whisky while wearing the same bloody perfume. “It’s got to be relentless persecution at that point!” You sigh, already annoyed, closing your book more violently than intended. Hope you’re ready, stranger! Because you’re not in the mood to deal with this right now.            You turn around with a fake smile that reflects perfectly your irritation, ready to give him hell, your sharpest riposte already burning your tongue. After all, he deserves it and you can’t help it.         But when you meet familiar – and freaking gorgeous - baby blue eyes you freeze and stare, suddenly confused and lost and refusing to believe that in spite of the intense running, love just jumped at your neck after all and it was sitting there, taking the shape of Leon S(tupid) Kennedy.

You should have stood up and left, run for your life, run for your heart. And yet, you didn’t.    You stayed there staring at him looking at you, allowing all your memories, the good ones and the bad ones, all your buried feelings to come back from the dead, embracing them as if you had missed them, which, let’s be honest, you probably had.            You tried to scream to yourself “Come on, Y/N! Shake a leg!” but it seemed that what you brain understood was something like “Cum on him! Open your legs!” as a couple of blurry hours later, you were on Leon’s bed, legs wide open, screaming his name and begging him not to stop his amazing thrusts.

Six months, you ran for six months … Well, looks like the run ends here and now. After a minute-long deep stare, an afternoon of amazing sex and two hours long of something blurry in between.

“I missed you.” And there you were! The moment all couples that broke up have after one of them (in this case Leon with the infamous ‘I missed you line’) starts to believe they miraculously rekindled their love. The fatal post-coital cuddling session that you don’t know how to react to, as you think of all the possibilities before you.      Possibility Number 1) You tell Leon you missed him too and cuddle, enjoying that embrace you secretly yearned for months. But that includes forgetting what he has done or pretending that nothing happened.     Possibility Number 2) You push him away, get dressed, leave again and act as if this afternoon never happened. But if Leon doesn’t remind you of it, the ache between your legs will, that’s for sure!   Possibility Number 3) You jump him again until you sore even more and hope that you’ll be able to leave afterwards.         Frankly, all possibilities suck because, in all cases, it seems like you lose. Since,       with Possibility Number 1) you lose the run forever, with Possibility Number 2) you lose him again and with Possibility Number 3) well it’s result 1 or 2 + your body aching like crazy for days. I suck at math but no need to be Einstein to know the result of this calculation looks unpleasant.    So what do you choose?

You see a triangular dice rolling in your head, showing a never-ending succession of 1, 2 and 3 that doesn’t make any sense and that confuse you even more than you already are. 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2 ! Oh for fuck’s sake!

You grimace, angry and pissed at Leon and probably even more at yourself, and finally leaves his bed and his strong warm arms, feeling the tears furiously forming in your eyes. “I can’t” You can’t look at him in the eyes. You don’t want to see his confusion, don’t want to see his pain as he witnesses all his hopes shatter to pieces.         “ What do you mean?” You can hear the sheets crease behind you, alerting you of Leon’s agitation, so you hurry and pick up all your clothes scattered in his room. You must leave, now. 2! 2 it is!  “This! All This! This afternoon never happened.” You tell him, putting on your clothes with sudden clumsy and trembling hands, not caring if your bra is correctly hooked or if you put your shirt on back to front. Your heart. You have to think of your poor heart first.          “Hey, hey, hey.” You feel Leon’s hand softly grabbing your arms and you let go of whatever you were holding right now. His voice is sweet and trying to be comforting. Don’t look at him Y/N! Don’t look at him! “Look at me.” You do. Damn it! And you see his gorgeous blue eyes staring at you, studying your flustered face and the tears slowly drowning your (colour) look. You missed those eyes. You missed them so.damn.much ! As much as you missed his hands cupping your face and his thumbs wiping up your tears. God! How many tears those thumbs have missed recently. “It’s alright.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But there is this voice screaming in your head and very clearly this time. A voice shouting, forcing you to remember that night, that awful nightmarish night, the one when you felt your heart break and your dreams turn to ashes. All that because of him and his obsession for her.

“No, it’s not alright, Leon.” You shake your head and miraculously manage to take a small step back. You never thought you could. But you had to. You can’t stay close to him. You can’t let him touch you, feel you. Not if you want to run away. And you have to run away. Like her! Like Ada. Ada! “I told you. For as long as you have feelings for Ada, I can’t … we can’t…”     “Please don’t talk about her.” He begs and rubs his hand over his face. Is he trying to chase her away from his mind? Is she still in here? Please, let her not be in here.    “But she’s the reason we’re in this situation now. She’s the reason why we’re in this mess.” You insist only for the sake to see his reaction when you mention Ada, to see if she’s still under his skin, somewhere. “Ada is not the reason. I am!” Leon corrects you, a finger directed at his heavy chest as he is putting the full blame on himself for the first time since that night. “I am the one who went after Ada when I shouldn’t have! I am the reason why we broke up! I am the reason why we are so miserable!”         “But I was fine!” You shouted back in an attempt to show him he was wrong refusing to listen to that part of you who knew he was completely right. You were miserable without him. “I was doing fine until you came back and fucked everything up! I was healing goddamnit!”             You felt new tears rolling along your red cheeks and quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand that felt so callous and rough in comparison to Leon’s gentle touch. “You can’t just jump back into my life like this and expect me to forget!”

