#and i have way too many edits of him in my drafts that i need to get rid of

[avisminutia]

“Don’t get old,” my grandpa tells me when I visit him. He is six feet tall, though he used to be six foot two. He has two knee replacements. Getting into the car is a struggle, painful, and physically exhausting. I feel for him.

And yet.

“What’s the alternative?” I ask him once he is settled into the car, rubbing his knees. “Should I die young?” 

It’s not what I want to say. It’s closer to what my mother would say if she spoke her mind on the matter. It upsets my mother when he says that, “don’t get old.” Because what is the alternative? And it is hard being old. Many of his friends are gone. Things change. There is loss. But that is not what he means.

He says it when he has to lie down after a short walk when he used to be able to walk miles. My grandpa is a traveler. First around the world, Alaska in February, Japan, Australia, and then, when his knees became too bad for airplane seats, around the states, lugging his overly large camera bag with him while my grandma shopped. He spends most of his time in the basement yelling at his computer, editing photos of places he knows he will never go again. And my mother thinks that he is sad that he will never go to those places again, but I know that’s not quite right.

I lay down after the walk as well. I need to rest if I want to have the energy to carry a conversation at dinner. My grandma sits at the kitchen table, playing on her iPad. I am tired. 

I used to enjoy commuting on the train. I would write longhand in a notebook, prose, poetry, journals. I’d sketch. I wrote an entire first draft of a book like that, commuting back and forth to college, an hour and a half each day, twice a week. Now, traveling is a hurdle, a drain. Exhausting.

“Don’t get old,” he says, when he stands up, groaning, and reaches for his cane. I left mine in my apartment. It is almost as difficult to travel with it and a suitcase as it is to travel without, and the anticipated explanation it would require tipped the decision one way. I am tired. We go to the nearby park to take photos of the same building he took photos of last week, and he tells me stories about climbing, about hiking, about woodworking, carrying camera lenses to far off places to take photos of new buildings, different buildings, buildings that are not this one. “Don’t get old.” My sketchbook has five drawings of the building across the street from the park one block from my apartment. I sit on the same bench every time. I am too tired to go much further without the cane most days, and I can’t draw when I am holding it. 

“Don’t get old,” he tells me after getting back from physical therapy. I ask him what exercises he is doing. They are the same one my physical therapist assigned me after telling me I was too young for the type of back pain that I was experiencing. The type that keeps me from going to museums, from volunteering at the bird rehab, from sitting through class. 

“Don’t get old,” he says. He has always been willful. He prides himself on his strength of mind, his stubbornness, his ability to power through. He will exercise but refuses to ice. He won’t take his painkillers. When I last visited, he fell between two desks and nearly hit his head. The way the office is arranged is cramped and difficult to maneuver, at the bottom of a steep staircase I was afraid to go down as a child. I helped him up. It took ten minutes, mostly because the fit was so tight. There was no panic in me, no adrenaline, though he shouted the entire time. We both lay down after, exhausted. When I visit next, the desks will not be rearranged. The computer will still be in the basement. 

“Just don’t get old,” he says, and what I really want to say is, “I already am.”

[lisutarid-a]

He did have a picture of his ideal world in mind. A world that could gain peace while avoiding hurting people as much as possible or making them suffer was not too far fetched, and he wanted to become someone who would strive for such a world.

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[jarofstyles]

Cabernet

This can be read as a standalone I think, but! Here is a second part of Merlot! It's spicy and sweet so I hope you guys like it. Unsure if there will be any more parts (I’m open if you guys have more ideas!) but I do love a good dilfrry.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings!

WC- 4.1k

Warnings- smut, age gap relationship, anal (for those who asked ur welcome!), unprotected sex, cumplay, Dom/sub elements

-------

Harry was by far the best man she had ever dated. 

Their age gap was evident at times, but not in a bad way. It was rather cute when he had been confused about videos she sent or his own excitement to show her the movies or books he was referencing. The added element of their dynamic was learning from one another. Harry had been teaching her about publishing and helping her flesh out the first draft of her book while she sat in his office some days, helping him out in return by getting him coffee or lunch or an occasional shoulder massage when he got particularly stressed. An unofficial assistant of sorts. 

“I feel like if I have to write the word ‘said’ one more time, my brain is going to explode.” She grumbled, pushing her laptop across the couch and leaning back on it. The leather seat in his office was by far the most comfortable one she had sat on and he happily invited her to come into the office to see him as often as she wanted. It was both practical and selfish on both ends.It was easier to work in a space like this and with the understanding that Harry really did have work he was doing, she focused on her own stuff. A quiet pair of people working in each other’s company. 

Add in the fact that he was the boss man, it made it much easier for her to come and go as she pleased. 

“Mm, sometimes authors get stuck with words in their novels. They’ll have phrases they repeat a few too many times, usually gets called out in editing and fixed. It’s not a bad thing. But with words that are action words like that, there are options. Y’know, depending on the scene and tone. Murmured, muttered, peeped, whispered, whined, moaned, huffed, grumbled. Those sorts of words.” He tapped his pen against the desk as he lifted his eyes to her. 

It didn’t get old. Seeing her pretty face sitting in his office looking the way she did, much more comfortable than the night they’d first met, but still appropriate for an office setting.

Sometimes he did let his mind wander into the roleplay aspect, wondering if she had been his real assistant if he would have made a move. If Y/N was the Y/N he knew now? Probably. Scandalous. 

Today she wore a pair of black flowy pants and a matching turtleneck, but on top she had a chunky knit cardigan that was utterly adorable. It had yellow moons and stars, a deep purple color with sleeves she had to push up so they didn’t hide her hands. His girl leaned into the office aesthetic when she came in so she didn’t stick out too much but with him or when they were at his place or out together, he loved seeing her dressed in her normal clothing. She looked soft, whimsical almost. Like a little fairy. 

“Hm. Good point. I need to write down all the synonyms in my notes app and defer to that because if I’m getting tired of writing it, I know whoever ends up reading it will get tired of seeing it too.” Her lips puffed to blow a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun, brows furrowed as she failed and made her hand ready up to tuck it behind her ear instead. 

Again, cute.

“Not necessarily.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “We’re our own harshest critics. I doubt they’re paying that much attention to that. The majority of people will be paying attention to world building, character development, plot, sex scenes, all that fun stuff. The exact wording isn’t always the most important thing. But it shows that you care about quality.” He shot her a grin. “So you will be successful.”

“Mmm… and not because I’m fucking the publishing head?” She grinned as she stood up, stretching her arms out. 

“Well. That helps.” He wouldn’t deny it. She had a leg up, but he wouldn’t publish just anything. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t publish shit work. It isn’t worth the reputation of my company. Your writing is genuinely good, my sweet.” He knew the drill by now. Her heeled boots were kicked off by the couch and she made her way over to him, the tiredness starting to hit her as she happily perched herself on his lap. 

“Good to know.” She snorted before pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. The facial hair had grown but he was shaping it currently. She promised she’d be okay with whatever he did to it but didn’t want anything to happen to the mustache. That wasn’t allowed to go. “What are you working on? Anything fun?” 

“No, nothing incredibly interesting I’m afraid.” His hand squeezed her hip underneath the cardigan. “I was working on some contracts earlier but every so often I pick up some submissions and read through them myself. This one is very bland, unfortunately. There’s potential, absolutely. Their writing style is lovely, but the plot falls flat and the characters are one dimensional. S’like they chose a specific stereotype and did nothing to differentiate them.” It was unfortunate.” It was a shame he came across all too often.

“It’s obvious this person is trying but they’ve never observed or met someone with these traits. I don’t think you absolutely have to follow the rule ‘write what you know’, but I think a lot of the best works come from drawing from our own experiences. Romance, for them, doesn’t seem to be a passion. They’d do better with mystery with their writing style as it is, but they have to improve on other aspects first.” 

“Is it hard for you to see stuff like that?” She asked curiously, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I can tell you’re a little disappointed with it, so I have to wonder if it happens a lot.”

“It does. And it is hard when you see someone with potential not living up to it but I have faith that if we send them some constructive criticism notes that maybe they won’t see it as an attack but as a place of genuine care. I’m going to have someone meet with them I think, give them my notes and have them explain it in nicer terms than the plain ones I used. Maybe they can work on it again and add more and we’d have a best seller.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can see they care about it in the way they put details in, but it needs more.”

There was something incredibly attractive about listening to him talk about it. It was always attractive to see someone care and talk about their passions; but Harry was on another level. She could see it on his face that he was disappointed and knew the person could do better. While it made it all the more nerve wracking for her own novel, she had him working with her along the way.

He never told her where to go with her story in terms of ideas, but how to improve the mechanics. Reading over bits and telling her to take away a certain detail and add more in other places, or giving suggestions about how things could flow smoother. He’d listened to her storyboard, after showing her the author equivalent of it, and gave his honest feedback from a publisher's point of view and then from a boyfriend’s point of view.

Sometimes it was more obvious that he was the one with miles more life experience in these instances but she couldn’t be upset about it when it only aided in strengthening their relationship. 

“I see.” She looked at the manuscript on the desk with the red pen of doom. “Oof. The red pen is out… and you’ve used it a lot.” 

“Well, there are errors.” He chuffed, kissing her cheek in return. “Did you get enough done?” The word count goal had been 3,000 for today, but he didn’t make it for her. It was all on her. He simply helped keep her accountable.

“I did more. I think… 4.5?” She tilted her head trying to remember. “Now my head feels like soup.” It did feel like mush right now. That was why the laptop was closed and abandoned and she was finding comfort in the man. It was like a reward. 

“That’s ace, my dove. Amazing.” He praised. The pride he felt for her was earned fair and square. She had been applying herself more now than ever. Since their first night together they hadn’t really separated, seeing each other at least a few times a week. Her work ethic was there as she had zeroed in on what she wanted. “Why don’t we finish this up and go back to mine, mm?” 

Harry had been holding off all week. He’d gone a bit rough one night and even though she said she was fine, he wanted to give her body time to relax. As much as he loved sex, he had wanted her body to enjoy it more than anything else. Not be overly swollen and sore the next day. 

Today was going to be the day to break that. A full week of nothing but heated kisses, and she was as needy as needy could get. He felt her perk up at the mention, sitting up straighter in his lap. 

“Please! Let’s go. We can get food on the way home but I think we have some pressing matters to attend to.” She sniffed, standing from him and offering a hand to help him up. “Chop chop. Get a move on, mister.”

——-

Two rounds in and he knew she could take it. Her poor cunt was a mess and he knew that as pretty as it was all drippy and swollen, she had been aching for him to get a try into her other hole. They’d had a proper discussion about it, and he had effectively been edging her the entire night. Fair? No, but she knew how he rolled. The promised pleasure first, experiments after. Just in case she wanted to stop, she got something out of the night. 

She’d been warming his cock for a bit as he held her in his arms, cooing soft praises about how good of a girl she was, how brave she had been to ask for something new tonight when he felt her get impatient. She didn’t need to say it. He knew her well enough now to understand what she wanted. Pulling his cock out and rubbing the tip against her asshole, pressing against it and spreading the sticky cum over the rim.  “Want me t’fuck this tight little ass too?  Fill you from both ends."

“Wanna try.” She nodded, panting as her cunt contracted and his cum dribbled out of her pussy. “You’re so big I… I dunno if I can take it. Go slow.” Y/N knew she was slightly cock drunk but she also trusted him. He’d made her feel good already, took his time with everything else why wouldn’t she want to test this with him?

“Okay, my sweet. Just relax.” Harry wasn’t nervous, but he was cautious. His girl was precious cargo, and he wanted to make sure it felt as good as it could. He’d done the work of stretching her with his fingers, but it was going to be a challenge to get him in there regardless. He slowly pushed his thick head past the tight rim of her back hole. Watching her face intently, his own contorted with pleasure. "You're doing so good, doll," he encouraged softly. "Just relax and let me in. You can take it."

The pressure was intense, and she hissed out a breath as he slowly pushed more and more of himself into her. His thick head stretched her wide, and he paused, letting her adjust to the new sensation. "Breathe." The reminder was whispered as he realized she was holding her breath, his hand carding through her hair tenderly.

"That's it, baby. You're taking it so well. Always do so good f’me." He praised, his voice low and soothing. He slowly pushed more of himself into her, inch by inch, his thick prick spreading her wide. She could feel every vein, every ridge, as he slowly filled her up.

As he slid deeper, Harry could feel the intense pressure and stretch around his girth. Her tight little hole was gripped tightly around his shaft, the muscles fluttering and contracting as he pushed his way inside. She felt like she was being split in two, her body struggling to accommodate his bigger size- but she was. Slowly but surely, he sunk into her fully.

She had done it. 

“Fuck.” She sobbed out, clinging to him as he got down to the base. Never in her life had she felt so full that way, so stretched. Only Harry could make her feel this way. It wasn’t just the physical feeling, but the emotional one too. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else. His guidance was priceless.

"You're doing so good, You’ve got it all in. Jus’ gotta let it adjust." he soothed, his voice strained as he fought to keep control. Giving her a moment to adjust, his hands stroking her hair and her cheeks, his thumb brushing away her tears. "You feel so hot around me, doll. So tight. Knew y’would be."

“I wanna be… I want you to feel good.” She whispered, looking at him with wet eyes. “It’s just so big. I’m tryin’ to take it.” It surely wasn't a beginner cock but she wasn’t known for taking the easy way.

"You're doing so well, baby," he reassured her, his hands never leaving her. He slowly pulled out halfway before sinking in again, a little faster this time. "That's it... take me all the way in."

It was the fourth time he did it that she felt the pleasure. Both from the action and the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against her swollen clit, making her gasp. Her eyes fell shut as she leaned her head back, slowly relaxing into the bed.

He watched her face contorted in pleasure, his heart swelling with pride. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. As she opened her eyes, he began to pick up the pace, his hips pressing against hers. "M’so proud of you. Look at you, taking every bit of me.”

Y/N sent him a blissed out smile as her hand slipped between them, rubbing her own clit slowly as he fucked into her ass. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing frantic, and it felt good just to be. Her muscles relaxed, making it feel even better as his cock filled her hole. Soft moans left her mouth as she curled her other hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down so he was close. “Are they the best holes you’ve had?”

Harry’s face was lax in his own pleasure as he felt her tight ass clench around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against her lips. “They are. So fucking tight, so perfect. Can’t compare them t’anything else.” He kept up his steady rhythm, loving how her body moved with his. “You feel so good. Can never get enough of you.” He whispered, brushing a stray hair out of her face before stroking her puffy lip. They were so pretty. Kissing wasn’t something he’d thought much of before, but he hadn’t kissed Y/N. She had changed everything for him. 

“Better than that silly ex wife?” She prodded, watching with a little smirk as she watched him think it over. Y/N had a feeling she was by the way be was acting,  but she wanted to hear it.

"Way better." he grunted, his hips snapping forward. "Little minx, y’just need to ask that, hm? No need to be jealous. She never gets t’have me again. Only y-you." He stuttered as her hand moved around his neck and she squeezed down hard on him. "Her holes were nothing compared to yours, doll. Nothing."

Y/N giggled as she choked him a little bit, watching his eyes widen before pulling. It was obvious that while he was the big man in charge- she could have fun too. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll tell you a secret, Harry.” Her lips brushed his as she kept the grip on his throat. Her lips were swollen and sensitive, the coarse facial hair brushing it and making her want to moan. “None of the boys my age have ever made me cum. They never fucked my ass. Never fucked me raw. And you did it all.”

"And I'm gonna keep doing it," he rumbled, eyes burning with lust as she kissed him. His hand tightened in her hair, tugging gently and pulling her deeper into the kiss. “You’ve got a man now, no need to think of those boys.You want me t’keep being nice to you? Keep making you cum?”

“If you keep fucking me like this, I do. Want my man to be so, so nice to me.” She gasped as he pushed all the way in, balls rested snug against her ass as he slowly humped into her, the comfort of the fullness making her fingers work harder on her clit. “Gotta- Gotta prove you can keep up with me, old man. That you c-can live up to the hype. I like the bit of silver at your temples but…” Her moan was broken as he pulled out and pushed back in, jostling her. “Gotta prove why older guys are b-better for pretty little things like me.”

"Oh, I'll prove it to you," he growled, picking up pace as he pounded into her tight ass. She had no idea just how badly he’d needed her to walk into his life. Thank god she had. This was everything he had ever wanted. "And right now, you need me to wreck this little hole until you can't walk straight. You need me to show you how a real man handles his woman. I'll give you everything you crave, everything you need. You just have to let go and trust me.” The man had every intention of proving how much better he could be for her than she could ever imagine.

"Fuck, look at this cunt." He muttered, reaching down to spread her dripping pussy apart. "It's absolutely soaked, just dripping down. Love it, hm?” The smugness in his tone would usually make her scowl but there was no denying it. The proof was right there. It was undeniable. “You're so turned on, baby. It's making it easier for me to fuck this tight little ass of yours." The glossy, hard flesh glistened with slick, dripping down onto the bed beneath her. His own cum intermingled with her own, making his movements smoother as he pushed in and out of her, coating her holes with their combined essence.

Her face was a mask of pure ecstasy, her eyes rolled back in her head as she whimpered in pleasure, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. Her asshole clenching and unclenching around his thick cock with each thrust, trying to milk him for all he was worth. Her body was feeling tingly, her legs trembling as he fucking into her ass, the sound of her arousal and his hips hitting her skin filling the room. She was completely lost in the pleasure, her mind clouded by the overwhelming sensation of being thoroughly fucked.

As she reached the peak of her orgasm, he took over and began rubbing her clit with his own thumb, the sensation sending waves of pleasure cascading through her body. She cried out, her pussy gushing as she came harder than she would have imagined being fucked like this. She was so overwhelmed that she could only hold limply onto his arms as he continued to pound into her, his thick cock stretching her hole as it thrust through the waves of her intense orgasm.

His face contorted, vein bulging in his neck as he struggled to hold back. "You feel too good, baby. I can't... I can't hold back any longer." His heavy balls drew up close to his body, ready to unleash another load inside of her. The feeling of her taut muscles milking him, the way she clung to him with every fiber of her being, it was too much. He was sensitive himself, but he wanted to deliver everything she wanted.

"Please, Harry...Please,come inside me... I wanna feel you fill me up. Want it everywhere." She panted, her voice desperate with need. Half of the fun of sex was seeing him lose that control he so easily held in all other scenarios. She wanted to make him feel just as good as he made her feel. He deserved it.

His restraint shattered at her words.  "Fuck, you're gonna get what you asked for."

With a guttural groan, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and let go, his hot load pulsing into her hole in thick ropes. She felt each ribbon scalding her , marking her as his. "That's it, take it all... That’s m’girl.” He kept cumming, his cock twitching as he filled her. Ribbon after ribbon filled her up until she was overflowing with his load, almost overwhelmingly so. He finally slowed, his chest heaving, before gently pulling out of her ass, his cock glistening with the evidence of their fuck.

With a sense of possessive pride, he watched as his cum began to leak out of her stretched hole, dripping down her thighs. It was satisfying in the filthiest way. Primal and caveman in every sense of the word, he loved knowing that he had done it. He’d taken every one of her holes and made her his in the dirtiest type of way. He gently spread her cheeks apart, admiring the sight of his mark leaking from her. "Look at that... You're so full of me, S’that what you wanted?”

“Mhm.” She smiled, slightly drunk on the orgasm and the fact that he had pushed her further than anyone else had before. it was a good feeling in her body, the beginnings of soreness and the calming heat of his hands as he caressed her the way he wanted. “Exactly what I wanted. Think M’gonna have to keep you around so we can do that again.”

“I’d hope so.” He laughed tiredly, pushing back down to take her mouth for another kiss. “I’m far from finished with you, sweet little thing. But I think I’ve ravaged your body enough. Think you need a bath and some tea, get you ready to sleep.” 

Aftercare wasn’t something she’d experienced in any other relationship either, but she realized now it was probably a Harry exclusive thing. He was phenomenal at it. A lot of things, honestly. He experimented with her responsibly, took care of her after every round of sex, checked in on her, made sure she was eating proper meals, and helped her with her career. She’d lucked out with him. Whatever his ex wife was thinking, she had no clue- but she wasn’t about to waste a single bit of him.

“Do you have chamomile?” She asked softly, pecking his lips in return. 

“What do you take me for? Course I’ve got it.” He scoffed, pinching her chin. “But if I didn’t, I’d find some for you. Know it’s your favorite. Added it to the grocery list, along with your cereal, your rancid battery acid energy drinks, and the sweet and salty popcorn.” 

“It’s good battery acid, I’ll have you know.” She giggled, carding her fingers through his hair. He did have a bit of gray going on the temples but it was sexy. Just hearing how much he cared and put effort into the tiny things made her giddy. 

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about your poison in the morning. It’s time to get clean and go t’sleep. Tomorrow may be the day you write five thousand words. You never know.”

[andhumanslovedstories]

I've been running this writing experiment lately to cut out phrases like "I felt" in my fiction writing. Like I was looking at a sentence in a draft that said, "he felt as if character's eyes were pinning him in place." And then I was like, "well, does he think that or is it true? As a result of this person watching him, he's froze. It's not like a thing, it is that thing."

Oh and "almost"! I'm always going, "He felt almost relieved that it hadn't happened." Well, did he feel better that it didn't happen or didn't he? Or "somewhat", I'm always going, "she felt somewhat perturbed."

And like none of that is wrong, to be clear. I don't know if it'd improve your writing, I don't even know if it'll improve my writing, but I use this sentence structure all the time so every viewpoint is from a voice that thinks about what it thinks, hedges its statements, and offers the same ability for wry little jokes formatted in the exact same way. And I have a lot of writing like that and I think (!) that they're good, but read as a whole, I'm like, "god, they all sound the same." Like there's one melody that I write songs to, so even with different lyrics, it's almost (!) the same song. Something I've been struggling with in regards to my writing and why I've felt so blocked is how boring I found writing my usual way. I'd read something and enjoy the individual parts of it, but then I'd step back and I didn't like the whole. And I got good at this enough at seeing that I didn't like it to do it in real time as I was writing, which as you can imagine didn't improve the process of writing because now I was bored AND dejected about being bored.

There's this sentence-level structure fact that I use unconsciously. A pattern I find easy is short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, long sentence. So I write that. "He [verbed]. He [verbed]. Then he [verbed]. As he [verbed] to his [consequence], he [verbed] that [noun] was [statement of condition]." Which could work, it often does make for a nice rhythm, but it's something I reach for often because it's easier for me.

Just last sentence, I originally typed, "I find it easier for me." But if what I mean is "using this pattern is less effort than another pattern," then it's easier for me. One voice is hedging its bets and the other asserting. Either is fine! But they're different! And, again, GOD you would not believe how many words I've cut out of this paragraph as I write it. I'm so chatty. I love using twelve words when six will do. And that gives my writing a specific tone to my ear.

So if I am bored of that tone, why not try using just the six words? Why be understated? Why be afraid of stronger opinions? So right now with my fiction, I'm experimenting with cutting out as many self-reflective words as I can. Sometime you do need to draw attention to the face that this is the character's interpretation, but like you definitely don't need to do it as much as I naturally want to do it. You don't need to always go out of your way to allow the possibility that the narrative voice is wrong. During editing, I trim the weaker ones (I originally typed, "what I consider the weaker ones" Is that more accurate?). But I think them being there in the first place shifts my language which shifts my character's which shifts my plot. It's sentence structure all the way down!!

(this barely applies to my writing on here, btw. i try to do good but yknow this is a tumblr blog. i'm not trying to get a lit mag to accept it.)

Anyway blah blah (chatty!) the point is I've been trying to write in a way opposite of my interests. Something that doesn't take itself too seriously, that emphasizes EMOTION and ACTION instead of minimizing it, and that clips through scenes at a good pace. Doing this been amazingly fun. I've been having such a good time doing it. I am writing so much because I really enjoy doing it. The process of writing is so fun again.

This post is about two things. One is my new mood stabilizer and therapy day camp. The other is about the benefit of pretending to be MXTX.

[lilacgaby]

Firstly I wanna say I love your writing and although I’m very new to your page I’m OBSESSED 🤩

This is my first request ever so I hope I’m doing this correctly. ANYWAYS- I was hoping for like an ice hockey au where it’s like bakugou playing midoroya’s team and bakugou doesn’t like the way deku is looking at reader in the stands even though bakugou and readers relationship isn’t public and they fight and all that good stuff.

Thanks I totally appreciate you! Hope you’re well and have a great day!!

title: iced out.

pairing: hockeyplayer!bakugo x girlfriend!reader

"he'll need an ice pack when i'm done with him."

note: my love you're so smart omgg, i loved this au! ty for the support i hope this is a good read <3

it was the match up of the season.

everyone knew of the rivalry between bakugo and midoriya, every match they'd have would end in shoves, bloodied noses, bruises, and cards called. the audience was thankful for the dividers that kept them safe from the confrontations that would always break out in corners, bakugo usually pushing midoriya away forcefully into them just to get control of the puck.

you were there at that match for katsuki after the matches, waiting outside the locker rooms to drive home. you knew first hand just how much he wanted to win against midoriya. he'd confessed to you how they used to be close friends, but after midoriya 'lied' about getting excepted into an overseas junior team, he had been ostracized from katsuki's life.

they hadn't faced each other since last season, the bracket hadn't allowed for it. until today.

you, katsuki's girlfriend since before he got drafted into a team, were pepping him up before the first interval. his teammates already knew about you, but the public didn't.

katsuki preferred in this way, he thought. saying "those damn publicists would shove cameras and mics down our throats if they knew." you didn't mind either way, the bile of jealousy at every woman who thought they had a chance with katsuki going away after multiple times of him cursing them out.

katsuki had never had to experience that though, not until today.

you were in the stands, the front row of one of the many sections in the rink. it was a full house today, but you stood out because of your limited edition jersey given to you by katsuki himself.

while the practice period was going on, he was calming himself down. his coach had told him that a clear head is all he needed to beat midoriya into a pulp, or something like that. 'easy shit.' he thought.

but like a shark who smelled blood, his pupils dilated severely as he saw him throwing a puck to you. you caught it, raising your hand to thank him and you let an appreciative smile, flipping it over to see his number on the back of it (how did he even write that?). at your shocked expression, he laughed.

and he had the audacity to make a phone sign with his hand after?

oh, he was gonna need to call someone once bakugo was done with him, he was sure of it.

the promise of calm was gone as fast as it came, an impossibly angrier katsuki coming back as he finished warm ups.

at the sound of the timer, katsuki played aggressive. the first 20 minutes was full of this mentally. he was rushing in and hitting, shoving anyone in his way. he 'accidentally' launched the puck into midoriya's helmet at the fifteen minute mark.

the teams managed to stay even though, but katsuki was scoring a majority of the points for his team. the only thing in his way was midoriya, like always.

midoriya, who kept his eyes locked on you while the puck wasn't in play. who kept waving to his fans, but sending winks to you.

katsuki had decided to murder him. or rather, his team.

he hit another puck in easily, already having the game be the highest scoring one in the league for the year. midoriya managed to match one up again, barely keeping on his heels.

the score was now 5-5, katsuki wanted to finish it in this interval. going into a sudden death overtime would just be too tiring.

they were tied again with only 2 minutes left on the clock. all it took was midoriya to eye you again, that was enough to spite bakugo.

with a minute left he finally got control of the puck, as midoriya got in his way. katsuki predicted a fake out, and sent the puck flying with a curve.

as the keeper missed, and with 3 seconds left.

he scored.

the arena cheered, the cameras caught on midoriya's smirk and small claps, the pissed off looks from midoriya's teammates, and the celebration of katsuki's team.

they had to play again to let the puck slide for 3 seconds, out of courtesy, but katsuki took a victory lap, looking straight at you.

the second he was free he walked straight through the rink, much to his manager's dismay. this caught the attention of the media, who had all eyes on him. he saw none of it, passing by fans without a care in the world as he grabbed your face and kissed you, making you drop the puck.

midoriya was seen with an 'ohhh' expression on his face as the rink went crazy, flashes all in your faces as katsuki pulled back, hips lips now smeared with your lip gloss. you two were on the jumbotron, and you awkwardly waved as the attention was focused on you two suddenly.

"didn't i tell you so? these losers are breathing down our throats."

"yeah, oh my god kats' your eye!" you gasped as you saw the bruise starting to form over his eye.

he wore a stupid smirk on his face as you fussed over him. his eyes squinted as he saw the rival team give themselves 'good luck next times' and 'we'll get em back's. midoriya in particular was being the captain as always, cheering up his team though occasionally looking back at you. katsuki sneered, he won the game and the girl! take that deku.

"why do you have that dumbass look on your face?"

"hah?! my face isn't dumb woman!"

[judysxnd]

Baby who ?

Pedro pascal x reader

I had this in my drafts for a very long time (like the rest of my writings). But it kinda happened when I was online shopping, I said Baby Yoda and I surprised myself and it gave me this idea 😂

It’s just a little something, nothing big (or good) but there ya go 🤷🏻‍♀️

I'm finally publishing something again. I mean this was written a long time ago and only needed some editing.

Also, as Christmas is getting closer, my job is going to get even tougher and I might even get less time for me but I'm determined to write again. I miss it too much! And I've received some requests again, so I'm going to try my best. Thank you 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Today was a stay-at-home day. I mean, it’s Sunday, there isn’t much to do. It was also Pedro’s day off, so you did want to spend the most of it with him. But neither of you had the energy to actually do something, like go hiking, doing some chores or something else, so you just chilled the entire day.

Stayed in bed until 11am, a late breakfast for lunch, staying on the couch with some tv show in the background, but really you’re just talking and catching up on what’s going on since Pedro was away for some time.

At some point you had brought your computer after needing to make a quick search on internet to prove a point (and unfortunately he was right), you ended up looking through some clothes and stuff. Why not do some online shopping? But you didn’t really like anything, so you were just looking and casually judging some seriously weird stuff. At least you were both enjoying yourselves while not really doing anything.

“Oh look at the socks!” You said as you saw Grogu on some pair of socks. It immediately made Pedro turned his head, having a big smile after what he saw

“They are so cute!”

“Oh, wait” you scrolled a bit further “there are also shows with baby yoda on it!” You immediately realized what you just said, and as you felt Pedro freeze, you slowly turned your head, trying not to laugh. He was shocked, his big brown eyes looking straight at you. “Shit- sorry, grogu!”

You looked at each other for a few seconds but neither of could contain their laugh.

“You’re lucky” Pedro said looking at you then at your screen

“Or what?” You teased. He arched an eyebrow

“Or I would bring you in warm or I would bring you in cold” he said with his mandalorian voice. You were speechless, and not in a bad way.

“Look who’s teasing now” you kept going, which Pedro just laughed at. “liking the voice very much right now” you whispered

“Wh-what was that?” Pedro leaned

“Hm?”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing” you stared at each other again, and just laughed “hm”

“I won’t repeat it, so if you heard it, good for you, if you didn’t, well.. it’s too bad” you shrugged

“I swear” he laughed

And that's how it became a game between the two of you. But for real.. He did bring you in warm many many times.

[yandere-yearnings]

Know Me Like the Devil Knows My Sins (Loser!Yandere x GN!Reader)

feat. genie's loser yan

♡ oneshot, approx. 1.5k words

♡ post-specific warnings: yandere themes, implied kidnapping, violence, strangulation, implied death

♡ a/n: thank you to @moyazaika for letting me write abt his oc, loser yan!! genie, if you read this, pls ignore the fact that my characterisation sucks ass. this was over 3k but i went back and cut out the waffle bc there was a lot of it lmao, so ig it's technically edited, but not proofread.

♡♡♡

This basement was cold. 

Heated blankets and warm meals, however many times a day they were brought to you, didn’t change much. No windows or light for even a semblance of passing time, all you had was the annoying draft that skimmed through the door at the top of the staircase — the one you weren’t allowed near. You wouldn’t have been able to escape even if you wanted to, not with the chain around your ankle. For as free as he tried to make you feel, the heavy metal was a constant reminder that there was no liberty in his love, if it could even be called that.

You were waiting for his return, less because you wanted to and more because it was the only thing you could do other than read the books he’d given you. They were all your favourites, from the stories your mother used to read you as a child to the ones you’d pick up on your way home when you’d grown up. At first, you’d found the thoughtfulness of it endearing, feeling seen and understood and catered to. Somewhere, kept within his walls, you didn’t blame yourself for becoming as delusional as he was.

How could you enjoy anything anymore, with no one to share it with?

Each new day that passed, every page you would read and read again, only accomplished you in realising the loneliness that coiled around you. Second by second, growing larger than your life had been before this. Soon, your loved ones would stop looking for you. Soon, you’d be considered dead — and in death you would be all his. You knew that was what he wanted.

You had made yourself comfortable on the vulnerabilities he presented to you, in the way he shook when your fingers stroked his skin, his shudders at your calling his name. That was all too good to be true. If you had actual control in this, he’d have surrendered to you long ago. You’d been testing it. Playing mind games, pushing limits — he’d shut you down quick, then cover the shrewdness in his eyes with a bashful smile. You were no fool, and clearly he wasn’t either.

Your bitterness surmounted with the echoing of locks clicking open. There wasn’t a need for as many as he had placed to keep you here, you weren’t sure you could even run anymore. You hadn’t used your legs in so long. He’d surely catch you. He’d rip your throat out like he did in your nightmares. You had no faith you wouldn’t become another layer of red on the white paint surrounding. Perhaps you should’ve been thankful, if fear were to be a knife, he’d certainly dulled it for you — slinking in, shoulders slumped and looking as meek as ever. Really, from the first glance, he didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“Darling…” there was that tone, demure, like you could do anything to hurt him from your place on this filthy mattress, your place on the floor as he stood above you. Towering. This entire thing felt like a sick joke. You’d once considered there being a chance for you. Hope crumbled just like he did, to his knees to look into your eyes. “I missed you so much today, my love.”

You blinked at him. You knew where this was going.

“I mean- I miss you every day, don’t get me wrong!” Sheepish laughter, twitching fingers — all signs of his wanting your validation. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you, not at all. Work has been so hard, and you’re the only thing I can look forward to truly and- and I really, really wanted to come back home quickly and ask if you’d...”

His sentence trailed off, and it took all you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. He wasn’t very creative, that much was obvious. You’d initially chalked it up to some cute sort of performance anxiety that he experienced because he wanted to come off as appealing to you. Now, it had begun to dawn on you that he was simply struggling to keep up the pathetics. As you curled your digits into his hair, as you tugged him closer and let him muffle his weak moan into your neck, you wondered why either of you were bothering anymore. No audience except for the earwigs that crawled about, no one who’d watch this stupid, repetitive show.

“I’ll hold you,” you whispered, tired enough that even your dishonesty could be mistaken as gentle. “I’ll hold your heart. Don’t worry. I know.”

You could feel his lips on your skin, chapped, scraping where he tried to formulate words. You were sure he too felt this warring between the both of you, this constant fight, teasing superiority, challenging who would take the reigns in this sombre dance. Bored out of your mind, anticipating when he’d get tired of you — but you were his infatuation so that could never happen.

“Not enough about me,” he breathed, “my sweetheart, my entire world, you wouldn’t know what I’ve done for you.” His hands dug into your waist where they rested, gripping flesh over fabric like it would give him warmth. It wouldn’t, because it was freezing in here.

“Won’t you tell me?”

Quiet laughter. “You’d be scared if I did.”

“I already am.” Your words made him pull away, made him peer at you with those eyes. You held his gaze. “I already am afraid of you. I already know who you are. Tell me anyway, since-”

“Since you love me.” He interrupted you, finished your sentence with words you had not been planning to utter. He didn’t say it tentatively enough; gave himself away with that and the severe expression on his face that his hair did not hide. It was a shame that now wasn’t one of your better days, lest you’d have heeded the silent warning.

“Since I can’t leave,” you corrected. No energy for even a single ounce of regret, none to even whimper at the violent pressure of his grip on your collarbones.

Sometimes, he’d come to you with blood caked under his fingernails. Sitting there like he was sinless, mouth running for hours about you in every way he could. All your likes and dislikes, all your habits, all your life — as if you didn’t know yourself. Again, those lips were moving, spitting at you like it could quell the anger you could see bubbling beneath the surface.

Your perfect person, he spilled descriptions like the ideals you once had were his intimate study, asking you why. Why wasn’t he enough even though he’s everything you’d ever wanted? When he’d made sure of it? Your chance to answer was taken by lithe fingers on your neck, but if you could, you’d have told him that at its core, it was just that every desire you had, looked like something disgusting on him.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t like you, c’mon,” his words came ringing, buzzing, an entire choir of metal scraping metal underwater, your world spinning and head pressed back into the mattress too fast to stop him from climbing on top of you, “don’t deny your feelings for me.”

Your eyes rolled back and his hold on you only loosened a fraction. Staring at the dark inside your own skull, gasping breaths through bruised tissue. You thought you heard knocking, and surely it’d be death at your door if you didn’t backtrack now, didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, like you had been until you’d lost yourself in your own lies.

Survival instinct should’ve kicked in, but then sight and sound returned to you, and you accepted that you wouldn’t be the hero in your story. You’d get yourself killed, yet, how could you love a man that loomed over you with eyes on fire? He’d burn you up to make it through the winter, and find another once your ashes were blown away.

Even if it made you a villain, drowning in the blood pooling from your ears, you owed yourself your last rasp to him. “I hate you,” broken and choked on tears cutting through the numbness. Your nails clawing everywhere you could reach, on this bed of springs that felt nothing like the one you so desperately wanted to return to, you mourned all you were losing. 

Limbs going numb — salt — you’d never see home again.

When under constant observation, there’s only so much one can conceal about themselves. He knew that well. From the pictures of you in his gallery and the endless notes with your name repeated over and over and over — he’d chosen to obsess, and you were forced to, and you became his mirror the longer he kept you. Going mad, crazy, insane because his was the only face you could remember anymore.

You knew his moods from his scent and his needs from his touch, you knew him to the heart of the blank slate he’d always been, you knew him rooted carnally to you because it was the only thing grounding him. He hadn’t needed to tell you anything really, and you didn’t need to push. You knew him like the devil knew his sins.