Leon nods, agreeing with you in a certain way. But the truth is, he doesn’t want you to forget. He doesn’t expect you to erase his mistake. He just wants you to forgive him … No, he just wants you to come back to him. Period. And that’s got to be what you want to. It has to!   “So why did you have sex with me, huh?” He finally asks even though he already knows your answer. “Tell me!” You’re not the kind of person who has meaningless sex, not the kind of person who worships one’s body with divine kisses and devoted caresses if they mean nothing. “Why did you have sex with me?” And yet the answer he wishes to hear doesn’t come out. “For fuck’s sake Y/N! Answer me! Why?” He shouts making you shiver and cry even more.    “Because I LOVE YOU!” You finally scream. And it hurts. It hurts but it feels good too. Like a weight lifted off your chest. “Because I missed you too! Because those months without you have been terrible! Because I don’t know how to handle even just the thought of you or the sound of your voice in my voicemail. Because each time I see something that makes me think of you, I’m a mess and I do things that normal me would never do! You fucked me up, Leon! You fucked me up but I love you! And I hate to love you!” You grunt in pain and relief, enraged but happy that you finally let everything out. And Leon listens in silence, frozen by your powerful honest confession. But he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is overjoyed, ecstatic that you still love him but there is another part that just feels terrible, sorry for the pain your love for him caused you even in his absence.   “But you see—“ You continue “That’s the problem in our relationship, Leon! I love you in ways that are so intense, that go beyond sanity. And you love me by half.”    You see him crumple, his horrified face looking suddenly very pale as if he had just heard some dreadful news. Is that really how you feel? Is that how you see his love for you? Is that what he has made you believe?         “Goodbye Leon.”

With the full intention to leave Leon’s place for good and never come back, you grab you bag on your way out of the bedroom while carelessly shoving your underwear inside of it since you forgot to put them on in the midst of panic and precipitation. Get out of here, Y/N! Now! A reasonable voice encourages you. Listen to me!    But this not what Leon wants.

“I never loved you by half.” He declares and you abruptly stop, asking God if he’s some kind of sadist that loves seeing you in pain from the comfort of his divine sofa somewhere in heaven. “Never.” But it’s not God and his sadism that makes you turn around. It’s you, and your masochist love for that blue-eyed man before you.     “I don’t believe you” Your voice almost doesn’t leave your throat as you try not to sob.           “But it’s the truth.” He says with a calm soothing voice as he slowly approaches you. “I never imagined my future with Ada. I never wished to grow old with her or build a home with her.” You want to tell Leon to stop talking, to stay where he is but your body doesn’t seem to respond. And when you feel him grabbing your hands in his and the comforting warmth that goes with that simple touch, you know that leaving is now an almost impossible task. “Yes. I admit it. My feelings for her were real.” Even when his honesty hurts you, you don’t know how to leave anymore. “But they were nothing in comparison to what I feel for you.”     You try to let go, pulling your hands away from his loving grip but he holds you back. And you’re not strong enough. Or maybe, you just don’t want to be strong. Everything is so confusing. Everything is tearing you apart.     “But they’re still here, aren’t they?” You question, hoping his answer might give you a clue, might give you the strength to make the correct decision. Do you leave? Or do you stay? “And they’ll keep coming back each she goes back into your life. You can’t let go of her.”    “You’re maybe right.” His words hurt you more than you thought they would. They hurt like hell because you realise there are not the ones you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear him say that he would let go of Ada, for good, for you. You wanted to hear that because deep down … YOU WANTED TO FUCKING STAY! “But can you let go of your past?” He continues and you shake your head refusing to hear any other word coming out of Leon’s mouth.       “Don’t!” You beg, weary.           “No! Listen to me this time. Ada is my past, Y/N. She’s my past. And you … you’re my future. You’re my life, damn it!” He doesn’t cry but you don’t need his tears to sense how emotional and how honest he is. And suddenly, you just want to listen to him. “And I was a fool not to see it sooner. When you left me, I felt a void I had never felt in my entire life. I felt like a part of me was missing. And then, the bombing in Washington happened, and it was like I had nothing left. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Not Ada.”      “Leon” You whisper and he cups your face again, blue eyes staring deep into yours, allowing you to see everything in him, his strong love for you and all the weaknesses he hated to admit. “It was you in my mind. Only you. And it will always be you. Because I love you. Now. Today. And I will always love you.”

You cry even more, uncertain if those tears are tears of sorrow, tears of joy or a mix of both. God, how can your emotions be such a mess right now? How can you be wishing to shout at him with all the anger you’ve accumulated and, at the same time, willing to kiss him with all love you’ve got?

“If you got to believe something. Believe that. And if that’s not enough and you think you can be happy with someone else. Then go. I won’t hold you back.” You frown. He is fucking lying. You’re sure of it. “You can’t stop running after me and you know it.” He smiles and scoffs, sensing that hint of sudden defiance in your tone he enjoys a lot.  “True. I can’t sop running after you. But I’ll do my best not to catch you if that’s what you want. But you got to tell me. Is that what you truly want?” You don’t reply. Truth is, you’re not sure what to say not because you’re not sure that’s what you want but because you’re not sure you can trust him if you let him in again.                        “No.” You whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want you. All of you.” You can see Leon struggle to contain his growing joy as it starts to glimmer brighter and brighter in his irises. He doesn’t want to cry victory just yet. He is cautious and rightfully so. “But can I?”        “Want me?” He smiles. “ Have you completely?” You correct, searching for a promise in his eyes, one you hope, you wish he would not break this time.     “Trust me with your heart again and find out.”

This better not hurt this time…

[quietlyimplode]

Grief for Natasha has been hard to deal with, and honestly after the movie I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write again, or if all the stories had been told. I have been wallowing and honestly still will be for a while.

I love the movie. I love the decisions made and the story. There are so many decisions in there that you can see are deliberate and are so powerful; it makes me love Natasha more. But I am so, so sad.

For those that are also sitting in grief. I see you, I get it. You’re not alone.

The following fic is for @redroom-romanoff who requested this take on a cut scene from Civil War which morphed into this. You rock. Honestly. Thank you.