And he’d take you to hell for it.

[mydearestbeloved]

#0.2 [Chapter]

CW: Implied Yandere, Angst

⚠️SPOILER ALERT to my "Trial Player"-AU (Imagine 1#).

Note:

I have too many ideas but too little time, so I'll just post them as drafts here until I have the time to edit them thoroughly.

_____

Draft I:

As you sat alone in a rare moment of peace, your thoughts wandered, weighed down by the inevitable future. You watched Jinwoo across the room, his back turned as he spoke quietly with a few of his shadows, too preoccupied to notice the turmoil churning inside you. You wondered if he could sense it—the quiet resignation you’d tried so hard to bury beneath the surface.

For a long time, you had wondered which of the tropes would define Sung Jinwoo. The question had plagued your mind ever since you were brought into this world, even before you officially met him. Back then, you had always believed he was the type to sacrifice himself for the world. After all, in the original story, he had gone back in time, facing the Monarchs alone. He shouldered the burden, unflinching, and in doing so, sealed his fate. It was the path of a man who believed no one else could bear the weight of the world.

And you? You always saw yourself as someone who would burn the world for the ones you loved. Before getting isekai’d, that had been your mindset—I’ll burn the world for you. If you had someone like Jinwoo, someone precious, you’d scorch the earth before letting them be taken.

But now, everything had changed. You weren’t just a bystander. You were a part of his story, no matter how much you had tried not to meddle. You were in too deep, and every day you spent by his side made it harder to imagine a future where you weren’t there. But you knew what was coming. Jinwoo’s path would lead him to turn back time, and when that happened—when he used the Cup of Reincarnation to stop the Monarchs—you would be erased.

The system’s melancholic silence when you’d asked it about your fate had only confirmed your worst fears. There was no need for a trial player when the world was safe from the Monarchs. You would disappear from this reality, perhaps return to your own. Or maybe you would simply cease to exist.

You had already accepted it, in a way. If Jinwoo chose the world over himself, then I would choose to sacrifice myself for him. You would give him the chance to live in the world he chose to protect. You would disappear quietly, like a glitch in the system, repaired and erased without a trace.

But he must never know.

If Jinwoo knew... if he found out what you planned to do, it could change everything. You weren’t blind to how it might affect him. He had changed from the man you once read about. This Jinwoo was not the same as the one in the original story. He was growing more possessive, more attached to you. It was subtle at first—the way he watched you avoid the spotlight, how he seemed to enjoy it when you recoiled from fame—but now, it was undeniable. He wanted you by his side, always. His actions, his words, even his touch—everything told you that he wouldn’t let you go easily.

And if he knew your fate? If he discovered that by turning back time and saving the world, he would lose you... What would he do?

Your heart clenched at the thought. He might choose you over the world. He might become the man who would burn everything to keep you by his side. And that scared you more than anything.

Jinwoo was always kind. That was a fact you couldn’t deny. Even with his immense power, even with his ruthlessness on the battlefield, there was a kindness in him that remained untouched. You didn’t want to take that from him. You didn’t want to become the reason he veered off his path, the reason he sacrificed the world for something as selfish as... a love for the you who weren't meant to be.

So, he must not know.

You would carry the weight of your secret, and when the time came, you would disappear. You would become nothing more than a fading memory, like a glitch once fixed, leaving no trace behind.

You looked at Jinwoo again, your heart heavy with the knowledge that you were running out of time. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, his expression softened, as if sensing the depth of your thoughts. He crossed the room, sitting beside you with a quiet, almost casual presence that belied the intensity of his emotions. His hand brushed yours, and you felt the familiar warmth of his touch.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he said softly, his voice low and comforting.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the storm inside you. “Maybe.”

Jinwoo didn’t press further, but his eyes lingered on your face, searching. He always knew when something was off, but for now, he seemed willing to let it slide. You leaned into his side, resting your head against his shoulder, wondering how long you had left before everything changed.

Because no matter how much you tried to keep your cards close, the end was inevitable. And when it came... you would disappear, leaving Jinwoo to walk the path alone once again.

_____

Draft II:

You stared out the window, your thoughts swirling in a labyrinth of uncertainty. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of life outside, but inside, your mind was far too loud. The weight of everything—your existence here, Jinwoo’s fate, the inevitable outcome of this world—all pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket. You thought about Jinwoo, about his burdens, his strength, and the path he was destined to walk.

He must not know.

That thought repeated itself like a mantra in your head. If Jinwoo knew what you were willing to do, if he knew you were planning to sacrifice yourself for him, everything could change. And that change could unravel the story you knew—the story you had come to love, the one you were never meant to alter.

In the original story, Jinwoo was the kind of man who would sacrifice himself for the world, or for his loved ones. You had always admired that about him—the quiet strength, the resolve to protect even if it meant carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But now, as you sat here in his world, things had shifted. You were in too deep. And if things continued down this path, it would be you who would disappear once Jinwoo reversed time to stop the Monarchs.

You had asked the system once, in private, what would happen to you after Jinwoo used the Cup of Reincarnation. Its silence had told you everything. You would cease to exist. You wouldn’t be needed anymore because the trial—the system—would be over. You would either return to your world or vanish entirely, leaving no trace. And Jinwoo... Jinwoo would never remember you. Once the timeline reset, his memories of you would be erased, as though you were nothing more than a glitch.

Perhaps that was for the best.

You didn’t mind sacrificing yourself for him. If you disappeared, at least you would know you had done something meaningful. Jinwoo would live on, and he wouldn’t be burdened by your memory. He would believe, as always, that he had faced it all alone.

But the thought of how your disappearance might affect him—it gnawed at you. Jinwoo had already lost so much. What would he feel if he knew you were gone, even if he couldn’t remember why? How would it change him if he somehow, deep down, sensed the absence of something—someone—important?

Where you 'important' enough?

“You’re thinking too much again,” came Jinwoo’s voice, low and smooth, as if he had been reading your mind. He was suddenly beside you, his presence steady and overwhelming, as it always was.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts, and turned to face him. He looked at you with those deep, intense eyes that seemed to see right through you, his gaze unwavering as if he could sense your inner turmoil. He stepped closer, his thumb brushed your cheek, his touch grounding you. “You’re always overthinking.”

You laughed softly, a sound tinged with both amusement and sadness. “I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let me help you. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

The irony of his words wasn’t lost on you. He, who had always been alone, who had carried the weight of the world by himself, was now offering to share your burden. It was almost poetic.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine, Jinwoo.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been distant lately.” His thumb continue to brush against your skin, sending a wave of warmth through you. “What are you thinking about?”

You. That was the truth, wasn’t it? You were always thinking about him, about the burden he carried, and what it meant for both of you. But you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t tell him you were planning to disappear, or that you were ready to sacrifice yourself for him. He’d never let you.

So instead, you asked, “What would you sacrifice for the world, Jinwoo? Or for someone you care about?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to understand where the question was coming from. He was silent for a moment, considering his answer. “I’d sacrifice myself if it meant saving the people I love,” he said finally. “I’d protect them at any cost.”

Of course he would. That was the Jinwoo you knew. The Jinwoo the world knew.

Please, never change.

But what about you? Would he ever put you in that equation, or were you just another person in the background—someone to protect from afar, someone he couldn’t afford to get too close to?

“What about me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jinwoo’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes. Something possessive. Something that made your heart race. He stepped even closer, his hand now cradling your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“I’d burn the world for you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you know that by now?”

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his words. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He meant it. He would destroy everything if it meant keeping you by his side. And that terrified you.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You had always thought Jinwoo was the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for the world, and maybe he still was—but when it came to you, something had changed. His focus had shifted. You weren’t just someone he protected. You were his. And he wasn’t going to let you go.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you said, “You can’t—”

“I can,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and something else—something you didn’t want to name. “Jinwoo...”

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You’re mine, (Name). And I won’t let you go. Not for the world, not for anyone. I’ll keep you by my side, no matter what.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You had always known he was possessive, but this... this was something else. It was dangerous, all-consuming. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you wanted to resist it anymore.

But even so, you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell him about the future you knew, about the Cup of Reincarnation, about your eventual disappearance. Because if you did, you knew he would do everything in his power to stop it—even if it meant burning the world to the ground.

So, instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth envelop you, even as your heart ached with the knowledge of what was to come.

“I won’t let you face it alone,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

And for now, that was enough.

End Note:

It's popular to say, get yourself a partner who'll burn the world for you.

I still love that trope the most, but I also want to try new flavors without forgetting the others I've tasted. So, I improvised, and this is how my "Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader"-fanfic Imagine came to be.

In a nutshell: Jinwoo is intense, but (Name) is also intense in her own way~

[archived-junkissed]

happy ending

member — husband!junhui x f reader genre — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort word count — 6.6k synopsis — a pointless argument escalates until both of you need some space, but it couldn't come at a worse time. warnings — female reader, planned pregnancy, there's a big argument but i tried to not make it too toxic (jun and reader have a happy & healthy relationship i promise), swearing, there is a happy ending lots of fluff !! notes — requested by anon — this has been sitting in my drafts for months bc every time i look at it i get shy and wanna change my mind but i'm proud of how this turned out so i'm posting it finally! i know pregnancy fics aren't everyone's favorite but this was honestly very comforting to write so i hope anyone who chooses to read can find comfort in it as well <3 also the last time i proofread this was like april and if i try to proofread it rn i'll get shy again and chicken out so if there's any mistakes pls ignore! i hope you enjoy :)

you sat on the bathroom floor, trying to comprehend the weight of the news you held in your hand. you couldn’t believe it. you could? you couldn’t. 

after many months of trying to start a family with your husband, you had finally succeeded. the slim plastic stick with two tiny pink lines was the last piece of evidence you needed. it had been months of carefully tracked cycles, fertility doctors, and new positions that seemed too weird to actually do anything. but now, everything was finally falling into place.

you don’t know exactly how much time you spend sitting on the floor and staring at the pregnancy test; thinking, planning, and thinking some more. but when you finally stand up and place the positive test on the counter with shaking hands, it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet what’s happening. something you’d wanted for so long, and finally it was all right in front of you.

what do you do now? no— you know exactly what you need to do, and it’s a long list of things. the real question is, where do you begin?

you thought back to all the videos you’d watched over the last few weeks. somehow every social media algorithm knew exactly what you wanted to see, and it had given it to you in abundance; baby showers, gender reveals, those “get ready with me - new mom edition” videos. all getting your hopes up before you could confirm whether or not it had finally happened.

with your hopes high and expectations even higher, you were already beginning to plan how you would break the news to junhui. as your husband and your soon-to-be baby’s father, of course you wanted him to be the very first person to know, so you couldn’t wait too long to tell him. you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

maybe you’d get a little gift box and give the test to him before dinner. but, then again, it was literally a piece of plastic you’d peed on. surely you could give him… something a little nicer than that.

maybe you could buy a baby outfit and wrap it up for him. but you remembered he’d mentioned so many times about how excited he would be to pick out clothes once you got pregnant. you would want him to have the honor of picking out the very first one, going to the store together and looking through the whole section before finally settling on the perfect one.

what else was there you could do? bake a cake? make a crossword puzzle? buy him a t-shirt that says “dad-to-be”? so many ways you could do it, but none of them seemed perfectly right.

from the other room you hear the door opening, and hurriedly you stuff the test into a drawer, not wanting to tell him just yet. you need a plan first; waiting another day or two couldn’t hurt, so you’ll just have to figure out how to tell him later.

you flip off the bathroom light and stride into the hallway, barely able to contain the grin on your face. you’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets, and with news as big and exciting as this you have no idea how you’re going to be able to hide it from him for more than a minute.

but luckily you don’t have to wonder about it for long, because as soon as you see jun you can already tell he’s in a sour mood. 

you know it’s usually best to let him have some time alone when he’s upset, but not for too long because he starts getting frustrated with himself and won’t stop working until he’s exhausted.

but you’re still on a high after everything today, so you decide on being a little bit sweeter to him in the hopes that your happiness will be contagious and that it’ll lift his spirits, despite what was probably a really awful day at work.

you find him sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, long fingers pressed against his eyes trying to block out the light.

“hey, junnie,” you call out, sitting down in a chair next to him. “bad day?”

“yeah,” he answers shortly.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you hum, putting your hand on his shoulder, but he flinches and your hand falls away in surprise. he’s never done that before. weird. you try something else. “um, any requests for dinner?”

“not hungry.”

“alright. well, i guess i can cook up some veggies and leave them out, you can heat them up whenever you get hungry.”

he moves his hands away from his face and onto the table, sighing as he leans back in his chair. “can you just— leave me alone for a while? i’m sorry.”

you nod and stand up. “no, it’s fine. i get it. i’ll bring you some tea later then, maybe. text me when you’re feeling better.” you reach out and gently touch his hand before walking away, leaving him alone at the table.

it’s definitely one of his worser days, you note, so you retreat to your bedroom to watch more videos on your phone, trying to bring back your excitement from earlier. hopefully later he’ll be more open and you can sit down and eat something, and maybe by then you’ll have come up with a good way to tell him the news.

an hour passes and you come out of your bedroom to look for jun, having a question from one of your friends about the dinner you’d arranged to have together next week. but he’s no longer in the kitchen, so you peek your head into his office room and find him exactly where you expect him to be, trying to work himself to death.

you clear your throat before you enter, not wanting to startle him again. “hey, junnie, i know you’re in a bad mood, and i’m sorry to interrupt, but—”

“what do you want?” he snaps, never turning around from his desk. just from the way he’s hunched over his computer, he looks like the most stressed you’ve ever seen him, and your chest tightens with worry before your brain registers what he’s just said to you.

“i— excuse me?”

“i said, what do you want?” he repeats, still facing away from you.

you resist the urge to glare at him, knowing he’s probably under a lot of pressure, and you aren’t trying to add to it. “you don’t have to be rude, jun. i just came in here to double check about next weekend, minghao’s texting me.”

he finally lifts his head, slamming his hand down on the desk. “i’m really trying not to snap at you, but— jesus, you make it so fucking hard sometimes.”

you raise your eyebrows in disbelief, your voice lifting in tone. “well, i’m so very sorry to inconvenience you then, but i really don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, jun.”

“and i don’t appreciate you talking to me like i’m a child! when will you get it through your head?”

his comment stings, but you brush it off. “well, maybe if you’d just talk to me like an adult instead of throwing a fit and hiding in your office then i wouldn’t have to treat you like one!” you’re starting to get tired of how he retreats in on himself every time bad shit happens. all you want to do is let him know he doesn’t have to do it alone, and he’s just… exploding at you for no reason, so you don’t try to hide the snarkiness behind your words.

he scoffs angrily and stands up, towering over you at his full height. “oh, grow up! you’re so moody all the time and you expect me to just put up with it! as if i don’t have enough other shit to worry about, i have to worry about what you think of this and that and everything all the damn time!”

you’ve never seen him get so angry like this, and it’s almost scary how completely different this jun is from the jun you know and love. “okay, jun, fine, i’ll just—”

“no, don’t fucking “jun, fine” me. it’s like you’re doing it on purpose at this point, you act like everything is just so perfect and then when it’s not you act like it’s your job to fix everything! you can’t fix everything!”

“i said fine! just forget it, i’ll leave you the hell alone like you always want!”

he pushes past you and crosses the room in two strides, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door, his hand already on the doorknob. “i need to get some air. i’ll be back later.”

you fold your arms over your chest, trying to look unphased but inside your heart is breaking. “you’re really gonna walk out like that? you’re just gonna run away from this? real mature, junhui.”

he spins around, and the look in his eyes is cold. “if i don’t get out of this house right now i’m gonna say something i actually regret.”

and in a flash the door is slammed shut and jun is gone. you can hear his car starting up in the driveway, and seconds later everything is dead silent.

you stand frozen in front of the door, unable to move. you can’t believe it. you can’t. what just happened?

jun has never just… walked out like that.

his words ring in your ears; though your argument wasn’t very long, a lot was said in a very short time and you can’t even begin to think about how to process it as it starts to hit you all at once.

say something he actually regrets? what the hell does that mean? so he’s saying he doesn’t regret everything else, the cursing and the anger and the pointed words that were clearly meant to hurt you?

minute after long minute passes and you realize he’s not coming back anytime soon. finally you drag yourself away from the door, dropping down on the couch in a daze.

there’s never been a time where you and jun haven’t made up immediately after an argument. sure, maybe you take a little bit to cool down in your own space, but neither of you like letting the tension sit unresolved for very long. so what was it this time that made him leave without even a goodbye?

so many reasons, so many excuses, so many words you could’ve said instead. you shouldn’t have reacted like that, you shouldn’t have kept it going, you should’ve just left him alone. would that have made him stay? if you’d backed down sooner and just let him work through it on his own?

despite all the what-ifs and the doubts in your mind, your conscience won’t allow you to let him worry about everything by himself without at least offering your help. you’re a team, husband and wife, and you’ll be damned if you let him forget that. maybe you trying to help actually made things worse in the end, but at least you know you tried… right?

it’s not until you check your phone and realize that jun’s been gone more than half an hour that you finally let yourself cry. you’d been so focused on worrying about where jun was and whether he was okay that you’d barely even thought about what might happen after this.

will he just… come back and pretend nothing happened? will he come back and still be angry at you? it would almost be worse if he was calm and acted like everything was normal. would he even apologize? would you even apologize? of course you would. both of you said things that were fucked up, and you’ll be the first to admit it if it means this whole thing can be over. right now all you want is to have junhui back.

the tears keep falling but you don’t even feel yourself crying, your face rigid as the tears continue to stain your cheeks.

after an hour you force yourself to get up off the couch and move somewhere, anywhere around the house to try and get your mind off things. but you can’t erase his voice from your head, the look in his eyes as he walked out the door and the way his shoulders hunched from anger mixed with exhaustion.

you find yourself back in your bedroom and you fall onto his side of the bed, wishing you would wake up to find that this has all just been a very bad dream.

it’s after 10pm when you hear your phone buzz on the nightstand and you sit up in a panic, scrambling to see if it’s something from jun. your eyes sting from crying so much, and you blink away the remaining tears as you unlock your phone with shaking hands. your heart drops even further when you realize it is, in fact, from jun, but not the news you want to hear.

you let your phone slip out of your grasp, tumbling to the carpet with a thud. when he’d said he’d be back later you had assumed that meant he’d be coming back tonight. clearly you thought wrong.

tomorrow seemed so far away; too much time to spend alone in a house that was supposed to be filled with happy memories, but now all you felt was pain. you felt it in your chest and in your stomach and in your head and everywhere. the whole room was suffocating, heavy weight crushing down on you from every angle.

you slide to the floor and pick up your phone. you don’t text junhui back. you’re not sure anymore if he’d even read your message. 

instead you type in your friend seokmin’s phone number, listening to the line ring as you wipe the back of your hand across your eyes.

as soon as he picks up, he can hear the anguish in your voice and he’s begging you to tell him what’s wrong, but all you can muster up is a soft, “can i stay with you tonight?” because you can’t bear to be in this house another second without junhui. 

and of course he says yes, and of course he’s immediately on his way over to pick you up. and of course he stops at mcdonald’s on the way back to his house to buy you something to eat, because you haven’t eaten and even though you don’t particularly have much of an appetite right now, seokmin would rather die than let you skip a meal, especially on a night like tonight when you could really use something to keep you going.

you throw your overnight bag on the floor of seokmin’s living room with a small sigh. in a haze you’d tossed in whatever items you thought you might need; a toothbrush, pajamas, something to wash your face with. 

he gives you space for a while as he pulls out the folding bed part of the couch and brings out blankets and pillows for you to sleep with. you don’t say it, but you really appreciate his help. he’s been one of your best friends for so long, and you don’t know what you’d do without him. 

you hadn’t thought about it while you were packing, but as you stand in seokmin’s bathroom you think about the cleanser you’d grabbed; your favorite one, the one jun had gotten you for your birthday last year and you’d never switched to another brand since. 

every single thing reminds you of him, and you push down a fresh wave of emotion as you scrub the foam into your skin, trying to wash away all your tears.

when you’re done getting ready for bed you find seokmin in the living room with a pot of tea. he was just trying to help, but unluckily for him, he’d made green tea. it was your favorite… but it also happened to be jun’s favorite.

and this time you can’t hold back your tears, and seokmin is sitting wide eyed and bewildered, wondering why you’re crying over tea, but he doesn’t ask. he just reaches out to let you hug him, and you squeeze him so tightly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets you hug him as hard as you can and lets your tears stain his t-shirt.

it takes another half hour for you to calm down enough to talk. you’d spent the time watching whatever was on tv, not really paying attention and instead playing everything back in your mind. seokmin had just sat next to you, quietly keeping you company until you were ready.

“jun and i… had a fight,” you say finally, interrupting the commercial playing on the screen.

“i figured,” he says, offering you a comforting smile as he mutes the tv. “do you wanna talk about it?”

“i don’t know. there’s not much to talk about.” you take a shaky breath, remembering it all one more time. “we both said some awful things that we didn’t mean. at least, i know i didn’t mean them. then he just… left, and he texted that he’d come home tomorrow. that’s it.”

you don’t tell him about the pregnancy test. you’ve mentioned once or twice that you and jun had been interested in starting a family, but you’d never gone into detail about it and you weren’t going to now. you still wanted jun to be the first person to know, even though you didn’t know when that might be anymore.

you tell him about other things instead, about your day at work and your plans for the weekend. eventually you finish your tea, and seokmin retreats to his own room and shuts the door with a quiet click, leaving you alone in the quiet of his living room.

it takes you a long time to fall asleep, but soon your exhaustion catches up with you and you let yourself rest, physically and emotionally drained. at least the silence here isn’t as bad as the silence at your house.

across town in his friend seungcheol’s guest bedroom, jun can’t stop tossing and turning. he’s fucked up, he knows he fucked up, big time.

why did he leave? he shouldn’t have left. you had been absolutely right, he was running away from everything and it was stupid and dumb and immature. but in that moment all he could think about was what the next awful thing he might say to you was, and he knew if he had stayed for any longer he wouldn’t have been able to stop what came out of his mouth. he was out of control, and immediately he knew it.

not even the worst day in the world could make you deserving of all the things he said to you. you were the only thing that wasn’t bad in his life; even on shitty days like today, all you did was care about him. and all he did was hurt you.

jun barely sleeps that night, finally forcing himself out of the extra bed at dawn. he’d been too anxious to sleep, too frustrated with himself to do anything other than think about everything he did and wonder if you were okay without him.

he’d already gotten an earful from his friend last night, and he knew he was still in big trouble. the things he said wouldn’t just go away overnight. in fact, they’d probably gotten worse by leaving them to build up overnight, and again he’s kicking himself for ever leaving in the first place.

he packs up his things as quickly as he can, eager to get home and see you again. on his way out the door, he thanks seungcheol for letting him stay the night and he apologizes for bothering him so late.

“i’m not the one you need to apologize to. you better figure out how to fix this, jun.”

with a straight face he nods, bowing his head as he closes the door.

in his car, jun takes the long way home, trying to find an open grocery store. he knows it won’t make up for how he acted, but the very least he can do it buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

he walks through the aisles, basket in hand, trying to think of something else for you. maybe he’ll get the ingredients he needs to make your favorite dinner tonight; he hadn’t eaten last night, though you had offered to cook for him and he’d shot you down.

he feels another pang of guilt at the thought, remembering yet another kind gesture you’d tried to give him that he’d brushed off like it meant nothing. it meant everything to him, and in the middle of the frozen vegetables aisle he swore he wouldn’t ever do it again. 

he’d taken you for granted, and he was so lucky that things hadn’t ended worse than they did. he could’ve said something truly unforgivable, or he could’ve even lost your relationship altogether. but he was still yours, and you were still his, and he would just have to work extra hard to make sure you knew how sincere he was.

he’d been a little worried that you hadn’t texted him back last night, seeing that you’d read his message but never responded. you were probably still hurt, and he didn’t blame you; still, he’d hoped you would say something back.

with grocery bags loaded full of ingredients for dinner and the special things he’d bought for you, the drive back home feels a little more hopeful.

he plans out everything he’ll do in the car. he’ll bring the groceries in and put them away quickly; it’s still fairly early in the morning, so hopefully you won’t be awake yet. he’ll arrange your flowers all nice in a pretty vase, and he’ll come in and wake you up with the best apology of his life and hopefully a really big hug. after the last 24 hours he really could use a hug, and he’s sure you could too. and then he’ll explain how sorry he is and how he didn’t mean any of it and then everything will be better again. yes, everything will be okay.

the first part of his plan goes perfectly. he sneaks into the house and when he’s met with silence he continues putting everything away, quietly so he won’t wake you up in the other room. then, he puts the flowers in a vase and with everything in place, he walks down the hallway to finally face you.

but when he twists the bedroom door handle, the bed is made and the room is empty. you aren’t there.

he frowns, leaving the room and poking his head into the bathroom, then his office. he calls your name loudly, hoping you’re just in a corner of the house and you’ll come out once you hear him. but no reply.

he goes back into the living room and sets the vase down on the coffee table, trying to think. you aren’t usually up this early, but maybe you hadn’t been able to sleep and you’d gone out for a walk, or maybe you’d gone to the store to get more cereal? 

a sinking feeling rises in his chest, and he walks back into the bedroom to confirm something, sliding open the closet door to check. your overnight duffel bag is gone.

he ducks back into the bathroom to check something else. your toothbrush isn’t sitting in the jar like it usually is. he slides open the bathroom drawer to check one more thing, and—

his hand freezes on the knob, staring at something in the drawer that wasn’t there before. he’s not sure it is what he thinks it is, but either way there it is, clear as day in front of him: a little white piece of plastic, sticking out from underneath a tissue. 

gingerly he pulls it out, holding it up to the light to see it better. when he sees the two pink lines he nearly drops it in shock, but he stops himself, setting it gently on the counter instead.

this is something special, something precious, and he knew he had to take care of it. you’d saved it for a reason; you could’ve easily just thrown it away once you knew the results, but you had kept it instead. were you going to give it to him?

he covers his mouth with his hand, still staring at the stick sitting on the edge of the sink. it was just a cheap piece of plastic, but to him it was the most important thing in the entire world.

he deflates when he realizes you’d probably been planning on telling him last night, before he’d blown up at you. if he’d been paying attention to anyone other than himself, he would’ve noticed your mood was happier than usual, your face glowing with contained excitement. he should’ve been paying attention.

there’s a sense of urgency in his stride as he dashes around the house, looking for any other sign of you, but it’s clear you weren’t there. there were so many places you could be, he can’t even begin to think of where to look. your parents, friends, family; hell, you could even have stayed in a hotel, alone and upset. he should’ve been there. none of this should’ve ever happened.

immediately he presses the speed dial for your phone, but of course– no answer. he calls again, and again you don’t pick up. he curses, resisting the urge to slam his phone down on the table in frustration. no, he has to stay calm. that’s what got him into this whole fucking mess in the first place.

he remembers that your parents are out of town on vacation, so you probably wouldn’t have gone there. you wouldn’t have gone to a hotel because you always lecture him about the importance of saving money “just in case”, so you wouldn’t have paid to stay somewhere. your sister is still in college and shares an apartment with three other people, so probably not the best idea either. 

that narrows it down to one of your friends’ houses; seokmin, who lives a couple blocks away, or joshua, who lives on the other side of town.

he figures seokmin is his best bet, so jun takes a deep breath and finds the contact in his phone.

“what do you want?” seokmin’s usually cheery voice has an edge to it today, and jun knows he’s picked right.

“is she there?” he asks anxiously.

“she is,” he confirms, and jun exhales, letting out the breath he had been holding in. “but she’s asleep still. i’ll let her know you called.”

“wait,” jun adds quickly.

the line is silent for a moment, and he’s afraid seokmin’s already hung up, but finally he gets a response. “what is it?”

"can i–are you sure? please," jun pleads. if he could just talk to you, just explain what happened and that he's so fucking sorry—

“hold on,” seokmin says, and the phone goes quiet again.

jun’s heart is in his throat as he waits for a response, and he stops when he finally hears your voice. “hello?”

he breathes a sigh of relief. “sweetheart. i’m so sorry.”

you don’t reply, so he continues.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” he starts, trying to put the right words together. “i shouldn’t have said any of that last night, and i shouldn’t have left. i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry.”

“thanks” is all you say, and he hates how small and sad your voice sounds. it’s his fault you sound like that.

“i found your test,” he bursts out, unable to hide his excitement any longer.

“oh." you pause, swallowing. "so… you know.”

“yes, i do know, baby. i’m so sorry, if i had known before—”

you cut him off, your tone suddenly rising with anger. “‘if you had known?’ so you won’t yell at me if i’m pregnant, but you’re just fine with yelling at me when you think i’m not? is that the only reason why you’re even apologizing to me right now?"

“no— fuck, no, of course not. i shouldn’t yell at you, period. and i’m not going to ever again.” jun pauses for a second, rubbing his hand over his eyes. he’s done nothing so far but make everything worse. “i really messed up, honey, and i’m sorry. i can’t say it enough. but— please, come home. i don’t want to talk over the phone.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the tears that threaten to fall again. you don’t want to cry about this anymore. “okay,” you say finally. “i’ll be home in a little while.”

“thank you,” jun says, and the way his voice breaks makes your heart sink. you can tell he feels awful about everything, and you do really, really miss him.

“…i love you," you add, changing your mind at the last second.

“i love you, too!” he says immediately. “i love you, too, honey. text me when you’re on your way.”

“i will.”

he says “i love you” twice more before you end the call. you sit in silence for a second, processing everything before you stand up off the couch and head to seokmin’s room to give him back his phone.

"can you take me home now, please?" you tell him softly, and immediately seokmin stands up and hugs you, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"of course. let me know when you're ready."

half an hour later you find yourself in the front seat of seokmin’s car once again, this time sitting nervously in his driveway as he puts your bag in the trunk for you. you're still not sure if you're ready to face jun yet, but you know you have to.

reluctantly you unlock your phone and open your text messages with jun, your eyes landing on the text he'd sent last night that had gone unreplied. with shaky fingers you type out that you're leaving seokmin’s house, and jun replies almost instantly with a long string of heart emojis.

seokmin gets into the car and starts it, and you exhale and set your phone in the cupholder.

"are you okay?" he asks, turning to look at you. "because you can always let me know if you need anything. anytime, day or night."

"i'm alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "i'm fine. but thank you, seok. i really appreciate everything."

he smiles, shifting the car into reverse. "of course. it's no problem at all."

the second he hears the car pull up outside the house, jun jumps up off the couch, smoothing his shirt down anxiously. through the window he watches seokmin hand you your bag and close the trunk, giving you one last hug before he gets back in the car. he doesn't drive away until you're at the front porch, and with a deep breath jun swings open the door, before you can even knock.

you both stand there in silence for a second before he blurts out another apology. "i'm sorry," he rushes to say. "i'm really sorry."

you give him a weak smile. "can i maybe… get in the house, first?" you ask quietly, motioning with your free hand at the doorway.

"yeah, i— yeah, shit, of course," jun says as he practically jumps out of your way, holding the door open for you to walk inside.

you set your bag on the floor by the couch as he closes the door behind you. the sound of the lock clicking seems too loud in the uncomfortable silence that settles over the room.

"can… can i give you a hug? please?" he asks, and you stay quiet but nod. 

he closes the distance between you in one stride and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you so tightly and holding you close to his chest. "i'm so sorry, honey. i didn't mean any of it. i promise."

"i believe you," you finally manage, your voice a little muffled from how he's pressing you against him.

he doesn't say anything more, just holds you and holds you, and it feels so good to be home where you belong. there's a lot that needs to be said, but for right now you don't need any more words. you're just glad to be back together again.

after a while you pull your head away from him so you speak. "i'm sorry."

"why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong, baby. i'm the one that needs to be apologizing."

you shake your head. "no. i said some things last night, too. granted, not as bad as you, but…"

jun breaks out into a grin at your joke, and you feel your mood start to lighten. "…which is true. and i'm sorry."

"jun, you can stop apologizing now. i get it, you're sorry. you don't have to tell me a million times," you say, trying to laugh a little.

now it's his turn to shake his head. "well, i'm going to anyway. because i am sorry." you look away from him, feeling embarrassment start to boil up, but he continues talking. "i'm serious. i'll say it as many times as it takes to make it right."

you turn your head back to him, struggling to keep a straight face. "why did you leave, jun?" you ask softly.

he takes a deep breath, and still trapped in his arms you can feel his chest expand with the breath. 

"it was stupid," he says finally. "i left because i didn't want to stay and risk hurting you more. but i realize i did that anyway, by leaving. i was just… i needed some air. but i shouldn't have stayed away, and i'm not gonna do that again. i won't do it, ever again."

"i just don't want you to leave me," you manage, trying and failing to hide the crack in your voice as you feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

he hugs you tighter and one of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, gently smoothing your hair with his thumb. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. i'm not going to, i promise."

you don't respond, but you know he's telling the truth. the last 24 hours have been hell for the both of you, and you don't doubt he means every single "i'm sorry" he's said.

"so…" jun starts, and you tilt your head up at him.

"so?" you know what he's going to say next, and despite the excitement you had yesterday you feel yourself dreading this part of the conversation.

"you're pregnant?"

you sigh, looking down and avoiding his eyes. "yeah."

he hums. "but you don't sound excited?" he asks.

"well, i was, last night."

"i'm sorry," he winces. "do you wanna tell me now and i'll pretend this didn't happen and i don't know about it?"

you shake your head. "no, it's fine. the moment's kinda… ruined, already."

he sighs. "yeah, i know. i'm sorry i ruined it."

"i said it's fine, jun."

"no, it's not fine," he says firmly. "it's one hundred percent my fault. this is important to you, and to us, and we should be celebrating right now. last night should never have happened."

"jun, it's in the past. it was messed up, but i forgive you," you say, lifting you head to look at him once more. "it's not a big deal. we're okay now."

"i just want you to be happy about it," he says with a sniff. "we've been trying for so long, and finally…" he trails off, staring at you with watery eyes. 

you smile at him. "i am happy about it, junnie. i'm so happy, you can't even believe."

"did you tell seokmin?" he asks, and his brows furrow when you shake your head no.

"no, i didn't. i wanted you to be the first i told," you say shyly. "i knew you would want to be the first to know."

"i love you so much," he says, still hugging you. he's never going to let you go, never again. "do you know how far along?"

"no, i didn't go to the doctor. probably like two or three weeks, though, if i've been counting it right."

"wow," he sighs, a smile on his face as he stares off into the distance behind you. "i can't wait."

you watch his eyes, practically able to see the thoughts running through his head. 

after a while he loosens his grip around you, moving to swipe at his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "well—anyway," he starts, giving you an awkward chuckle. "i bought stuff for breakfast. if you haven't had any, yet. and i'm making dinner tonight, too."

before you can even respond his eyes widen, like he's just now remembering all the things he had planned, and he lets go of you, bounding into the kitchen. he returns seconds later with a huge glass vase full of flowers, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to hand them to you. "and i got these for you, too. sorry they're not the best, it's all the store had this morning."

"junnie, if this is the best the store had, then i don't think i wanna see their best," you laugh, holding the flowers up and admiring the dozens of bright blooms. "this is gorgeous, but you really didn't need to get me anything."

"but i wanted to," he counters, still running around the room to grab the gift bag sitting by the couch. "consider it an 'i'm very sorry' slash 'congrats you're having a baby' gift."

you set the vase down on the table next to you and take the bag from him, pulling out the tissue paper and crumpling it into a ball.

"i didn't have a whole lot of time to look this morning, but i found these," he says nervously, waiting for your reaction.

from the bag you pull out a miniature plastic hanger holding a set of tiny pajamas covered in little kitties, attached to a matching set of striped orange socks.

"i wanted to be the first person to get you baby clothes," he explains as he fidgets with his hands. 

"i knew you would," you smile at him, setting the empty bag and the clothes on the table along with the bouquet of flowers. "and they're perfect. they're so… you."

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another hug. "i love all of it. thank you, jun."

he grins, rocking you back and forth in his arms and leaving kisses all over your cheek. "i love you too, baby. i missed you so much. i won't ever do that again."

"i know," you smile. "now… you promised me breakfast, isn't that right? because i'm starving. crying is exhausting."

he laughs. "no crying anymore. and i did promise you that, so tell me: do you want blueberry waffles, or strawberry?"

❯ taglist | @foxdaisy @tinkerbell460 @seokmins @just-here-to-read-01 @blizzardfluffykpop @ny0sang @matilde111 @noniestars @noraehey @squiishymeow @pearlygraysky @baekhyunstruly @tenn87 @blowfishish @raevyng @aceofvernons @odetoyeonjun @dkakapizzaboy @enhacolor @highkey-fangirling @baldi-2 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @potatofrieswithketchup @wonuziex @stariightjoyy @strawberri-uyu @tigermoonbiss @diving1ntoyou @emmmm127 @hybe02z @sstarrysshit @g00dtimenotlongtim3 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @fr0g-filez @chocolatekdramakpopfreak @synthetickitsune @jvkeslvr @fairybinie @aestheticallea @miriamxsworld

❯ strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings

❯ if you'd like to be notified when i post, you can fill out my taglist form here: join my taglist!

❯ i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

[littlemissclandestine]

please please pleaseeee write more soft adler hcs!!!! I'm literally obsessed with your work!!

Soft!Adler Headcanons: (Girl)Dad! Edition Part 1

GIF by h-a-unted

Author's Note: Ahhh! Back at it again. Uni has been kicking me in the balls and I've had writer's and art block argh. This has been in drafts for a while but this post was the catalyst in helping me add more so thank you! I have not proofread so um hope you don't mind guys. I miss my husband. ...And thanks for the ask anon! Gonna make me cry with your comment hehe. I hope this is okay for soft!Adler. I need to get this out. I'm working on the other ask as well with Bell, not sure if it's the same anon. Just gimme some more time. Appreciate you being patient and hope all is good with you <3

Adler was never really big on families. Didn’t see himself as the type of man to fit that stereotypical suburban lifestyle that everyone seemed to crave. Couldn’t even picture himself like that. Well at least not since his ex-wife…

As soon as he found out he was going to be a father, it was like time stopped. So many things going through his mind at once that he struggled to process it. Like those helicopter videos where the blades whir so fast it’s like they’ve frozen. That’s how Adler felt…frozen.