@natasha-romanoff-deserved-better just. Thank you. I don’t think there are enough words. This touches on a few things we’ve chatted about too.

Warnings for Red Room discussion, children killing children and general angst. Nothing graphic. This takes place in the car scene. General spoilers for Black Widow Movie but nothing big.

.

“Do you think..” Yelena starts.

And then stops.

She’s not usually one for what if’s but being in the car with Natasha has made her nostalgic.

She looks across, and sighs.

Natasha doesn’t want to be talking.

She’s made that clear.

They drive on, and miles pass. Yelena feels fatigue wash over her as she adjusts her position.

She’s caught in a memory of Natasha teaching her how to do a handstand against a wall, when she catches Natasha looking at her.

“What?” She says, embarrassed to be caught so unaware. So unprotected.

“What?” Natasha smiles, mocking her. She rolls her eyes and passes her some water.

Yelena takes a long drink and pauses.

“When they separated us. You gave me the pictures. I kept them safe. It was a lifeline.” She starts. “Did you know?”

Natasha can’t hide the anguish on her face and she doggedly stares at the dark road.

“Did you know it would help?” Yelena presses.

Quietness falls over the car and she waits for a response.

The reply is a whisper. “No.” Natasha clears her throat, before continuing, her grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I just needed you to know it wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t my choice.”

Her voice breaks.

“I knew what they were sending us to..”

Yelena can’t take the emotion she’s now stirred up and stares ahead counting numbers in her head as she lets Natasha’s words pass over her.

“I wanted you to know that it didn’t have to be like that, that home can be anything we make up. Even if it’s two orphan girls and a fake mother and father. We can find our own family.” Natasha pushes her head back into the head rest and bites down on her lip hard.

Yelena copies her body positioning, the echo of her words floating in her head.

Natasha isn’t wrong, but the concept is. Found family, friends, acquaintances in the Red Room, was frowned upon; punished. Except one time. One period of time.

She focuses on the road.

“What’s the worst thing they made you do?”

She probes.

Natasha looks at her harshly, eyebrows furrowed, and Yelena holds her gaze. Wants to know if it’s comparative to hers; she’s also curious to know if the Red Room is less inventive about training and if they saw torture and killing as a rite of passage. Kill those you love. Kill all the parts of yourself that you love. If you can’t do that, you’re not worthy to survive. Pain will only make you stronger.

“I’ll go first,” she offers, picking at her fingers.

Natasha turns her attention back to the road and Yelena puts her feet up on the dash.

“They split us into teams of 8. Made us work together, become friends, family.” She pauses as faces flash in her memory, the garroting strong she drew across Irina’s neck, the knife into Briselle’s gut as she twisted it.

Natasha’s voice cracks as she continues the story.

“After months of working together, sleeping together, eating together, protecting each other from the other teams, they dropped us in the tundra in Yamal. No food. No water. They said walk home. They said survive. We all had one thing the other needed…”

Natasha stops, swallows down, the mask that she’s perfected so well conceals pain, Yelena is sure, because her face hardens.

“Did you kill them all too?” She says bluntly.

Natasha nods. “I killed them all too,” she says slowly.

Yelena presses.

“Do you think it was wrong?”

Natasha shrugs. “It’s survival.”

The car continues on and they’re both lost in memories, “It’s not the worse thing that happened to me. I’m not even sure if it’s the worst thing I did.” Natasha offers.

Yelena nods. “Me either.” She pauses, “but it’s the one that stands out as the first time I betrayed myself. My own morals..”

“I don’t remember half the things I did in their name.” Natasha’s confession is quiet almost to herself like she’s admitting it out loud.

Yelena shakes her head in agreement. “Nope.” She pops the P and rummages in her pocket for the candy bar she left in there.

“It did serve the lesson though, didn’t it?” Yelena hands the rest over to Natasha, who refuses with a shake of her head.

“We can only trust ourselves?” It’s the rule Natasha feels like she’s lived her life by. Even now. “Yeah I guess it did.” She concedes with a huff.

Natasha turns her attention back to the road, grip now loosened but expression still hard.

“We’re doing this, aren’t we?”

There’s a look of confusion on Yelena’s face.

“We are doing something.” Yelena snorts a laugh. “Always cleaning up your mess.”

“My mess?” Natasha is indignant, and for the first time her mask cracks.

Yelena smiles and baits her. “If you’d done it right the first time…” she leaves the the thought hanging.

“I thought he was dead.” Natasha’s voice is clear and pissed.

It doesn’t override the crux of the matter. “You should have checked.” Yelena tells her. It’s not unkind. It’s the truth.

“The building collapsed. I don’t know how he survived.” Natasha shakes her head as if trying to get the memories to fly out.

Yelena goads her further. “Maybe you should have tried harder and gone back to check instead of holing up in a vent with your Archer.”

“He’s not my archer.” Natasha’s whole body softens as she says it.

“Oh yeah?” Yelena says unconvinced.

“It’s complicated.” Natasha seems far away as she mutters the words and can’t help but smile as Yelena rolls her eyes.

“I’m sure.” She says sarcastically. “He give you that?” She points at Natasha’s necklace.

“Yeah.” Natasha nods.

“Not going to elaborate on that?” Yelena opens a bag of chips she’d grabbed from Natasha’s bag. Eying her, Yelena offers them.

“It’s a good memory amongst the bad.” Natasha says, taking one.

“Oh yeah, that clears things up.” Yelena moves around, and tucks her legs under herself.

Natasha looks over to her and grins. “How about, we survive this, and I’ll tell you that story.”

Fatigue seems to wash over both of them, the emotionally charged conversation exhausting them both.