It took him a while to get his head round it. You’d see him randomly staring off into space, his nails digging into the sofa as he scratched at it out of nervousness. He’d sometimes just head out for the day, saying he’ll be back soon but never knew what he’d actually get up to. A walk perhaps. A trip to the bar. Or…walking round a DIY store, choosing the paint he’d use on the walls of the soon-to-be nursery of your home.

Every few weeks, he’d come home with something new. You’d walk in to the nursery while he was out and take it all in, counting down the days until the room was in full use and you’d notice something that wasn’t there before. A new book for the shelf, new clothes in the closet, toys in the basket.

When you gave birth, he was taxiing - he’d just returned to the US on a jet after another intense and gruelling operation he’s been sent on. He raced over in a cab all the way to the hospital, ringing around and receiving calls from your family too. His mind was all over the place as he approached reception, trying to stay calm as he asked which ward you were in but the apprehension was too much. There weren’t a lot of things that made Adler anxious but this most certainly was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his entire life to date.

As soon as he walked in, his stomach dropped, his shoulders relaxed and he exhaled, a sigh of relief that everything was okay. He immediately gave you a hug and a kiss to the forehead, an unspoken promise to make it up to you for not being there during the birth.

When you asked him if he wanted to hold her, he just blinked at you for a few moments as if you said the stupidest thing in the world. He took a deep, shaky breath as he reached out and took her with a nod, his hands shaking slightly. Adjusting her, making sure her head and spin was supported adequately in his arms, he just watched her with pure adoration in his eyes as a small smile crept onto his lips. Tears threatening to fall from his eyes, he turned around to look out the window, pretending to check on your car when in actual fact he just needed a moment to compose himself, taking a couple deep breaths and clearing his throat, overwhelmed with the feeling of not deserving this kind of joy after all of the things he’s done in his career. -> “God, she’s uh beyond beautiful, honey. Just like you.”

At home, you’d often find him shirtless. In the lounge, he’d be on his back as he plays with his daughter on the sofa, holding her up in the air and bringing her back down to rub his nose over her belly, making her giggle and raising her again. Sometimes, you’d find him just wandering the house with her - her thumb in her mouth and head on his chest as he carried her with one arm under her bottom, an occasional kiss to the head as he reached for something from the fridge with the other hand. Other times, he’d be reading in bed with her cuddled up and her head on his shoulder, softly snoring into his neck. Skin-to-skin contact was extra important for him.

He’d often sing to her or put on a baby voice as he played with her, something he’d only do when totally alone, unaware you were secretly watching him and when she reached up and touched his scar, it would always make him melt

Adler’s the type of dad to treat his daughter to pretty much anything she wants. He’s keen not to spoil her but when she looks up at him like she does, he can’t say no, almost every single time. His daughter would run to him when others would deny her things such as supermarket items, fizzy drinks at a family dinner or party or time at the park. He’d hand her whatever it is when someone isn’t looking and give her a side smile and a wink. -> “Just don’t tell your mom, kid.”

He notices that she tends to fixate on his sunglasses a lot, smacking them on the floor, touching the lenses and leaving grubby marks over them and although he’d scream internally, he dealt with it calmly and bought her her own pair throughout the years so they could twin.

Ah yes twinning! Same shirt? Same watch? Certainly. He finds it cute.

Adler would most certainly give in when it comes to pranks. In fact, he’d go out of his way to help his daughter prank his s/o, giving the kid a fist bump when it goes off without a hitch and you end up drenched in slime. -> “Slime suits you, darlin’!”

Russell owns a cap saying “Girl Dad” on it and wears it proudly around the house or as he pushes the pram or holds his daughter’s hand.

Whenever he crosses roads with his daughter, he’ll hold her hand. When she was young, he did that thing where he holds one hand and his s/o holds the other and they lift their kid up and lower them again repeatedly.

When putting her in the car, he’d be a responsible parent and put her in and take her out of the side on the pavement and not the road

He’d be super protective of his daughter, having ‘the talk’ when she hits that phase of her life and being serious about it. He wouldn’t let her wear crop tops, skirts and shorts until she was at least around 21 years of age. 

If he finds her messing with a boy home alone, you best believe that boy would be scared shitless of even being within 100 miles of Adler or his daughter ever again. No guns were involved but Russell was stern as fuck with him as he knows exactly what boys are like at that age. -> “Absolute fucking horndogs,” he says as he slams the front door closed and then points to the lounge and clicks his fingers. “You, in there. Now. Come on.”

When his daughter told him about a father-daughter dance coming up, his heart sank because he knew he’d be away at that time. He made up for it by taking her out and letting her dress up, Russell bringing home a beautiful necklace for her to wear and putting it on her. They’d talk and laugh about all sorts as they dance together and have a little catch up.

He definitely worries about her a lot and constantly questions himself. Is he doing enough? Is she happy? Will she end up like him? What if she ends up despising him when she eventually finds out what he does for a living?

But when she does? She’s more interested than he thought she’d be. He’d be sitting next to her in bed, reading her a story as she’s cuddled up by his side and she’d suddenly get bored, saying she wants another story about his army days instead. He tries his hardest to suppress his smile but it grows wider and they end up talking about his experiences until they both fall asleep together with Russell oversleeping and running late for work in the morning.

They’d often go stargazing together and get back home at a late hour. They’d lie on the roof of his car or on the grass together, pointing out constellations and talking about life. Russell would be tired the next morning at work but it’s okay because it was worth it to spend more time with his daughter

When he’d have to go away, it always hurt him but he was so used to compartmentalising and turning off that emotional part of him, he just got on with it, albeit carrying a little bracelet with beads that spell out ‘daddy’ she made for him for his birthday and in return? You guessed it, she got his dog tags. When he was alone at night halfway across the globe, he’d take it out and kiss it, his eyes closing, remembering her, wondering what she's doing and aching to see her and hug her again.

When she got older, her interest in his job peaked and she’d ask for lessons in shooting and hand-to-hand. Adler was hesitant at first but eventually gave in, thinking self defense was a good thing for a woman to learn of course. Frequent trips to a shooting range and setting up the back garden as a training area for close quarters combat? Hell yes.

Russell would teach his daughter how to drive too. -> “Yeah that’s it sweetheart. Now brake..no i said BRAKE…BRAAAKE! Ah shit, your mother’s going to kill me.”

He was also worried one day, his family would be a target so made it his mission to get them trained up too. Nobody really knew he had a family though. They wouldn’t go to very public spots and they assumed different identities so they weren’t tied to him.

He tends not to keep any photos of him and his family up on the walls in the house or in his wallet due to safety concerns

Adler secretly loves it when his daughter hooks onto his arm as they walk. It makes him all warm and fuzzy inside but he’d never admit that, smiling to himself before clearing his throat. -> “You wanna head down over there, kid? Nice view?”

He loves carrying her on his shoulders, her legs dangling and hands in his hair. -> “Careful with the hair up there, princess.” 

Some days, he’ll come back from work and find his daughter in the living room with a bunch of his clothes on. He’d try to stop himself from laughing at her but would fail miserably because it swallows her. Her impression of him wants to make him cry. -> “I do not speak like that nor do I stand like that. Is that a cigarette?! Gimme that!”

Don’t worry, she didn’t light it and Russell doesn’t smoke inside anymore, only outside. As soon as he sees his daughter, it goes out, even when she’s older.

When she clings to his leg as he walks, he rolls his eyes and smiles. -> “What are you doing there, kid? Come here, doll.” A grunt as he picks her up and kisses her cheek. “Better?” He smiles when she nods at him, knowing she just needs comfort right now and misses him when she’s gone.

He’s not usually one for the emotional talks but he’d try his best not to just dismiss her and send her off to her mother. He’d let her talk about her troubles and cry if need be, giving her a side hug as they sit on the edge of her bed and a kiss to her temple. -> “Okay and what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart? Remember how we said when things get tough, we don’t give up?”

Adler can do pep talks and offer practical advice to his daughter whenever she needs it. He’d take off his shades or look over the rim of them when what he was about to say was serious talk.

Russell tried his best not to call home when on missions, not wanting to let anything distract him. There were times he needed to hear his daughter’s voice though. Like when he’d been battered and bruised, half-dead on the floor in an alleyway, blood dripping down his face and hands and into the puddles as it rained. He pulled out his burner and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back as he heard her voice, tears mixing with the rain hitting his face. -> “I love you, sweetheart. Daddy’s coming home soon, okay?” He’d have to hold the phone away for a few moments, trying not to sob and his voice shaky. “And I’m taking you to that place you wanted to go to. Tell mommy to pack your bags, alright?”

He’d never been so scared of death before now that he had a family but he knew he had to pull through and make it back and he always did.

Life had completely changed for Russell when his daughter was born and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He’d do anything to protect her. 

[chiwhorei]

【 Fᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍᴇ. 】

╰┈➤ I found this?? In my drafts??

╰┈➤ Tags: no edit, drabble, NSFW, A/B/O, knotting, pain, pussy-drunk alpha!Kiba x fem reader

I think Kiba would nearly fuck you dead while he’s in heat. his knot would literally tear you in half and he’s always so worried about going too far. If he looses control, he could break you open cunt. first.

And that’s what you seem to want.

The way your pussy stretches to accommodate his fattened shaft makes his eyes gloss over. No one else has ever taken him like this even when he’s not in heat.

He used to fuck you like you were porcelain, bracing for the splintering of glass and never letting himself let go completely. Even on a normal day, Kiba would still the roll of your hips with stern, white-knuckled grip.

“Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, sweetheart.”

His voice barely passes between his teeth, his canines sharp and glinting brightly.

You’d let him eat you alive. And that fucking scares Kiba.

You’ve been flirting with the point of no return for a while now, grinding on his painfully hard cock when his heat comes on. Seeing how far you can push him until he rips you off of his lap and locks himself in another room.

You had to beg him to let you sleep over tonight, promising to tell him if he’s going too far- but nothing of the sort is coming through the unintelligible garble of moans and pleads your lips are spilling.

He’s been lapping at your pussy for what feels like hours, nipping at your sensitive clit with a measured bite- not too hard, he reminds himself. He’s playing with God tonight too.

Eating your pussy is all Kiba’s confident in doing while his heat is pouring molten lava into his veins, but tonight is the worst it’s been in a long time. Even his jaw feels like it’s on a hairpin trigger.

He should have left town, begged you to stay far away. But you wouldn’t have listened, you never do, and fuck, that makes Kiba’s cock pulse.

Your pussy is drowning him, giving and giving with no end in sight. How many times has he felt the spasm of your pussy against his mouth tonight? Kiba’s lost count. It’s only when you start calling out for him that he rips his mouth from your cunt with a growl.

“I need you Kiba, I need you so much it hurts.” The way your voice sounds like a cry for help makes him dizzy.

Even stone sober, Kiba can’t refuse you, he’s holding onto his resolve by his teeth. Your body’s writhing like liquid gold directly under the swollen shaft aching in his sweatpants.

“You know I can’t let you take my knot like this baby.” He’s begging you more than he’s telling you no. Begging you not to ask him again, because he’s running out of control by the second.

“Kiba please..” your voice is a sirens call, the last syllable still at the tip of your tongue as he’s pulling his pants down. His cock is rutty and thicker at the base than you could have imagined.

“If I tear you in half, just know that it’s your fault,” he pushing in as slow as he can, hand shaking a bit as he holds the tip against your twitching little hole.

Kiba lowers to his elbows, trapping you like a fawn in the jowls of a wolf. His teeth are barred as he pushes in, an inch farther, another, until you feel the swell of his base against your lips.

Fuck. You’re tight enough to be lethal. So taughtly stretched around his shaft that it’s almost painful. Kiba pushes his knot in completely, balls slapping against your ass. Your breath catches, eyes rolling to the back of your head and for just a moment Kiba worries he’s earnestly fucked you to death.

But then he feels it, your pussy constricting and relaxing around him like he’s so, so familiar with. Your hips start to buck in search for more. You need more.

“Kiba, fuck me like you’re trying to kill me. Please.”

How’s he supposed to say no to that?

₊✧˚﹕︶︶︶﹕૮₍ ⸝⸝´ ꒳ `⸝⸝ ₎ა﹕︶︶︶﹕ ˚✧₊

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2023©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[rindough]

thinking ab boothill being seduced by someone working with the ipc so they can capture him... take the money and run by tamer... :3 - 💫

cw. gn! reader, fluff mixed w/ angst, strangers to fwb to lovers- then to enemies >:(, implication of suggestive themes

wc. 3,130

notes. STAR ANON IS HERE AGAIN :DDDD and wow this song, i LOVE IT, plus i think it rllyyy goes with the trope u gave. it gives the whole idea some sexy mysterious touch to it UGH but u know what makes it hit in the feels more worst? for this trope to take the "i shouldnt be doing this, but i must" typa route 😈😈 i actually edited the whole draft over the past few days, so i hope it's... understandable??? but oh man i rlly got carried away with this 🫨🫨 so have a seat star anon, get comfy n get something nice to drink and i hope u enjoy this AAAAAAAAAA

This song really, really goes well with the trope- so mysterious, much alluring so that Boothill does not pry his eyes away from your back as he approaches. His thoughts run on how many glasses would it take for him tonight to drown the tiredness that's slowly creeping up to him.

All the running, all the shooting. Boothill definitely needs some touch up here and there later but it's all worth it. His thirst tonight could never beat the thirst for revenge he has for the IPCs, especially for that shitbag named Oswaldo.

Through the waves of people and memos, he observes as he walks. The way Siobhan smiles at you, the way the bar's lighting illuminate your features, how you're dressed, it all suits you, he thinks.

Who is this all too unfamiliar person in his all too familiar bar?

"Usual?" Siobhan asks from the other end of the counter, eyes fixated on the syrup she's pouring into the cup.

"Usual, two big glasses."

As she begins to make your drinks, he finally plops down and takes in the stranger beside him, prompting you to turn to him as well.

It all suits that hard wall he's come to face when you meet eye to eye.

"Why do ya got a wall up like that?" Oh Aeons, it took a while for him to process what he had blurted out. Yet, seeing your eyes widened like that, it intrigues him.

You had felt the way this man has pierced holes through the back of your skull. Even until now does it sting, it burns to be under his gaze like that. Dangerous, yet so tempting.

You study him.

From the boots on his feet to the awfully tight pants he's wearing, there was no denying that those iconic target in his pupils had took your breath away.

He was more attractive in real life than the pictures you've seen in your office and reports.

"Huh, cat got your tongue I supposed..." He pouts and turns to Siobhan, who's just finishing making your drinks.

Finally you spoke, "Where are your manners, mister?"

With how your words slid past your lips in a sly, hushed tone, it pulls him in. Scoffing, he turns to face you again. "Asking me why I got a wall up high instead of my name?"

He rolls his eyes, getting a bit more annoyed since the fact you've taken his usual seat. "Says the one eyein' me down like no one's business. Care to explain yerself?"

What a hypocrite, it was his turn to eye you down now. Going from the crown of your head to the the curves of your shoulders, he comes back to face the color of your pupils and the shape of your nose. Your lips.

He thinks he could spend all his free time looking at you.

"You two know each other?"

Two heads now turn to the bartender, the question lingers in the air but she quickly cuts it off, "Anyways, enjoy your drinks, Gallagher's not here so I can't stay and chat all the time."

Watching as the lady slides off to her next customer, your eyes now fall back to target pupils that have already rested on yours. A smile creeping on your lips at the feel of your knees touching each other, now that you're both facing each other.

"Name?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n... very fitting for a person like you." He coos, smiling as he swirls the malt in his glass. Excitement boiling in him at the shy curl adorning your face. "Boothill."

There begins your interaction with the wanted man. He's a regular in here, yet from your studies there had been some days where the man in question does not come to the bar. However, the days you've picked out last week to visit Siobhan had became fruitful. Knees pointed to one another as you both engage in deep talks and quiet, flirtatious banter. Unsure when he'll see you again, Boothill offers you two days of each week for a rendezvous.

As selfish and attention seeking it may sound, he finds solace in your company, wanting nothing more than to bask under the light of your attention each night you two meet.

Hence, it's now the third week that you're here to visit him. It's a new routine you've been looking forward to in comparison to your work and other things in life. Now you're both here, knees once again touching, smiles exchanged while throwing in some flirtatious comments from time to time. But...

You have to push further. You have to lure the man in further. Partially due to your need to push the progress forward, and also to your dying urge to know him better, you asked:

"Do you feel anything, Boothill?"

He hums, his first drink already downed, leaving his hands to rest on the cool counter by your side. Through his side bangs, he blinks, having caught off guard by the question you've laid out to him. Yet, all he could do was reminisce that time whilst staring at himself through the reflection of the glass in his hands.

Boothill.

What has he come to?

Having put himself on the surgical table back then just to feel alive. Not an ounce of determination left him when he forced the request onto the poor doctor. But regret? Perhaps he did, he regretted back then knowing after the procedure he could not feel anything but pure weight.

"I don't feel anything, I suppose..."

Perhaps he had too much tonight now that he's running high on energy and feeling so many things, or was it the room that's getting more crowded by the second tonight and how vulnerable and alone he feels under your soft gaze?

"I don't exactly feel anything, more like can't feel much."

But what could he do, he drifts away from the glass and turns to you. It's better to look forward to things in his current state than to dwell on the past. It's something he tells himself from time to time, right now being one of them.

"I did it to maself," he puts up a hand between you, a playful look on his face. "But see? I do many cooler things now, this hand of mine's can do and has done many things."

The light weight of your fingers on the palm of his hand brings him to hitch his breath. He can't feel it yet he could tell despite being partially human, you still took into account how sensitive the topic was and to treat his hand like glass. The tension around you grows thick, air inside the bar getting hotter. He no longer feels timid and vulnerable, but more like he's determined to put a brave front for you to see and for you to seek comfort in. Your delicate dance on his metallic limp allows him to soften his gaze, but turns dark after hearing the words that leave your lips.

"What else can it do?"

Push.

"You do not what to know, angel."

"Oh, don't I?" Your gaze falls to how your hands lined up to one another, laid on the countertop. Even the cool countertop couldn't beat the heat that spread along the veins of your arm.

Push.

"What if I want to?"

"Fudgin' hell, ya sure don't give up eh?" He slowly sighs out the air he didn't know he's kept in, the smell of malt waves over your lips. He stood dangerously close, face daringly inching closer as if he was trying to tempt you, to scare you.

Yet, you know what he wants to do, and to be fair you wanted it too. It's hard to keep yourself in check when all you see, all you need- you want- is him. Maybe, you can let yourself go in this one. This one time.

There wasn't any time limit into how long you should capture him but definitely it should be done as soon as possible. That laughter of his that booms just loud enough for you to hear, that grip he indulges when you tug him out of the bar right then and there, and that praise and touch he leaves by the end of each coming rendezvous leaves you falling deeper into Aeon knows whatever this hole is.

Boothill knows he can't feel anything, but he does know that whatever's going on during your rendezvous is addicting. Not in the sense that he could drown himself in pleasure every week but he finds himself turning into someone he doesn't really know, or maybe someone he's lost a long time ago.

The cyborg himself knows he's different.

With a different body unlike his previous one, he could charge himself up to sleep, or be like a normal person and sleep in a bed. He could run on days without sleep and still be busting the IPC's asses and Aeon knows whatever stupid plan he has to ruin someone's day. Malt juice is now his go to for some sleep top-up and quick boost of adrenaline... but he realizes this later that it's unhealthy.

However, ever since this began he finds everyday to be less... taxing. To be less dull, less redundant, and he looks forward to it. Meeting you, catching up with you, ending the night with you, this whole thing is basically like a reward system for him. But because he knows this new routine is starting to change him for the better, he's happier. He's more pumped, getting more sleep, even he begins to try to be a little bit more careful during his fights or shenanigans.

And as the cyborg finds change to be an exciting challenge, he indeed loves it when it benefits both sides. He finds comfort in the way you turn in your sleep to curl into him, how despite you had to rush and leave for the morning you still find time to brush your finger along the scar by his eye. He finds solace in the words you speak and the secrets you shared amongst yourselves.

And tonight, there laid you in between the sheets in the all too familiar bedroom.

You study him.

The way the metallic surface rises and falls in rhythm to his breathing, his mouth slightly agape and head tilted aside in his sleep. How he without fail folds whichever leg in that's equivalent to the side of bed he's sleeping on.

Today, tonight, this time, you do not trace his chest. You mustn't, no matter how strong the urge was especially tonight. Silently cursing at how this had developed into a habit, you slip out of the sheets and into your pants and top.

Quietly into the night you ventured, feet in sync to your quick beating heart with fingers already dialing the familiar digits on your screen.

"Hey."

This mission was a curse. Meeting Boothill is a curse. Being with the IPC is starting to become a curse because this right here? It's self sabotage, but you know deep inside you can no longer keep up the facade.

"Two days from now, 20th system hour at Golden Hour's Dazzle Motel. Got it?"

The first day since the call was less painful, guilt was slowly creeping up to you at the back of your mind but it was bearable. It was easy to stay distracted thanks to Boothill's banter and finally (to the man's luck) trying out his favorite malt drink.

Day two though, was the beginning of your torture. Thoughts flood your mind and focus; it was silent tonight. The cyborg doesn't speak either, simply thinking it's one of those moments where you both fall into deep silence, listening to the crowd and enjoying in each other's presences. So, he finds comfort in the silence and never questions it. But he however questions your choice of seating today, leaving his old seat for him to sit as you sit in his 'new' seat.

But the silence tonight that lingers in the air leaves your heart to ache, it will be hard to end tonight. Especially noting the way his eyes glimmer and shark teeth beaming wide when you chug his usual down like a champ to drown your guilt. But he doesn't know that. He doesn't have to know that.

"Wasn't expectin' to see ya today, Y/n." He tries not let out a laugh, but fails when his amusement finally takes over. Peering through the rim of the tall glass, you smiled at him while swallowing the last bit of malt juice.

"I guess seeing you has become my favorite routine, wouldn't you agree cowboy?"

"Can't say that I disagree there-"

"And Boothill, maybe I want to discover more things about you, inside out." You confessed swiftly, turning back to face the glass in your hold, word vomiting without a care if he's able to catch up to what you're saying.

Eyes widened with a gasp flying out of his lips, your smile widens.

Jackpot.

But oh the pain does not only accompanies your cheeks but also grows in that tear in your heart.

Perhaps you could make it count, now that damage was done.

With gaze so intense he watches the way you lean back slightly, eyes traveling up and down his figure but it's different this time. The weight in your gaze holds such sincerity and fondness, Aeons! He could feel his lips wobbling in happiness.

Was this a move? Is this how you finally make the move on him?

"So, what do you say?" The pair of twinkling eyes he adores comes back to meet with his, the skunk-haired man could only blink, trying to process it all deeply.

He wonders how long has it been since you've been 'seeing' each other... A month? Two? Your meetups for sure have occurred every week.

"No?"

He snaps out of it, your face now turned towards the wall of soda and syrup bottles opposite the counter you both shared. "Well, too bad on my-"

"Y/n..."

You froze, cold fingers slip through strands of your hair and brush along the side of your cheek. Slowly you turned towards him, feeling his thumb rub the skin near your ear, his other fingers resting by your nape. He's got you trapped now, his body hovering slightly over your seated figure.

From his looks alone do you curse a million times again to yourself. From the soft plush and taste of his lips do you know it adds up to the tears that threaten to fall, that would accompany you on your days right after.

By the time you two step foot into the same place you spent every week, the front desk lady knew at this point what you've been up to and no longer pauses to hand Boothill the keys to the room.

You watch him, you study him, you remember him. The tight grip on your hand, the flow of his long locks under the cool hue of the dreamscape.

"Tonight Y/n, let's be honest with each other."

Your lips crash and the door closes with the help of your foot. You both turn round and round with eagerness to lead, hands coming up to pull his jacket with hands coming down to tug the hoops of your pants whilst moving deeper into the room. Each push and pull leaves you hoping, begging for this to be a nightmare that you'll both wake up from.

You'll remember every single part of this, even though it is short-lived.

You hold him back, resting your hands on the edge of his jacket. Catching your breath before you speak, "Wait." The softness of your voice elevates the running of his mechanical heart. Your gentle push right after causing the cowboy to fall back a little as he watches you turn your back and walk away.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Gonna lock the door." You glance back at him. "I want to start slow."

"How slow we talkin', angel?" His voice remains low yet it manages to bring a smile on your lips, just the tone alone could you tell the man was grinning as he spoke those words. "We don't got all night, I know you gotta leave for work by dawn."

"You can't stay back just for the day?" He asks out, despite being by the front of the bed looking all messed up and rowdy, he sounds as if he's holding onto the last ray of hope.

"I can't, Boothill." You turn to him, smiling but he catches how odd it was.

"You know I want to, but I simply can't."

He catches the force in it but oh it was all too late.

Arms now cuffed with the tight grips of the IPC guards, he watches as you exchange a few words with the 'front desk lady'. He don't have to ask what's going on, that look on your face was a dead giveaway to what you had done.

Guilt.

Shame.

His engine runs harder, his fuel boils hotter. The clanks and screech from his thrashing could leave the guards' ears bleeding but he could careless. The noise grew as you stood forward, coming face to face with him.

"Darn it!" He barks at you, pushing forward only to be yanked back in place, his eyes squint with so much focus you're certain it'll pierce through someone.

Not that it hasn't pierced through you already.

"When I get back at ya- Oh, ho ho ho...."

You don't flinch when he jerks forward again, but this time, he stays silent. You don't dare to reach out to touch his face, his eyes bear so much of dying hope and light you couldn't help but to utter out to him in hopes he could forgive you.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah right yer sorry." He growls through his teeth, his words adding to the final weight on your shoulders. "I was lenient with ya, I was careful for ya. Oh Aeons, I knew I shouldn't have let 'em guards down."

"May we meet again, Boothill."

"Don't ever come in my sight." He spits, eyes falling into despair as your figure disappear by the doorframe.

It is your fault.

You could have make this happen in a week's time, but hell- this was four months worth of visits, adding on a confession to a man you know so well could be a step closer to being lovesick. Adding on a confession that could make your dreams and longing come true.

But... what is there for you to do? What could you do now?

Meet him again? The audacity of yours.

The only question you could ask yourself day and night after this was how could you?

What were you doing?

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Ben and Quinn's relationship continues to flourish, but an unexpected encounter threatens to throw a spanner in the works.

Chapter Word Count: 6.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

The sun sat low behind the skyline, making the clouds blush, drenching everything in a gleaming golden hue. You sat with your legs crossed under the long table, laptop open in front of you as the conference room slowly filled with people, the murmur of conversation and scent of coffee drifting in with them. 

The chair beside you creaked and a hand quickly reached over to mash on your keyboard, forming a line of gibberish across the blank word document. You rolled your eyes, smacking the top of Nick’s hand before turning to him with an unamused glare. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Not like you to be the first one at a meeting.” 

“Mm, well I’ve been coming into the office to write. Been here all day,” you replied, sighing as you glanced back to the empty page on the screen. “Can’t focus at home. Too many distractions.”

“Tall, rich, handsome distractions…” 

“No,” you said bluntly, though there was a part of you that secretly agreed with him. “I just… If I try to write at home I just end up watching TV or falling asleep or… suddenly realising I haven’t seen my passport in a year and turning the place upside down to look for it.” 

“How’s it going?” 

“I found it, it was in an old makeup bag in my bathroom cabinet.” 

“Not the passport, dick head, the writing.” 

“Oh.” You sighed. “Well I had a few edits I needed to do for the gala article, then I wrote a listicle about moisturisers. Thrilling stuff.” 

He nodded. “You’re still fuming about your op ed, aren’t you.” 

“Yep.” 

Julia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large windows. You watched as she lowered the blinds, shielding the room from the bright evening sun as she began to speak. 

“Hello everyone,” she began, her tone cheerful yet commanding. “Thank you all for coming in. Just a quick one today to delegate some coverage pieces.” 

You placed your fingers on the keys of your laptop, eyes fixed on her as she moved to the head of the table, Leo McGrath’s advice still ringing in your ears. 

“Let’s see,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking through a folder in front of her. “I need someone to cover an exhibition at the London Fashion and Textile museum this Friday-”

“I’ll do it,” you said. 

She arched her brow sceptically, before shaking it away and scrawling your name down with her pen. “Okay great. Then we also have a launch party for Roe - some influencer’s new makeup brand apparently-”

“I’ll do that too,” you said. 

A few of the other writers glanced at you in confusion, your willingness to volunteer so surprising that they couldn’t help but stare. 

“Okay…” said Julia suspiciously. “And Draft’s been invited to a Q&A for-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“Quinn, you haven’t even heard what it is yet,” she said, holding back the urge to snap at you. 

You heard Nick chuckling quietly to himself. You ignored it and gave a shrug. 

“Just… feel like taking on more work, that’s all,” you said. 

“Right, well the beauty launch and the Q&A are on the same night,” she replied. “One in Chelsea and one in Mayfair. So are you planning to teleport between them?” 

A murmur of reserved laughter rippled around the table. 

“Fine, well someone else can do the Q&A,” you said. “Or, y’know, I’ll figure out the teleportation thing.” 

Julia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to someone else. 

“You’re going to send her into early retirement,” Nick whispered to you. 

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m an editorial assistant’s worst nightmare.” 

You returned to your desk after the meeting, scrolling through pages of reviews to figure out which moisturiser would take the number one spot on your listicle. It was mind numbing, pointless, filling you with the temptation to find the worst rated cream and give it a glowing write up, just to mess with readers, see how many complaints you could rack up.

Your phone buzzed on the desk. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the glare of the computer screen before looking down at it, your mood immediately shifting to something less weary. 

Are you still in work? It read.

I am, you replied, catching a smile before it spread across your face. 

Are you almost done? 

I can be done whenever I want. Why?  

I’m outside the building.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you grimaced to yourself in embarrassment. Yet still you packed up quickly, shoving everything into your bag and rushing to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift.  

You stepped out onto the street, the air cold as it brushed across your skin, despite the glorious sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you glanced up and down the busy street, brow furrowed as you searched for him amongst the sea of pedestrians. 

A familiar black car sat idled further up the road, wheels bumped up on the kerb, tinted windows shrouding the driver in darkness. You made your way over to it, peering down as the passenger window lowered, just enough to reveal Ben smiling at you from the driver’s seat. 

“What’s this about?” you asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning, wanted to see you before I go,” he replied. 

You felt your cheeks warm as you stepped closer to the car, glancing around at the bustling street. “This was risky of you.” 

“Only if you don’t hurry up and get in.”

You slipped into the car and closed the door quickly, throwing your bag into the backseat as he began to drive. 

“I didn’t think you were leaving until Wednesday,” you said. 

He shook his head. “I got my days mixed up, it’s tomorrow.” 

Your lips curled into a pout, like a disappointed child. He glanced over at you and gave a soft laugh, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. 

“You know, there’s still time for you to change your mind and come with me,” he said. 

You exhaled a cynical laugh through your nose. “Yeah, I’ll just drop everything to follow you on your press tour.” 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “It would be nice to have you with me. Think about it; fancy hotels, big beds, deep bathtubs, me, completely at your disposal…” 

“Hm, tempting. But I have to work. Not all of us can just jet off whenever we feel like it.” 

He let out an exaggerated puff of air. “Who needs work? You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.” 

“Shut up.” You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “You don’t mean that.”

He chuckled. “I know I don’t. But in all seriousness though, it would be nice to have you with me. You could write on the plane.” 

“Stop it,” you laughed. “I’m not coming.” 

He pulled into the carpark of a hotel you’d always admired but never been inside. It was breathtaking, a blend of grand architecture and modern details; glass and stone, steel and marble. It was a place celebrities went for drinks or a private brunch without having to worry about mere mortals and prying eyes, a threshold you’d never held the status to cross. 

It felt bizarre to walk with him so openly, to stroll through the foyer side by side without fear of being spotted; no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, no nosy reporters. An employee led you into a lift, and you couldn’t help but flash a suspicious glare at Ben as you passed each floor, wondering how long he’d had all of this planned. 

You stepped out on the top floor, following behind Ben as he made polite smalltalk with the employee on the way to your room. You found yourself fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you went, as though the building itself was judging you; offended that you could walk its carpets in a pair of trainers, grace its corridors in some well-worn jeans and an old cardigan. 

When Ben opened the door to the suite, you felt your breath still for a moment. It was bigger than your entire flat; bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchenette and large, open living area. Beyond a set of glass doors was a private terrace. You stepped out into the fresh, cool air, taking in the London skyline as it wrapped around the entire balcony. 

The terrace was framed with warm, glowing lights and draping greenery, the city like a glittering tapestry as the sun began to disappear below the horizon. A table stood in the centre, a bottle of champagne resting inside an ice bucket beside it. 

You turned to Ben. “This is… subtle.” 

He smirked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. "You like it."

“Says who?” you teased, brushing past him to lean your elbows on the railing, taking in the view. 

He followed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently back against him. “Me.”

Your mouth twitched with a smile. “If this is all a ploy to make me say it back…”

“You think I brought you here to trick you into saying you love me?” he asked, his tone soft yet playful, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t need to hear it, Quinn, I already know you do.” 

The words made your stomach flutter, but you refused to let it show. “Bullshit.” 

He chuckled, spinning you around to face him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You found yourself staring up at him in awe. He was so confident, so certain. It had been a week since he’d said those words, yet he didn’t seem to care that you still hadn’t said it back; his ego unbruised, like he knew you too well, understood you better than anyone ever had. 

Your protest died in your throat when his lips grazed your temple, lingering there as he pressed his body against yours, hands sliding down to your backside.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured, your fingers dancing over the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, lips trailing down to your cheek, your jaw, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. 

“You. Being so… smug.”

“I’m not smug,” he said, though the glint in his eye contradicted him. “Can’t a man treat his girlfriend to a nice evening without being accused of ulterior motives?” 

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “There you go again, saying we’re a couple.” 

“Because we are.” His grip on you tightened, his voice deepening. “If I asked you outright, you’d make me beg. And I’m not above begging, but I’d rather save that for… other things.”

You felt yourself growing hot as his lips found yours, forcing yourself to break away to mutter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he countered softly, tilting your chin up with his finger and kissing you again. “If you weren’t mine, you wouldn’t keep coming back to me.”

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other gripping the railing behind you. You slid your hands up to his face, feeling yourself melting into him, excitement and anticipation rippling in your core. 

For a man who’d been so strict in his abstinence, the past week had completely unravelled him. He was insatiable, his touch lingering even in the most innocent moments, his kisses turning deeper and hungrier with little provocation. He’d taken every opportunity to make up for the time you’d lost, and you’d welcomed it gladly, savouring the ache that would follow you in the aftermath. 

He broke away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Dinner will be here soon,” he whispered.

You exhaled a laugh. “You ordered for me?” 

“I know what you like.” 

You slipped away to one of several bathrooms, taking off your cardigan and zhuzhing your hair until it sat just right. It was easy sometimes to forget who he was; the money he had, the power he wielded, the status he held that didn’t just surpass yours, but eclipsed it altogether. Whenever it hit you, it would make you feel uneasy; the imbalance throwing you off kilter, making you wonder what he saw in you, why a man who had the world at his fingertips would let himself fall for a single grain of sand. 

When you returned to the terrace, you found him sitting at the table as a waiter lay out a spread of food in front of him; steaming plates and pretty side dishes, a basket of your favourite bread and the dessert you’d been craving for weeks. The smell drifted through the air towards you, making your stomach rumble, your mouth water with hunger. 

You hovered in the doorway as the waiter placed down the last few plates, tucking a tray under his arm when he was done and pushing a large trolley back towards the suite. You stepped aside to let him pass, allowing yourself a moment to take in his face, the name on his badge. Perhaps it was cynical of you to assume he’d go running to the papers, narcissistic even, to think he’d care to.

Ben stood up as you made your way over to him, pulling out your chair for you with a charming smile. 

“This looks amazing,” you said as you sat down, admiring the food in front of you.

He kissed the side of your head and returned to his seat. “Champagne?” 

“Sure.” 

“So,” he began, popping the cork in his fist. “Guess what happened today…” 

You narrowed your eyes, cocking your head slightly. 

“I am officially divorced,” he said, almost beaming at you as he filled your glass. “I got the final order this afternoon. Decree Absolute. It’s done.” 

“Oh wow, congratulations.” 

“Congratulations?” he replied, jokingly mocking your voice. “I’m free, Quinn. No more contractual obligations, no more interviews pretending my marriage was anything other than a glorified business transaction. I can finally move forward. With you.” 

You stifled a smile, instead tapping your finger against your lips with a contemplative hum. “I don’t know. Now that you’re a single man, the excitement’s sort of gone.“

“Oh is that so?” 

“Mhm. I mean, where’s the thrill in sneaking around if it’s not with a married man?” 

He smirked, his eyes flitting to your mouth as you took a sip of champagne. “You need the thrill, hm?” 

You nodded. 

“Well you know what would be thrilling?” 

“What?” 

“Coming to America with me tomorrow.” 

You threw your head back and let out an exaggerated groan, making him chuckle as he began to eat. 

“Was worth a try,” he mumbled.

You talked and ate until the sun went down, until the cold puckered the flesh of your bare arms and numbed the tip of your nose. You sat with your legs outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably between Ben’s as you listened to him speak - not about work, or divorce, or the two of you - but about his family, his childhood, the things that made him happy and the last time he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. 

In the moments you were reminded of his fame, it was easy to feel starcrossed; like there was an entire ocean between you and no way to common ground. But then the moment would pass, giving way to a warm laugh or a tender touch, and suddenly in that ocean would be an island, where you both resided as equals; your own private paradise. 

His hand had found yours across the table, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles as he continued a sweet anecdote about his mother. You’d never been very tactile, finding the hand-holding and arms around shoulders completely embarrassing, the chaste kisses and legs brushing under tables far too soppy. But here you were, chin resting on your fist, the other hand in his, gazing at him as he spoke, without a speck of desire to pull away. 