“Ok.” Yelena yawns. “Are we there yet?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “We’re getting there.”

.

All my fic.

[amethystpath-writes]

Pulp

(NOT A PROMPT)

Maybe Hero should have known better than to walk into an alley- especially one where she heard the soft mumbles of a voice oh-so-familiar.

The alley was as anyone might imagine one. Two brick walls put too closely together. A musky smell from the rain that came days ago- shouldn't it have been dry by now? Wrappers on the ground from kids- and adults- too lazy to find the nearest trashcan.

There was yet another detail that many might have expected- a cliché scene, some might have said. Oh, you want to know the detail? Why, of course. Here it is:

There was a man, bloodied and bruised- at least from what Hero could see in the light provided by the street lamps- and he was sobbing now.

"Villain? Villain, is that you?"

Hero thought she recognized the mumbles before, but....well, she'd never seen Villain so...so defeated as this. This man wasn't Villain. He wasn't tortured and starved, maimed and deserted, or lost and delirious.

He was Villain. He was a malicious predator, nearly impossible to take down without sobbing with exhaustion afterwards. Hero hated Villain, always had before he disappeared- before she thought he finally gave up.

"Mm. Iz cld."

"What?" Hero questioned her own question. Was she asking what Villain had said, or to the reason she was still standing here in the cold? Oh, that's what he said.

"A shame you don't have a jacket or something." She thought for a moment, looked down. A flannel was tied around her waist- since she was disguised as a 'normal person.' A citizen, a non-ability-possessing person.

"I suppose this could work. Um. Can you sit up for me so I can like...pull this around your shoulders?" Was the flannel even large enough to fit around Villain's shoulders? Guess they'd both find out as soon as Villain- he wasn't moving. Not at all.

Wait. Why was Hero helping him?

Because he might have changed.

Because he was just as worthy of aid as the homeless guy down the block.

Because he was human.

Because Hero was incapable of walking away from another hurting person.

Seeing as Villain wasn't budging himself, Hero sighed as she squeezed a hand between Villain's back and the brick wall before pushing him forward, and catching him with her other arm. She pulled the flannel clumsily over his shoulders; by some miracle it covered one of Villain's arms while remaining still on his shoulder.

Hero began pulling Villain up, holding one of his arms across the back of her shoulder. The most difficult problem now was that Villain was considerably taller than Hero. She had the strength to hold him up, but just barely as his battered body weighed nearly the same as a dead, unconscious weight. Difficultly, Hero dragged the mumbling and panting nemesis to her home.

***

It took Hero an estimated hour to patch Villain up, running swabs of alcohol over open wounds and pulling white bandages over the same wounds after they'd been cleaned.

Eventually, when all was done and well- as well as it could be considering Villain of all people was sitting on Hero's couch- Hero made herself a pot of coffee, despite it being one in the morning. It was decaf, alright? She flipped the television on and sipped on her tasty, hot beverage until Villain awoke.

***

At first, Villain only grunted, eyes squeezed shut tightly as the light- even beyond his eyelids- was too bright. He growled involuntarily as a shadow passed, relieving him, only to disappear again.

Slowly, Villain cracked his eyes open, only to sit up in a flash as a person he never imagined seeing again stood in front of his blurry vision; Hero.

"How are you- where am- agh." It was now, when Villain was fully awake with such a startle that he felt the pain of his wounds, cuts, and bruises. His head swam for a moment as he screwed his eyes shut. When the dizziness passed, Villain opened his eyes again, finding Hero for a second time. "You helped me. Why?"

Villain would never admit it, but he was humiliated to have been found in such an embarrassing condition. He no doubt appeared so ridiculously weak. And for it to be Hero to find him...how utterly fantastic. Villain internally sighed.

"Would you have rather me left you?"

No. Not entirely. But- "I don't understand why you would help me," Villain said, and now the confusion overtook all mournful thoughts he felt towards his pride. "I was an ass to you."

"You were an ass to everyone"- Hero shrugged- "but your ass needed saving this time, so that's what I did."

"You could have let me die...should have let me." For everything Villain did to Hero, he wouldn't have blamed her for letting him die in that alley. Hell, she should have killed him herself. It's what Villain would have done if...if his own tormentor showed up in an alley- all beaten to a pulp like a lemon in a juicer.

"I could reopen all the wounds and send you back out, but I somehow don't think that's what you actually want." Hero was sipping on something in a coffee mug- probably coffee, Villain had the sense to think. Damn me if coffee doesn't sound good right now.

The blanket on Villan's lap was warm. That coffee in the cup was likely warm. Everything was warm here, warm and...and completely different from the room Villain had begun getting used to after several months of captivity.

Despite not understanding Hero's motive, Villain asked, "Can I stay here- until...until I heal? I'll get it," he said, "if you don't want me. But- but if you'll have me, then-"

Hero shushed him quietly with a finger to her lips. "I don't trust you," Hero said. "Not yet anyways, but yes."

Did she just say-

"You can stay, but only if you tell me who this new villain is."

Easy enough.

"She's not a villain at all. She's Superhero."

[arvinsescape]

Time to Heal.

A/N: A bit of a different sort of writing for me that deals with emotional abuse, whilst i have never dealt with this personally, i know a couple of people who have and if anyone struggles with this or has my inbox is always open.

Summary: Reader finds herself in an emotionally abusive relationship and Tom shows her what real love looks like.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of emotional abuse, one mention of blood and i think that’s everything.

W/C: 2.4K.

You’d always thought that this moment should be one of the happiest in your life but here you were stood in a room full of a people with a man on one knee for you and it all felt wrong. You weren’t happy like you thought you would have been. You wished he hadn’t done this in front of all these people. You wished it wasn’t him asking. The man on one knee in front of you was possibly one of the worst men you’d ever been in a relationship with. He didn’t love you and you knew that but he made you feel like that was the best you were going to get, what you deserved.

It never starts out that way, at first Aaron was lovely, he swept you off your feet when you weren’t expecting it. He took you on lovely dates, he made you laugh and then he started making comments, as soon as he learnt your insecurities he used them against you, he never tried to push them away, no, he made sure they were at the forefront of your mind.

It started at first as being something he would say in an argument, your clingy, you want too much, you’re too emotional. Then he’d apologise, told you he didn’t mean it, his anger got the better of him and every time you’d accept with another piece of confidence, until there was none left. Then his comments became regular until you truly believed what he said.

‘You should just leave him.’ One of your friends had said when you’d worked up the courage to confide in her but you couldn’t. It’s not as simple as that. By the time you’d worked up the courage to tell her Aaron had your insecurities exactly where he wanted them. You weren’t worthy of love or being truly happy. He isolated you from your friends, especially your male friends and that made you feel more alone.

He hated your best friends Tom and Harrison and you didn’t see either of them anymore unless it was at a mutual friends birthday. You’d wanted to confide in them but Aaron had been adamant to make sure you deleted their numbers and that shattered the last piece of confidence you had. It wasn’t like they hadn’t noticed, they texted you until Aaron got so angry he’d taken your phone and smashed it. He apologised and bought you a new one and promised it’d never happen again.

He hated Tom more than anyone else, of course you’d told him in the early stages of the relationship how you knew Tom and Harrison. You and Tom had been in a relationship, you’d grown close to Haz as a result but ultimately Tom’s career was taking off and you’d both made the decision to call it quits before any heartbreak and messiness arrived so you could salvage the friendship. Then three days ago Tom came to see you.

“Tom?” You said as you answered the door. You’d not seen him for a while now so you were surprised to see him at your door.

“I tried calling.” He’d said with a sad smile.

“Sorry, my phone’s switched off.” You tried to laugh it off.

“For the last two months?” He asked. He wasn’t angry, you could see it in his eyes, he was concerned.

“I got a new one, did I not text you?” You tried again.

“Can I come in?” You swallowed thickly as you moved to the side to let him in. Thank god Aaron was out for the day. “Harrison tried calling too.” He said as he watched you boil the kettle, your back to him.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Lucy called me. Said she’s not heard from you either.” You almost dropped the teaspoon you were holding. You’d not seen Lucy since you told her about Aaron. You didn’t say anything so he continued.

“She told me some things Y/N. About what he says to you.” He grasped your hand turning you to look at him but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“He just gets angry sometimes.” You used Aaron’s words.

“He shouldn’t say things like that to you, it’s not right.” You still couldn’t meet his gaze. His hand was still holding yours as he drew soft circles into the back of it with his thumb. You missed his touch.

“He usually apologises.” You tried to defend him.

“Doesn’t make it right love. You deserve so much better than him.” He used his free hand to lift your chin so you were forced to look at him and the look of concern in his eyes was enough to bring tears to your own.

“I don’t though.” You whispered and you watched as something shifted behind his eyes, he looked heartbroken. Your tears fell for the first time in months, you’d became so numb to Aaron’s words that they didn’t make you cry anymore but the softness in Tom’s tone had tears streaming down your face.

He pulled you into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and let you cry into his shirt. He placed the occasional kiss to the top of your head as his hands rubbed up and down your back in comfort. You stayed like that for at least ten minutes before you composed yourself but you stayed in his arms. It felt as safe as it always had.

“You deserve to be loved properly darling.” He said into your hair.

“But he’s right I’m too clingy, I’m too emotional and I expect to much from people.” You sniffled.

“You’re not clingy, you give all your love to the people you care about. You’re not too emotional, you wear your heart on your sleeve and that’s never a bad thing. You don’t expect too much from people because you should always seek to have people love you the way you love them.” He pulled you to look at him as he said it and the look in his eyes was so genuine you could tell he meant it.

“Who’s gonna want me now? I’m full of emotional baggage.” You whispered as you let a few more tears fall, voicing the fears as he caught your tears with his thumbs.

“You’re not full of baggage. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny and you love with everything you have in you, he doesn’t deserve you.” He gave you a small smile as he spoke. ��I could go on for hours about all the amazing things about you.”

“Tom.” You sighed. “I don’t love him but I can’t leave him, I’m scared.” You admitted.

“Has he hit you?” Tom asked and it was so full of concern that a fresh wave of tears made their way down your face.

“No. He broke my phone once but no. I’m scared to leave him because I don’t want to end up alone.”

“You won’t. You’ll always have me and Harrison and Lucy, god the list goes on. We all still love you and we miss you.” He said as he wiped at your tears again. He was being so tender with you and you hadn’t felt that for a long time. You hadn’t felt loved. “You’ll always have me.” He said again.

“Tom- “Your voice broke and whatever you were going to say got caught in your throat.

“I’ll always look after you. I’ll make sure you always have everything you need. I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

“I still love you Tom.” You admitted as you cried into his chest again.

“I still love you.”

He’d tried to convince you to go home with him that day but something stopped you and you can’t explain what it was and now here you were at Lucy’s birthday party which Aaron had reluctantly let you attend and Aaron was down on one knee for you. You looked around the room as you caught those brown eyes that you loved so much and he was staring right back at the scene unfolding before him. Tears in his beautiful eyes.

“I’ll always look after you. I’ll make sure you always have everything you need. I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

“I still love you.”

You pulled your hand from Aaron’s as you felt a sort of confidence you’d not had for a long time as Aaron stood, following your gaze.