You laughed softly as you watched him bring a glass to his lips, somehow missing his mouth and spilling champagne down his shirt.

“I’m not drunk, I swear,” he laughed, releasing your hand to pick up a napkin and dab at his chest. 

“What’s that, like a tenner’s worth of champagne you just spilled?” you teased. 

He laughed again, picking up the bottle and looking at it with a hum. “About… forty quid?” 

Your smile dropped. “Tell me you’re joking.” 

“What?” He shrugged. 

“You’re saying we’ve been drinking a £2000 bottle of champagne?” 

“I think it’s closer to three,” he said casually.

“Oh my god! Wh- I- Well then how fucking expensive was all of this!?” you gestured to the terrace, the food, the suite beyond the doors. “Jesus this is like the watch fiasco all over again.” 

“Which I notice you still haven’t worn…” 

You glared at him. 

“Quinn, it’s fine,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I wouldn’t spend it if I didn’t want to.” 

“But why on earth-”

“Why do you feel like you’re not worth it? Like money spent on you is somehow a waste?” 

“Because…” You settled back slightly in your chair, eyes flitting around in thought. “Because it is.” 

His smile faded, his eyes creasing at the corners as he gazed across the table at you. “Do you really believe that?” 

You shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening your posture. “I do.” 

“Well you’re wrong,” he countered bluntly. 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued quickly. 

“I know this imbalance between us bothers you. I know you’re independent, and you don’t want to feel like I’m trying to buy you or show off or make you feel indebted to me. But that's not what this is." He gestured to your surroundings, the city lights twinkling in the distance. "If anything, this is me showing you that you’re not a waste - not of my money, or my time, or my affection - none of it’s wasted on you.” 

His sincerity was disarming, how quickly the evening had gone from joking and banter to complete seriousness. You tried to remain neutral, but your eyes betrayed you with a vulnerable glaze, making his face soften, his hand squeezing yours more firmly.

“You are so deeply rooted in my life now that I don’t see any of this as frivolous,” he said. “I just see it as… being with you. No different than sitting on the couch in front of the TV.”

You sighed. 

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t think I can get away with denying this is a relationship anymore, can I.”  

He laughed. “No. No, you can’t.”  

You laughed too, rolling your eyes when you saw a smile creeping across his face. 

“This- us-” he said. “It’s far beyond the secrets and the sneaking around and worrying what strangers might say about me in the fucking papers. I’m not saying I’m ready to go dragging you down red carpets with me, but I like to think that you see it… getting there, maybe, one day…” 

You drew in a deep, cleansing breath through your nose, trying to soothe the nerves creeping into your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “Whether you say it back or not, it doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, Quinn.”

You gazed across at him for a moment, at the warmth in his expression, the vulnerability in his voice. You swallowed past a lump in your throat. “That’s… unfortunate for you,” you said. 

He dropped his head with a deep, throaty chuckle. “I don’t know,” he replied, eyes meeting yours again. “I feel quite fortunate… Most of the time.” 

You scoffed, taking a sip of your - extremely expensive - champagne. 

He gestured with his head for you to come to him. You stood up and walked around the table, settling in his lap and draping an arm around his shoulders. He held you close with a hand on the small of your back, the other reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face as you leaned down to him, lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. 

“You’re cold,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your bare arm. 

“I’m fine,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You stood in the living area, staring up at a painting on the wall, head cocked to one side as you wondered if anyone would notice if you stole it. You shook the thought away as the sound of voices and rattling dishes emerged from the terrace, glancing over your shoulder to see the waiter from earlier wheeling away the remnants of your dinner.

Ben thanked him as he left, shutting the door behind him and sliding the chain lock in place. He spun on his heels to look at you from across the vast suite, though his large strides carried him over to you in moments. 

You ran your fingers over the pale yellow stain on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wondered if you’d ever tire of his embrace, if he would ever tire of embracing you. You hoped not. 

“I have the suite for the night,” he said. “But if you’d rather go home, I can take you. I know you don’t have anything with you so I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“Hm, my tiny, messy flat or this stunning hotel with you,” you replied, pretending to deliberate with yourself. “What a difficult decision.” 

He laughed, kissing you on the cheek before stepping past you.

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Bed,” he replied simply. “Are you coming?” 

“Bed? It’s only half nine…” 

He raised an eyebrow as he backed up slowly towards the master bedroom, waiting for the penny to drop. 

“Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching out his hand in a gesture for you to join him. 

The car idled quietly on the road outside your flat building, the blue morning sky clear and bright, promising a warm day. You knew you had to leave, to climb out and get ready for work, but every time your hand so much as brushed the door handle, Ben’s lips found yours again. 

Your laugh came breathlessly as you finally pulled back, lips blushed and swollen from his endless kisses. “You’re going to miss your flight.” 

His smile was lazy and unapologetic as he yielded, dropping his head slightly with a gentle sigh. “Can I call you when I get to my hotel?” 

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

He leaned in, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, feeling his smile against your lips.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he muttered, his hand sliding through your hair. 

You laughed softly. “I’m sure I’ll manage. I took on a ton of work to keep myself busy.” 

He chuckled, but you quickly swallowed the sound with another kiss, leaning into him with more fervour. 

His hand dropped to the side of your face, the other firmly gripping your thigh; his touch making your stomach coil, the orgasms he’d given you last night still echoing in your core. So many orgasms you were sure you’d still be reeling for the next few days. 

You forced yourself to break away again, shaking away the fluster warming your cheeks. “Okay, you really are going to miss your flight if you don’t go.” 

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch lingered, stroking your temple before trailing down to your jaw.

“Last chance,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

You hesitated as you looked at him. There had been no pressure in his voice, no coercion in his expression, only a gentle invitation, and you could see in his eyes that he already knew your answer.

“Not this time,” you said, the corner of your mouth curving into a small smile.

He gave a smile that matched yours, like the subtle shift in your answer hadn’t gone unnoticed. No longer a flat refusal or a guarded deflection, but something warmer, an unspoken ‘someday’. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning in for one last kiss. “I’m going to miss you.”

You smiled faintly, your usual sarcasm faltering as you replied. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Two weeks,” he reassured, though you were uncertain which one of you needed it more. “Just two weeks and I’ll be back.” 

“Yeah, for three days,” you countered. “Before you have to go again.” 

“Well, we better be sure to make the most of those three days.”

You nodded, finally reaching for your bag and opening the door.  

You climbed out and closed it behind you, turning around to lean down and meet his gaze through the open window. 

There was a mournfulness to his expression as he looked at you, like it was physically paining him to let you go. And you understood, because you felt it too; already longing for his return before he’d even left. 

The back of your tongue felt heavy with the words you’d refused to utter, almost like they belonged there, ready to pour out of you like an impulse, as natural as a ‘goodbye’. But something made you swallow them, forcing them back down your throat with a sad smile. 

“Have a safe flight,” you said.  

His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Bye, darling,” he said, his voice carrying the same forlorn weight as yours.

“Bye.”

You stood on the pavement as he pulled away, watching the car until it disappeared down the street. Only then did you suck in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh. You remained there a moment longer, staring at the quiet, empty road before finally turning to go inside.

You stared up at the distinctive orange building of the London Fashion and Textiles museum, accents of bright blue, vivid yellow and hot pink decorating its exterior. You pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the large poster hanging near the entrance - Ornamented: The Art of Embellishment in Fashion - as a healthy crowd filtered inside.

You meandered leisurely through the opening of the exhibition, taking pictures and scrawling quick notes in your book, the extra weight on your wrist catching you off guard whenever you raised your pen to the paper. 

The watch face gleamed beneath the soft lights of the museum, the gold bracelet strap shimmering every time you moved. It had sat safely in its box, tucked away in your underwear drawer since Christmas. Every now and again you would take it out just to look at it, perhaps even put it on, but you would always stow it away soon after, like a child secretly trying on her mother’s expensive clothes.

But you were Ben’s girlfriend now. A fact that made your stomach turn with fear and excitement whenever you thought about it for too long. And as his girlfriend, it somehow felt right to wear a piece of him when he wasn’t with you. 

You walked up to a display encased inside a large glass cabinet; an array of intricately beaded flapper dresses from the 1920’s. Time had discoloured some of them, loosened some seams and lost their sparkle. But still, you found yourself almost pressing your nose to the glass, admiring the meticulous patterns and letting your mind wander to the women who might have worn them. 

You crouched down to the ground, resting on your haunches to steady your notebook on your knee as you scribbled your thoughts. You were making a note of the designer’s name from a nearby placard when footsteps approached you, heels clicking on the concrete floor and stopping at your side. 

“Quinn, isn’t it?” 

You glanced up to find Faye Dennehy glaring down at you, her tall stature even more imposing from your hunched position below her. You felt your lungs empty, your heart thumping in a hollow chest as you rose to your feet, blinking at her a few times before snapping out of your stupor. 

“Yes, it is. And you’re… Faye, right?” you replied. 

It was clear that you both very much knew the other’s name. But if she was going to pretend otherwise, then so were you.

“It’s nice to see you with your clothes on this time,” she said, her light, airy tone masking the sharpness of her words. 

She didn’t know you could be mean. Extremely mean. Brutally, mercilessly, remorselessly cruel. She also didn’t know that you were currently pressing your lips together as a courtesy to her, holding back the venom trying to force its way out. 

You gave a weak, obviously fake chuckle. “Yeah that was… quite the morning, for all of us.” 

She nodded with a wry smile before turning her attention to the dresses. You let your eyes trail the length of her; the long a-line skirt and perfectly tailored blouse, the pointed toe heels and long, bouncy blonde hair. You couldn’t deny how chic she looked. She always looked chic. 

Bitch.

You shook the thought away and looked down at your notebook. 

“So you’re here for your magazine?” she asked. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking back up at her and clearing your throat. “Yep.”

“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll give the exhibition a glowing review. You seem very good at painting things in a favourable light.” 

You smiled. “Ben already told me you didn’t like the feature I wrote about him.” 

“Oh he did?” She nodded, peering through the glass at one of the dresses as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it. It just came across a bit… disingenuous.” 

“Disingenuous. Sort of like… PR relationships…” 

You noticed the muscles in her neck flex, but she remained calm, returning her gaze to you. “Sort of like that, yeah.” 

You closed your notebook and hugged it to your chest before moving towards the next exhibit. 

“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre?” Faye asked as you stepped around her. 

You spun on your heels to look at her, a blank expression on your face.

“The watch,” she said. 

“Oh.” You glanced down at your wrist, then back to her. “Yeah, it is.” 

She allowed a slight smile, letting out a short, contemptuous hum. “Expensive.” 

You feigned a clueless expression, doe-eyed and innocent as you shrugged at her. “Is it? I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.” 

“How thoughtful of him,” she replied bluntly, emotionlessly. 

“I never said who it was from…”

“Well,” she laughed. “I doubt anyone else you know could afford something like that.” 

You found yourself holding back again, biting the inside of your bottom lip until it tasted of iron. “Enjoy the exhibition,” you said, feigning kindness as you gestured around you. “I’m sure this theme’s right up your street. We both know how much you love embellishments.” 

You walked away without waiting for a response, blowing out a puff of hot breath and fanning yourself with your book until you reached the next display. On a small platform stood a row of mannequins, each one draped in a stunning jewelled sari. You squinted to read the placard beside them; the history, the significance, the craftsmanship that went into them. 

But you were soon disturbed again, letting out a huff before turning to Faye again. 

“Are you following me?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“I don’t know what you think you know about my marriage,” she began, speaking quietly, her tone curt. “But when he inevitably gets bored of messing around with you, I hope you have enough integrity to keep it to yourself.” 

“I have no intention of ever exposing you, Faye.” You shook your head. “But I’ll be sure to let Ben know you think our relationship is doomed to fail.” 

“Relationship,” she giggled.

You narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Is that what you’re calling it? A relationship?” she scoffed. 

“What else would it be?”

“You’re the fun, Quinn. The wild oats he sews before he decides he’s ready to settle down.” She gestured to your watch. “You’re the one he spoils, keeps sweet, flies out to whatever country he’s in because he feels like a quick fuck.” 

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, but the words were bitter and torturous. It made the back of your neck tingle, your ears burn, stomach twist.

“And I don’t blame you,” she shrugged. “He’s a celebrity. Who’s going to turn down the opportunity to have a fling with a handsome, charming actor? But what happens when that novelty wears off? When you realise how… wrong for him you are?” 

People were passing back and forth around the exhibition, buzzing with conversation, brushing shoulders, gathering at displays and moving on to the next. But the place might as well have been silent, bare, just the two of you in an empty room. 

You gave a clipped laugh, though no smile accompanied it. “How on earth would you know if I’m right or wrong for him? You don’t know me.“

“No but I know him,” she countered assuredly. “I know that he wants children, and he wants them soon. That’s one of the main reasons our marriage ended. Are you willing to give him that?” 

“Well actually, I’m three months pregnant right now, we’re very excited,” you replied dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “No you’re not.” 

“Of course I’m fucking not,” you said quietly, rolling your eyes.

“And when he wants you to be, what then? When he comes to you a year from now and says ‘Quinn, I really want to be a father, and I’m not getting any younger’. Is that going to fill you with excitement, or dread?” 

You kept your face expressionless, but your heart was beginning to race, her words travelling right to the place where they stung the most. 

“He wants to live equally between here and America, did he tell you that?” she continued. “Are you willing to pack up your whole life and follow him back and forth? Give up your career? Live in houses you have no equity in? Drive around in a nice car you didn’t pay for?” 

She straightened her posture, chin raised with indignation. “Quinn the kept woman,” she taunted. “The trophy wife that the media never actually cares to learn the name of because she’s unimportant, insignificant when compared to him.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat, though you couldn’t tell if it was made of sadness or pure rage. But still, you found a way to compose yourself, checking over your shoulders before stepping closer to her. 

“I know it must hurt,” you eventually said. “To be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. To be married to him, to convince yourself that ‘maybe with time he’ll see we’re meant to be’.” You lowered your voice, leaning in to speak slowly. “Yet still, after two years, the only time he’d willingly touch you was when there was a camera there to catch it.” 

Her face hardened, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“And I don’t blame you either, Faye. If I were you, I’d want to hurt the woman he actually loves too.” 

She forced a smile, blinking away what seemed to be tears forming in her waterline. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m warning you.” 

She turned away, beginning to walk off before stopping and looking back at you. 

“I may not have liked what you wrote in that feature,” she said. “But the way you wrote it wasn’t half bad. I just think it’d be a shame, for someone with so much potential to end up known only as the one that came after me.” 

You held her gaze until she finally turned around, disappearing into the crowd with a flick of her hair. 

You stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down at the spot where Faye had stood. The buzz of the exhibition faded back in, a cacophony of excited voices, camera shutters and footsteps. But it was still muffled, like there was a bubble around you, separating you from the rest of the world. Faye’s words echoed in your mind, breaking through the armour you’d built around yourself and burrowing down to the quietest corners of your soul, the places you didn’t like to visit. 

Quinn the kept woman. The one that came after me.

You wondered if she was right, if you could ever be satisfied living a life that always had to bend to the shape of Ben’s. He had never denied the pitfalls of his fame, never sugar coated the demand of his work or hidden his desire for a family, for children. Were you really holding him back from finding someone to share all of that with?

You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes to soothe the itch behind your lids, and with trembling hands, you opened your notebook and forced yourself to carry on to the next display. A collection of gowns embroidered with floral motifs, their petals moulded from delicate beads and sequins that seemed to bloom beneath the soft light. You traced the edges of one with your eyes, jotting down notes with uneven, messy handwriting.

Your watch caught the light again, the gold surface glinting like a mocking wink. You almost wanted to take it off, but instead you fiddled with it for a moment, recentering the face in the middle of your wrist.

By the time you finished your tour of the exhibition, your notebook was full, but you could barely remember anything you’d written in it. You slipped it into your bag, hoisting it over your shoulder as you walked toward the exit and out into the late evening air. 

The sun was still shining, but there was a bite to the breeze that made you shudder. You pulled a cardigan from your bag and shrugged it on before taking off down the street towards your car. You pulled your phone from your trouser pocket, looking up Ben’s name, thumb hovering over the call button as you walked. But you never pressed it, unsure what you would even say, where you would start.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[86espresso]

there’s holy ground beneath them, and sparks fly when they kiss ✯ jh86

-> insta edit (my first one. be nice ill cry)

-> high school sweetheart!jack <3 bc yes

-> I love him bye

-> other things coming soon dw I didn’t forget 👊

-> under the cut !

liked by jackhughes, alexturcotte, and others

ynzonedout my boy<3 and also cam york’s boy apparently<33

replies . . .

jackhughes baby I can explain 😔

ynzonedout is there something you need to tell me ://

cam.york j, babe, don’t ✋

ynzonedout wtf

jackhughes I was gonna tell u eventually 😔😔😔

alexturcotte have some decorum yorkie that’s a taken man

ynzonedout tell him.

trevorzegras 💻👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

jackhughes oh! that’s

liked by ynzonedout, colecaufield, and others

jackhughes look at her go !!

replies . . .

ynzonedout oKAy but I did so good omfgfoMFG

jackhughes you did amazing bambi ☺️

ynzonedout but I didn’t fall over this time so bambi doesn’t check out ✋✋

jackhughes you fell over taking off your skates. off the ice

ynzonedout DELETE DLETEY

ynzonedout why do you hate me

jackhughes wtf I would stab trev for you

ynzonedout aw ur so <33

trevorzegras EHAT THEVFUCK

liked by spencerknight, colecaufield, and others

ynzonedout you see this when you enter a room. what would you do 🎤

replies . . .

alexturcotte run in the opposite direction FAST

liked by ynzonedout

jackhughes nightmare blunt rotation

colecaufield notice how his sense of humor skyrocketed after he started dating bambi…

ynzonedout oof

jackhughes the heck. ur right 🙄

cam.york ALL at the same TIME 😮‍💨

ynzonedout none of those words are in the bible

jackhughes skshjskwjwaj

liked by ynzonedout, trevorzegras, and others

jackhughes @/ynzonedout lookinf suuper extra fine today I need her mroe than air 😪 LOVE her so baf

replies . . .

ynzonedout jackie, baby, this is your public instagram

trevorzegras accidentally gave him too many edibles thats on me

ynzonedout ofc ur at the scene of the crime

trevorzegras ??!!??/)$ cole was involved

jackhughes bsmbi come iver imy:((((((((((

ynzonedout omw baby just two mins of homework left 🥹

quinnhughes just projectile vomited

ynzonedout lowkey ate down 🎤

colecaufield lookin goood ma’am

alexturcotte stunna

user1 proof that your fav white boy needs a baddie in his life

ynzonedout ur so adorable im jumping ily :)

liked by jackhughes, quinnhughes, and others

ynzonedout happy 18th birthday to my fav princess angel white girl jacklyn <3 despite the growing pressure on you and big things coming up, you never fail to make me feel like the only girl ever. you’re the sweetest and kindest ever, everyone deserves a you. my forever crush, i love you to death. muah 💗

replies . . .

jackhughes im drowning in my own tears.