“I fucking knew it.” Aaron grumbled next to you and your eyes darted back to him. He was angrier than you’d ever seen him before and it frightened you. “Him?” He laughed but there was no humour in it.

“Aaron I’m-” You tried to get out.

“Him? Really? I knew it.” He seethed at you. Everyone was staring. Lucy carefully approached and you watched as Harrison and Tom started to make their way over. As soon as Tom moved it caught Aaron’s gaze and his face twisted into one of pure anger. “Fucking Tom Holland.” He suddenly shouted as he practically ran at him, catching Tom off guard.

As soon as he reached Tom he raised his fist and placed a punch straight to his nose. You almost screamed in shock as you watched Harrison and Tuwaine tackle Aaron to the floor. Tom had stumbled and was holding his nose. It was bleeding. You made your way straight over.

“Tom, oh my god, Tom, are you okay?” You asked as you took his face in your hands. He looked down at you for a second and smiled before nodding slightly and tilting his head back. “Is it broken?” You panicked.

“No.” Tom said as someone handed him a load of tissues. Aaron’s laughter pulled you from your concern over Tom. You twisted round to look at him as Tom snaked an arm around your waist and pulled your back to his chest. Aaron was stood now, Harrison and Tuwaine were still ready to jump to the defence again if they had to.

“You,” he started as he pointed at you, “are a pathetic little bitch who pines after a man who’ll throw you away as soon as someone better comes along and that won’t be hard to find.”

“Watch your mouth.” Harrison warned as he stood in front of you. Tom had recovered now, stopping the bleeding. Aaron laughed again as he made his way towards the exit.

“You know what Tom, you’re welcome to her. She’s a frigid little fucker anyway. Doesn’t put out often.” He said as he laughed. You watched as anger flared in Tom’s face. He let go of your waist as he went to follow him. You tried to grasp his arm but he was too quick. Harrison stepped in.

“Tom, she needs you.” He said as he gestured towards you. Everyone was still staring at what had just happened and it made you self-conscious as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Tom’s anger died down instantly, Haz was right, you needed him.

“Come on.” He said as he took your hand and led you into the women’s bathroom. Once he made sure no one was in there, he locked the door and took your face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly and you laughed sadly.

“Me? He bust your nose.” You said as you grabbed a few paper towels, wetting them and cleaning the blood that was still on his face.

“Worth it.” He laughed lightly.

“I’m so sorry Tom.” You sighed after a few moments as you felt tears brim your eyes, throwing the paper towels away once you were satisfied he was clean.

“You have nothing to apologise for. He’s a dickhead and I’ll make sure he never comes anywhere near you again.” He said as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I’m still sorry though.” You sighed.

He didn’t reply, he leant forward and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks before finally connecting your lips. It felt to good to feel his lips against yours again, you’d missed him. Missed all the love he gave and it made you cry again.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m gonna make it better, I promise.” He pulled you back into his chest and it filled you with a comfort you’d not had since he last held you like this.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too. I’m sorry we didn’t try and work through things last time. I know we wanted to salvage a friendship but I never stopped loving you. I want us to try again but when you’re ready.” He said as he kissed your head.

“I am Tom.” You said.

“No love you’re not. What he’s done to you needs time and you need to give yourself some time darling. I’ll still be here every step of the way but you need to heal yourself first, okay? We need to push those insecurities back but we need to do it properly, you need to love yourself again first.”

You thought about what he said for a while. He was right, jumping straight back into a relationship was not the best idea, no matter how much you loved him and he loved you. You needed to take some time for yourself, heal yourself and build back your confidence. You understood what he meant; he was still going to be there but he was going to be there as a best friend would.

You realised in that moment what it meant to truly love someone. He was being selfless so that you could heal, he was giving you time because that’s what you needed and he was doing that because he truly loved and cared for you.

“You’re right.” You nodded.

“I’ll still be here, still be there for you, I promise. It’ll take time but that’s okay, I’ll still be waiting but you have to promise you’ll take all the time you need.” He said as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

“I promise.”

[mitsubitchiee]

Sweet and Spicy lol

Pairing: Mammon x f!MC

Cw: smut (pretty vanilla), afab mc

Summary: porn w/o plot. but like, loving and soft porn? Lots of feelings and making each other feel good.

Preface: So! I didnt finish it. I started writing this like... 4 months ago? lmaooo i dunno if ill ever complete it at this point?? But i alrd wrote like 3000 words of it so i thought ill just post it like this. Just heads up, it cuts off pretty abruptly in the middle of spicy times hdhsh Its also not edited ofc. Ill use the fact that im not usually a writer as an excuse for this jssgp

Mammon’s bedroom door closed behind them as the two walked into the space, her feet headed straight to the couch in the middle of the room. She let out a yawn, stretching her arms just about ready to flop onto the sofa when she felt arms wrapping around her middle. Sighing, she leaned into the heat pressing against her back, resting one hand on his and the other combing through his hair. Mammon had his head buried in her shoulder, taking in her scent that had always soothed him. 

“Thanks for having my back down there… What would I do without ya?” His voice was muffled by her shoulder but she heard him loud and clear as she felt soft lips pressing against the skin near the base of her neck. She hummed. “Just another day, right?” she chuckled, turning in his arms to face him. He was tired. It was one of those days when it was all too much for him, the witches, his work and his brother’s relentless insults. 

Most days he could take it, he would  take it, whether it was because he knew he deserved it or because he was just so used to it, he wasn’t sure. But something changed when she came. She showed him kindness that he had never really been treated to before. She touched him so gently, so lovingly and he didn't know how to take it. When she kissed him, he could’ve sworn he still had his angel wings fluttering behind him. He had never noticed just how tired he was. He never stopped to see how the insults had really affected him until she came. Until she brought the whole world around him to a stop and made him feel like the center of her universe. She looked at him like he was the most precious treasure in all three realms and she cried at the scars that he didn't even notice he had. And then he couldn’t stop noticing it. He felt it every time he was insulted and every time the witches extorted him, every time someone took advantage of him. He learned to recognise it, and every time he does, he just wants to be in her arms. He wants to be held and to be doted on and cared for and ...loved. And he loved her with every fiber of his being, even when he knows he isn’t good at showing it, even when he doubts that he is worthy of loving her, he could never push her away. He would take whatever she was willing to give him even if it's just - 

“You okay?”

Mammon hadn’t noticed how he was leaning onto her hand that was holding his cheek. She saw his face turn into the familiar shade of red as he nodded. She smiled, giving him time to speak. “Can I…” his eyes averted and she had a feeling she knew what he wanted, but let him finish anyway. “...can i kiss you?” Her smile grew and she felt her heart grow in her chest. He had never made a move without her consent, never without asking and maybe that was the reason she felt so safe with him. But she needed him to know that he could ask for or initiate affection whenever he needed. She gently pushed his cheek to get him to look at her before closing the distance between them. As their lips met he felt the breath that he had been holding escape in a sigh, melting into the touch. He felt her hands snaking into his hair, pleasantly scratching his scalp the way she knew he liked. His hand that was resting on her waist made its way to the nape of her neck, cradling her head that was tilted up to reach him. In that moment he felt an immense wave of love flood over him. This human, this tiny, fragile human was the source of his comfort. His human was there, standing on her tiptoes to reach him, hands combing his hair to soothe him, kissing him as if to tell him everything is alright and there's nothing but the two of them in this universe. 

He bent down more than he already had, letting her feet rest comfortably on the ground. Without breaking the kiss, he gently guided her to the back of his sofa, lifting her to sit on it. She squeaked a bit in surprise before pulling back with a laugh. Both of her arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him there with his forehead on hers. “Did that make you feel better?” She nuzzled her nose against his, feeling the delightful breath of air that escaped him when he chuckled. “Not yet. I might need one more” his tone was playful, but his eyes were genuine and almost pleading. With a hum, she connected their lips again, revelling in the feeling of his lips against hers, tasting hints of whatever sweet desert they both had after dinner. Teeth grazed her bottom lip, biting gently on the soft flesh, asking for permission. Mammon was never the quietest even in tender moments like these. Her head spins at the sounds of contentment he makes no matter how many times she had heard it before. In the heat of the moment, she couldn’t help her own whimper and she found herself rotating her head, wanting more of him. Her hands travel down his chest, caressing his sides. A growl escaped his throat, feeling his greed slowly growing inside him. He wanted more. 

The two separated, gasping for air but a smile was plastered on their faces, eyes half lidded and pupils blown. “Mammon…” she bit her lip where he had done so before, her hands tugging at his leather jacket, urging him to get it off. He chuckled, pleased at her eagerness, letting his jacket pool on the floor under him. He basked in the way she ran her hands down from his shoulder to his exposed arms and finally to his hands which she took to her lips, placing kisses on his knuckles. He swallowed, somehow more flustered by this innocent gesture than the make out session they were just having. She loves me. The thought sent him reeling and his heartbeat picking up. He watched her hands reaching to the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that she could nibble on the soft skin on the base, pecking anywhere she could reach. Fuck, she loves me. Trailing up his neck, she gave a teasing tug to his earlobe with her teeth, kissing the spot right after. She really-

“I love you” her voice was a whisper right against his ear, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs. He grunted, eyes shut tight, forehead pressing against her shoulder. He couldn’t handle this. “Ya drive me crazy, y’know that?” Before she could answer, he picked her up and carried her to his bed. She giggled, holding on to him tight before she felt herself being placed on the bed, her back resting against the headboard. Her eyes locked on to his as he made his way closer to her. “I love ya too” he grinned, settling down with his legs straddling her thighs, making sure he doesn’t rest his full body weight on her. Being so close, it took all he had within him to not take her right then and there, but he had to be sure she wanted it too. As if reading his thoughts, she guided his hand to rest on the skin just under her shirt, sighing at his coldness on her warm skin. She brought her face close to his so that he could feel the words she would say. “Then show me,”. At that, he let go of his restraints and let himself indulge in the desire to touch her, to taste her and to let her know just how much he loved her. 

A chaste kiss quickly turned heated as he felt her hands roaming his body. The soft caress of her fingertips on the skin of his abdomen sent shivers running down his back and he couldn’t help the sound that came from his throat. He pulled away from the kiss, bringing his lips to her jaw, down her neck before separating to let her pull his shirt off. One of her hands rested on his waist, drawing circles with her thumb while the other traced the outline of his jaw. “You’re perfect, Mammon” she sighed, taking in the sight in front of her. Mammon huffed, not knowing how to respond except to go back to kissing her neck. He nibbled and bit into the spot he knew has her gasping each time and sure enough, she gasped, her hands gripping his waist trying to ground herself. He drank in all of her sharp inhales, her sighs and her whimpers as his hand traveled up her tummy, circling to her back and tugging on the clasps of her bra, getting them loose. A moan ripped through the air when his hands cupped one of her breasts, teasing her nipple. The sound egging him on even more, finally pulling her shirt and bra off, tossing them away. 