jackhughes bambi wtf ill end it all i love you so much 🥹🥹🥹 thank you baby

alexturcotte my heart

trevorzegras ill actually cry. who knew you had a heart

ynzonedout im in ur Walls

colecaufield everyone’s crying. The streets exploded. bambi this is too much for all of us

ynzonedout THE STREETS EXPLODDE

ellenhughes aw this is adorable :)

ynzonedout thank you for your contribution to society 🧎‍♀️

liked by ynzonedout and others

jackhughes 1 week before the draft. cant wait !! ✊ replies . . .

ynzonedout im so fucking proud of you the fuck. What the fucking fuck im sobbing

jackhughes language 😔

ynzonedout no im fucking emo rn dont even

ynzonedout WAIT

ynzonedout jack oh myfuckingh god COME OVER RN my columbia letter just came in I can’t open it

jackhughes SHUT UP IM LN MY WAY IM shaking

alexturcotte columbia wth

trevorzegras ayo WHAT

colecaufield DID YOU GET IN

user3 COLUMBIA IS SO CLOSE TO NEW JERSEY AND ITS IN NEW YORK

cam.york everyone start freaking out like right now. bambi and jack will probably live toGETHWR SKSJKSJS

liked by jackhughes, quinnhughes, and others

ynzonedout happy weekend <3 a girl doesn’t deserve less

replies . . .

jackhughes proud doesn’t cut it, angel girl. you deserve all this and more 🩷

ynzonedout jackkk 🥹🥹🥹 you mean everything to me

jackhughes also we r so getting our own place and living together

ynzonedout damn fucking right we ARE

alexturcotte brb crying

trevorzegras you guys 🥹

colecaufield #bambijackforever agenda going strong . who’s dropping acid in my eyes

quinnhughes great achievement!! you’re so smart tf

liked by nicohischier, quinnhughes, and others

ynzonedout I hope you know how proud I am you were created 🩷 @/njdevils if you suck the youth out of him I’ll suck the soul out of you 🔪

replies . . .

njdevils 🫡🫡🫡

jackhughes BABE. we’ll get in trouble

jackhughes honestly couldn’t have done it all without your support. I love you :)

ynzonedout love u more forever :))

a/n: if I made mistakes no I didn’t. feedback appreciated but only the nice kind 🩷

[chaoticbardlady99]

Maryë (Astarion x GN! AFAB Reader) MDNI 18 +

Synopsis: Astarion left to explore the world and himself following the death of the Netherbrain. You remain in Baldur’s Gate with your brother, Gale, resigning yourself to your fate as Astarion’s friend until you die. Until one day, you and Astarion begin to write letters back and forth. Except there is one letter in particular that you suspect isn’t from Astarion…

CW: minimal mentions of violence, smut, Oral (Female Receiving), PIV, Tav’s also just an oblivious idiot who apparently doesn’t think very hard about words (it’s me, I’m Tav the idiot and this is like my Fiancé and I’s friendship prior to ya know, dating lmfao)

Author note- I might also write this in AMAB! Format, but I need to do some… research first for accuracy. This is lightly edited and just some silly little thought I had. I wanted to write something not so detailed for once while I work on my drafts for Lethal Woman and She’s Not Acid Nor Alkaline. Also def stole a line from Tolkien and added to it at the end (this is me crediting).

You’ll either love this or hate this idk.

The title literally translates to Home in Elvish.

Photo belongs to idk who so please reach out if it’s yours!

As always- likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, I am just terrible at responding.

Tav,

As much as I enjoy our current form of communication- I was wondering if I could come to see you in person.

I have so much I need to say to you and I want to be able to do it in person- the proper way.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

Astarion

You sit and stare at the letter like you have been doing for the last week since you received it. Unlike your half-brother, Gale, you are not one for words. It was hard to respond to Astarion’s letters initially until Gale “doctored” your responses- often putting whatever silly accomplishment you have achieved lately or stories Gale found interesting from your recent solo adventures.

“Are you going to write the letter or are you hoping it’s going to write itself?” Gale teases.

You scowl at him and shake your head.

“I don’t know what to write back.”

“I could come up with a couple things!” Gale clears his throat, “‘ Oh Astarion- I’ve missed you terribly this whole time! I regret telling you that we should be friends until you figure things out! Despite my VERY WISE BROTHER’S ADVICE TO NOT DO THAT! I wait like a lovesick puppy at the mailbox every week hoping a letter may arrive!’”

You roll your eyes at him and throw one of his many decorative couch pillows at his head. He certainly has your mother’s flair for the dramatic. However, you can’t necessarily say he’s wrong- you have been nothing less than a smitten school girl waiting for letters non-stop.

Astarion had gone back to the Underdark after the last battle with the Netherbrain. He told you that he wanted to go and explore who he is- the world too.

You had been as enthusiastic as you could about the decision considering you had come up to him at the party with a letter in your hands asking if he would like to continue traveling with you after this- you had been too scared to say it outloud. A part of you hoped it may allow your romance to blossom without the impending threat of death at every corner. Well, if he still harbored any feelings for you at all.

You had merely smiled and told him how excited you are for him. It answered the silent question that had been there- was there still room in Astarion’s heart for you after you said you should just be friends and try again later?

The answer was ‘no’, despite Gale’s perplexed face and lecture when he found out you gave the spawn a send off with a ‘long’ hug (he made you describe it in detail). You refuse to give yourself any hope- you will remain a dutiful friend since you resigned yourself to this fate.

Then you received a Sending spell with him requesting your address and the letters began. You squealed like a schoolgirl when the first one came in and ripped it open enthusiastically. You didn’t realize Gale was home, otherwise you wouldn’t have read it out in the open- Tara snitched on you!

You had only truly met Gale around a couple months prior to your mutual abduction. Your mother had asked you to assist a brother you never knew about in finding magical artifacts- you quickly learned it was because the man was becoming a damn recluse.

You had worried he’d slam the door in your face or turn you into a sheep for all of eternity- the minute you told him your name was Tav Dekarios, he pulled you in for a hug and told you he had been awaiting your arrival. Gale was thrilled to know that, like him, you were also a prodigy in your craft.

You are a virtuoso master with any instrument you touch and you cast spells that are almost far too good to be true. You became Oghma’s Chosen in your teen years after spending many years practicing under his mentorship (which is why you and Gale had a very weird, serious talk one night about how Mystra is kind of a fucking pedophile) and that allowed you to do incredible things.

Your notes could create shimmery images and tell stories- Arabella and the other tiefling children (even the very tough Mol) enjoy coming over and watching war tales be told with nothing but a drum and a rain stick. Sometimes you let them tell tales and you come up with a tune to match it- eventually finding a rhythm to put your mind into and create the picture.

It was one of the many things Astarion mentioned in his note- he stated that none of the other Bards even begin to hold a candle to your talent. You blushed deeply when you read the line.

He told you about everything he had seen, everyone he had met, what he’s found out about himself, and shockingly enough- how much he misses you. It had taken you by total surprise, but you responded saying you missed him too.

Pet names began to flow easily into inked lines and it felt like you had a tiny part of him back in your life- your friendship is still as strong as it was before he left.

The letters have quickly become the best part of your week and occasionally you’ll read them with Arabella. She ooos and awwws, then attempts to bully you into tell Astarion your feelings. You cast a mini rain shower over her head with a few poetic words for the suggestion. You don’t want to ruin what you have and there is always the possibility that he found someone else.

However, you weren’t unsure of this particular note because you didn’t want to see Astarion- you would love that. The issue is that it doesn’t look like his handwriting, it isn’t the paper he uses (he’s ridiculously particular), and it doesn’t flow. Gale thinks you are over analyzing it, but you are pretty sure that this isn’t Astarion’s writing. He also addresses you as “Darling” not Tav and signs the letter of with “‘Órenya ná órelya” (my heart is your heart) not “Yours”.

You’ve waited for another note to come in since, but nothing has. You are beginning to wonder if Gale is right and you really are just being paranoid.

“I already told you, Gale,” you say with annoyance, “something isn’t right about this note. I don’t think this is from him which is worrisome because that means I haven’t heard from him in two weeks WHICH could MEAN-“

“For the love of Gods- TAV,” Gale yells, effectively shutting you up, “my young, oblivious little sibling. Just say yes and let him come visit.”

*********************************************************

It had been two days since you sent the sending stone and there was no response. Not that it would have mattered anyway considering you are somewhere in the Underdark in a very beautifully lit cave. Neon, blue veins of magic run through the rock. The pathway is lit with glowing flowers and…. Benches?

It had all happened so fast. One moment you were walking home from the market and the next- Astarion had come up to you from an alleyway and said he needed help. He had told you that he would love to catch up, but there is an injured child around the corner and since he can only stay in the shadows, he needs you to help them. Before you knew it- someone hit you with a sleep spell and the last thing you remember seeing is stars as your head slammed into the pavement. Oh and a, “oooooffff my bad” before you blacked out.

You blink your eyes a few more times, trying to figure out what in the wretched hells is going on.

“Oh for the love of- I told you to talk to Oghma’s Chosen! Not kidnap her and give her a serious concussion!”

A hazy, short figure comes into your vision. Is that…. a Deep Gnome?

“You told us it was imperative for the wedding! We intercepted the real letter and wrote this one,” another Gnome says, “and it worked! They showed up and everything! We’ve been watching since you told us to talk to her two weeks ago! We were running out of time for talking and bargaining so we just-“

“Kidnapped them!” the man yells, “you kidnapped them!? You- you imbeciles! They are supposed to want to perform for the wedding- you had at least six more hours! AND I GAVE YOU TWO WEEKS!”

“But Walby-“

Walby.

You know Walby! He and Barcus have been dating for a while now and the two are over the moon smitten. You are very happy for Barcus- this man is everything Wulbern could never be.

“No! I have had enough of your silliness! Leave me at once!”

You hear the three Gnomes that supposedly ambushed you walk off in angry huffs. A flash of healing magic fills the air and your head is finally clear- your ears no longer ringing like a triangle.

“My apologies, Ms.Dekarios,” Walby, says, “I wanted them to give you an invitation to come to Barcus’ and I’s wedding this afternoon, but as you heard, they are not the brightest bunch.

“It’s a very last minute ceremony- my mother is ill and she wants to see her ‘baby’ get married before she goes. We wanted to wait another year to plan, but oh you know how it goes!”

Walby looks at you sheepishly as you blink a few more times and let his words sink in. You look at the man and try not to throw up from sitting upright. You must have been out for a while, but not in a “oh that was a wonderful beauty nap” kind of way. You are pretty sure you have a decent amount of blood caked to the side of your head and neck right now.

“Oh, well in that case,” you offer a good natured smile, “I’ll consider this the most unique wedding invitation I’ve ever received and one I may not even have the privilege of remembering.”

The man laughs heartily as you stand up and brush your clothing off. You’re glad you wore a nicer outfit today and decided to bring your violin along- Oghma must have wanted to make sure you were prepared.

“I also wanted to ask a favor,” he says meekly, “if I haven’t fallen out of your good graces before I even stepped foot in them- that is.”

You smile and just roll your eyes.

“Consider it water under the bridge. How can I be of service?”

“Well, you see- we had asked an acquaintance of ours to play music and uh. There’s no easy way to put this, but he was run over by a herd of Deep Rothé.”

“Hmm,” you say with a snort, “tough crowd- Deep Rothés.”

Ultimately, you agreed to perform for the ceremony and the little dinner party afterwards. Your music decorated the air with golds and silvers. Barcus was thrilled to have you there and thanked you immensely for allowing his mother-in-law to “witness true magic” before she leaves this plane.

By the time you were finally leaving- you hear two very familiar voices scream your name and come barreling towards you.

*****************************************

Astarion and Gale are practically sprinting as they try to track your location through the streets of Baldur’s Gate. They had just found a large spot of your blood sticking to the cobblestone and leading to the sewer. Astarion feels sick when he notices the path leads back into the Crimson Palace. Thankfully it was through the sewer and straight to the tunnel of the Underdark.

He had sent you a letter a few days ago and he had confessed his feelings. Instead of waiting for you to respond like a sane person, Astarion got the hell out of the inn he was staying at and began the four day trek to Baldur’s Gate. The nice part about traveling alone and not needing to breath is that Astarion could run from place to place if he was in a hurry or was just fed up with traveling already.

Astarion quickly learned that it was boring to be alone and it’s far more fun to share adventures with you. He also learned that he might be a semi-decent person on his own because, in spite of being without your physical presence, he continues to fucking help people. Astarion is really over this whole moral compass thing (it only extends so far though, he’s still a proud Bastard at heart).

When he arrived at your home about an hour and a half ago, Gale had informed him that you had gone out to the Market and was confused when Astarion said his letter shouldn’t have arrived yet. It took longer than usual to write for… reasons.

Gale showed him the note you received and the two of them pieced together that someone had definitely set up a trap- just not a very good one. Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose when Gale told him that you definitely figured out the letter wasn’t from him, but Gale encouraged you to respond anyway.

A part of him is incredibly worried that some of the remaining Bhaal cultists have taken you since they are the only people he could think of that would be able to mimic his form. His stomach still turns when he thinks about the time they realized Orin had taken you. This is giving him the same queasy feeling.

So imagine his and Gale’s surprise when you are walking away from some random spot seemingly unscathed. Except Astarion won’t believe that until he has inspected you for injuries himself.

You look positively shell-shocked to see him and even more surprised when he’s taking your face gently in his hands and begins to check for injuries.

“Are you alright, Darling?” He says in a far more panicked voice than he means to, “we found blood- I thought the worst and your idiot brother! Of course that letter wasn’t from me! I have class, my Dear! I would never use that paper and WHY IN THE HELLS WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME OF ALL PEOPLE!?”

He knows his ‘rage’ doesn’t sound like rage- it sounds like a man who thought his only love had been on the brink of death only moments ago. Astarion is trying to keep a serious face, but the adoration and love in your eyes when you look at him is making him want to dissolve. He’s thrilled to see that after a whole year of not being together that your feelings haven’t waivered. Neither have his, obviously, but that’s why he’s here.

“I will say, Tav,” Gale says with exasperation, “you even gave Tara a fright- you should be expecting a very long lecture when we get home.”

“Oh I’m sure I will,” you say with a beaming smile, your eyes never leaving Astarion’s, “but I do have quite the story if you would like to hear it?”

Astarion’s grin stretches across his entire face.

“I think a good story, better company, and some wine would make for a fine evening, my Dear.”

“Gross!” Gale says, “but I’ll tag along for some wine.”

Oh dammit.

****************************

If Astarion wasn’t so busy feasting upon you- then he probably would have already hunted down those stupid Gnomes that gave him a fright and found a windmill to fling them from. Gale had left only 15 minutes ago, but Astarion had made quick work in getting you up to his room and having his way with you.

The minute Gale left, the conversation became flirty and teasing- all the want that has been pooling in his body is finally getting the release it needs. You, like always, are a sight to behold.

Your back arches when his tongue drags along your clit and Astarion pushes your hips down into the mattress as your arousal paints his lips. Your moans and desperate cries of pleasure are so delicious and his cock is painfully hard, straining against his leather pants.. He is fighting between taking his time and being selfish- chasing his own pleasure inside of you.

The moment you clench around his fingers is the same moment he unlaces his own pants and begins to remove them. You keen and whine underneath him- Astarion’s name sounds the best coming from you in this state.

Astarion should be a gentleman, hypothetically, and maybe give you a half a second to be a little less dazed from your orgasm. Except Astarion isn’t a gentleman and he isn’t patient- at all.

Astarion lifts your hips up to his until the head of his cock is aligned with your entrance and he thrusts himself inside of you. You immediately wrap your legs around his hips with a yelp of pleasure and your eyes flutter wildly as you take his whole length. Astarion smiles down at you as he slowly rocks in and out of you.

Your fingers find their way to his hair and you pull Astarion’s face down to yours- stunning him with a mind numbing kiss. He snaps his hips at the sensation and the moan you let out causes whatever resolve he had to break. Astarion releases the hold you have on his lips and kisses along your jaw up to your ear.

“Did you like that, my Love?”

You hum in approval and try to pull his mouth back to yours. He interrupts you by thrusting into you two more times with more power than the first one.

“Asta-,,” you attempt to say his name between thrusts, “Astarion please.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Pet,” he teases, “I don’t even know if I know what you like anymore- maybe you don’t even like thi-“

Your legs tighten around his hips as he goes to pull completely out of you. Astarion quirks his eyebrow at you with a smirk as you look at him with desperation.

“I more than liked it- I loved it,” you whisper with your cheeks burning from your shyness.

Oh and how Astarion loves your shyness. His hands fist the sheets as he starts his agonizingly slow rhythm inside of you again- whimpers falling from deep within your chest.

“See, Darling,” Astarion says as his face falls into the crook of your neck, “that wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before Astarion’s hips begin to pick up speed and his mouth covers yours. As much as he loves to hear you moan- he doesn’t care to share that experience with any of the patrons that had been obviously checking you out while you were catching up.

Astarion groans against your lips as he continues to fuck you relentlessly- his fangs nip at your lower lip and lap at the tiny droplets of blood that seep from the punctures.

You are a mess underneath him and you feel incredible in every way possible. Astarion never wanted this to stop in the first place- back when he had told you his feelings and you said it would be best to be friends for the time being.

Perhaps that’s what causes him to slow down and kiss you deeply- making up for the lack of speed with more force. One of his hands trails along your chest and begins to tease your sensitive nipples- your walls clench around him hard when he begins to pinch and roll the right one and your orgasm coats him as he moves to play with the left.

You kiss him sloppily and he’s lazily thrusting into you- his own Little Death following yours within seconds. Astarion collapses on top of you as he begins to soften inside of you. The smell of you and him mixed together is intoxicating and your heartbeat is hammering from the pleasure- your eyes glassy and tired with bliss. He laughs breathily before placing a kiss on your swollen lips.

Astarion lifts you up ever so slightly so that he can pull the blanket down and over you, then he adjusts himself and you so that you are curled up with your ear pressed against his chest. He strokes your hair absentmindedly and you lightly draw shapes on his chest.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” you say sleepily, “I’ve missed you so much.”

I’ve missed you too, Darling,” Astarion says while pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m happy to be home.”

“Oh I’m sure Baldur’s Gate is-“

“You are my home,” Astarion interrupts you, “I’ve come to realize that wherever you are is where I want to be.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes and happiness in your heart.

“But what about exploring your new life and all of that jazz?”

“Darling, I wouldn’t have a life if it weren’t for you,” Astarion states, “you helped me kill Cazador and break the cycle of ongoing abuse. You gave me life so I could live it and I want to live it with you. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with just being friends and holding back my feelings. I want to share my life with you.

“I know this may all seem very fast, but” Astarion grabs his pants off the ground and he feels his stomach turn as he pulls the box out of his pocket, “I know I love you- that’s probably the only thing I’ve ever been sure of in my entire 239 years of existence. I- I wanted to know if you would… marry me?”

Your lips are on his within seconds and the two of you become entangled in soft kisses until you have to pull back for air. You lean your forehead against his and meet his gaze.

“I love you so much, Astarion. Yes- yes I will marry you,” you say tearfully, “I want to share my life with you too.”