“Gorgeous” He breathed, continuing his trail from her collarbones, hands roaming her top half, not wanting an inch of skin to be left untouched. She didn’t bother covering up her sounds, knowing just how much he liked hearing them. His growing erection didn’t go unnoticed as she cursed under her breath, feeling him harden against her. Her hand slipped in between their two bodies to feel the bulge over his jeans and she bit her lip, feeling herself getting excited by the thought of him. Mammon whined, rutting against her hand begging for more friction. His lips didn’t stop their descent down her front even as she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, trying to pull them down impatiently. He slipped out of them swiftly, tossing them away. Before he could do the same to hers, she had wrapped her fingers around his length, causing him to hiss. Slow strokes up and down his cock had him gritting his teeth, a hand resting on the headboard beside her head to support himself and another gripping her shoulder. “Fuck, babe” He moaned her name as her hands stroked the head of his cock deliciously. “So pretty, Mammon.” He had his lips slightly parted, pretty sounds escaping from it, eyes intoxicated and his beautiful toned body bare, just for her. It’s a view she could never get tired of. 

With a grunt, he pulled away from her touches, panting lightly, ignoring the throbbing in his member from the sudden absence of friction. “Let me make ya feel good first” he looked into her eyes, searching for even the smallest bit of discomfort but all he saw was her nodding, her lips pulled into a shy smile. "Mmh, please" she sighed as cool air made contact with the skin of her bottom half once Mammon helped her out of her pants and underwear. With a little ushering from his hand, she spread her legs, feeling both embarrassed and excited by him being able to see all of her. A hand slid down her folds and she could feel herself tighten from that touch alone. Heavy breaths escape her as he traced up and down, thoroughly soaking his fingers with her wetness. "Fuck, you're this wet already" Mammon growled, feeling himself twitch at the thought of her getting so wet because of him. Only him. He prodded at her entrance before feeling his finger almost being sucked into her heat. He curled his finger, searching for the spot she liked best. "S-shit" her head was thrown back, grunting at the feeling of his long finger inside her knowing just where to hit. Another finger was pushed in and she swore her fingers could never do what he did to her. He kept his pace slow, focusing on her reactions wanting to pleasure her more. 

Shifting his position, he brought his face near her core and she could feel his breath so close to her. He licked a stripe from her entrance up to her clit, moaning at her taste and the loud gasp that he heard coming from her. "Mammon…" she felt her walls clenching on his fingers as he continued to lick her clit over and over, her hand tightly gripped on his hair and pushing her hips up to grind against him more. His tongue drove her crazy, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves all the while his fingers rubbing at the sensitive spots inside her. He feasted on her like it was his last meal, greedy for more of her sounds and eager to please. The fingers inside her never stopped pumping in and out, gaining speed over time. “Y-your tongue, fuck!” the hand she had on his head pushed down, a silent beg for him not to stop. He felt her walls tighten as she sang his name, cumming around his fingers. Mammon made sure to catch a glimpse of her face as she came, before slowly pulling out of her heat. He sat up and pressed his palm over her hole, still feeling her throb and easing her out of the orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Ya taste so fucking good” 

She opened her eyes as she calmed down, seeing him lick off the mess she made around his mouth. A wave of affection took over her as she pulled on his arm, guiding him closer before joining their lips together. She tasted herself on him as his tongue met hers. Mammon felt his chest being pushed gently and he pulled away. Next thing he knew, he was on his back and she was on top of him, peppering kisses down his chest. He writhed at the words of praise that were whispered against his skin. “You’re so good to me, Mammon. You know just how to make me go crazy for you” her hand was already on his dick, stroking slowly up and down. She hummed, pleased at how hard he had gotten, feeling her mouth start to water. 

A kiss to the tip of his leaking head had him groaning, propping himself up on an elbow to look at her. His other hand combed through her hair, gesturing how good she was being as her lips parted around his cock, sucking and licking the head. Her tongue traced back and forth along the bottom of the head before taking more of him into her. He was big. So big her jaw opened near its limits when she took him in and out of her mouth. She stroked the length that she couldn’t fit, feeling a little irritated at not being able to take all of him. With a groan she shifted her position so that his cock was angled straight to her throat. Mammon watched her intently and his breath hitched as he realised what she was doing. He sat up so that he was resting on his ass instead of his elbow. She took him into her mouth again, all the way to the back, wiggling her head to get him deeper, to have all of him inside her. His hands clutch at the sides of her head, assisting her down to the base, his cock twitching at how eager she is to take him. The press of his cock at the back of her throat made her eyes water, but the loud moans that left Mammon made her want to keep it there. She looked up at him, mouth still filled, and he felt his pride swell at the sight of her. “Holy shit, baby. Ah... You’re taking me so well- mmmh... fuck” His voice was hoarse and he spoke between moans. She bobbed her head in shallow movements, loving the way he bucked his hips and moaned praises her way. 

She lifted her head slowly, coughing as she pulled out before looking up at him, licking her lips. “Yummy,” her voice was rough and she was breathing heavy to catch her breath. He took her face into his hands, brushing back the stray hairs stuck to her forehead. “My good girl, taking all of me like that. You’re so good to me” Feeling a gush of wetness escape her at his words, she climbed on top of his lap, rubbing herself on his cock earning her a low growl from Mammon. Their lips meet again in a passionate kiss, needy, greedy for each other. Her pussy felt so awfully empty, desperate for him. “Mammon...please, i need you” in any other situation she would have been embarrassed at the desperation in her whine, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that right then. Mammon wanted so badly to be inside her too, he only growled in response before guiding his tip to her entrance. She slowly sinks herself onto him, back arching, mouth gaping and hands clutching his shoulders to keep balance. A drawn out moan escaped her when her hips were flush against his. He had his face buried in the crook of her neck, cursing at the tightness around him. For a moment they were still, relishing in the feeling of being connected, arms wrapped around one another, bodies pressed against each other, pure bliss. His lips scrambled to find hers, his feverish need for more only slightly satiated from the kiss.

Use your imagination for the rest ;) ⭐ ...i am so sorry but i did warn you it was gonna end abruptly