#and no I haven't drawn his arms in yet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scoobysnakz · 1 year ago

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||* Maybe it's because he's safe and keeps you warm in times or need. Or maybe it's because he has those unruly salt and pepper hair and worry lines. Either way, you want him and maybe he wants you.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

pt2

||* dilf!miguel, vaginal fingering, praise kink, eye contact, perv!miguel, college-age reader, lap sitting, slight hair pulling, one shot, Daddy issues, Dom/sub, smut written by a virgin, not proof read

You're young. And oblivious. So painfully oblivious.

At first, Miguel had just assumed it was a defence mechanism. Don’t give them a reaction and they’ll leave you alone. But the more you smile at the guys flirting with you, the more you lean into their non-platonic hugs, the more certain he becomes that you’re just unaware.

And- in all honesty- he's jealous. He doesn't want to feel the shame that weighs down on his shoulders each time your expression softens at his praise. He doesn't want to feel guilt for watching your hips sway as you walk away. He doesn't want to be like them but he craves the audacity to leer at you in broad daylight.

Maybe it's his morals or maybe it's because he's a coward.

Either way, you’re young and oblivious. And deep down, he loves it.

It's worse in HQ, these men are meant to have morals, good morals, and yet they treat you like a fuckdoll to the eyes.

Your perfect, untouched, college body just for them to perv at.

And Miguel hates it. He hates how he has to ignore your pretty eyes staring up at him as he talks, how he has to scold every Spiderman for being a pervert, and he hates how he's just as bad.

Maybe if you weren't so bubbly sweet he wouldn't have to spend each night palming himself to the thought of your perky body, every shower spurting his hot cum on the misty glass and every moment alone with his office with the doors locked and hand muffling his moans.

“Migs?” that nickname, that only you can use, that only you dared to think of.

He turns to face you, a lazy smile drawn across his painfully perfect lips. “Princessa?” And you immediately try to hide the blush that threatens to bloom on your cheeks.

You hold out your hands, a tray holding a ‘spidey spectacular’ on top. In reality, it's nothing spectacular- a beef burger with barbecue sauce, large fries and a medium drink.

“Got you some lunch,” you grin.

He hops down from his podium, cringing at how your body tenses at the loud thud. “Why?” his tone is harsh, cold, forced.

He knows why. You care, you check in on him when no one else does, you randomly ask him if he's drinking more water than coffee that day, if he actually went to sleep the night previous- unknowing to the thoughts of you that kept him up.

“You haven't eaten today,” you stick your arms out, a playful smile on your face and he doesn't ask how you know. You just do, “and you can't capture those nettlesome anomalies on an empty stomach!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Nettlesome?”

You laugh, a soft one that makes his core ache with need. “My literature professor has permanently engrained fancy words into my brain.” your shocking professor. Probably some perv who keeps you behind to help you with your tests and oggles at your perfectly shaped ass when you bend over to pick up a pen.

And a painful reminder that as mature as you may be, you’re still young. 18 years too young.

He takes the burger from the tray, gaze lingering on the second as he tries to decide if it's for him or not.

“I’m eating with you,” you answer his question without him asking.

“No, princessa.”

You huff at him, soft, rounded lips falling into a pout. It's a habit you've made- bringing him lunch and sitting with him to make sure he's actually eating the food you've bought no matter how hard he protests.

“Fine. I won't eat with you, I'll just sit and stare and probably piss you off,” you smile smugly at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from you and throwing the paper from the burger in the bin.

You hum in response, not even caring for his grouchy attitude because it doesn't bother you. Because you're young, and you don't understand how men work yet.

He pulls himself up to his podium, glowing red webs dangling from the large metal disk where you soon follow.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

You pull yourself close to him, hand resting just between his thigh and yours. So soft and delicate and he wants to ruin the innocence within them. Wants to see your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock, wants to see how you use those digits inside of yourself while- hopefully- thinking of him.

“How’s school?” he feels like an awkward uncle at an even more awkward Christmas party. Is this what it's come to? Him having to ask about your college life because that's your main focus because you’re young… er.

A small scoff escapes you, and you immediately cover up with a cough.

“I’m not seven,” you tease, hand held out to shove him but you immediately withdraw it which makes him frown.

“You look it.” it's your turn to frown.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“You’re an ass,” you fold your arms across your chest, nose scrunching in feigned irritation.

Miguel clicks his tongue at you, head cocking to the side in disapproval. “Language, princessa.”

You mutter a feeble “sorry”, a forced waver to your voice that makes him chuckle lightly.

You turn your head to face him, his dark, almost curls illuminated by the neon orange of his numerous monitors. His eyes meet yours, deep maroon paralysing you in place, peeking fangs slowing your breathing, chiselled features pinking your cheeks.

And you smile. A sickly sweet, beautifully innocent smile. Any other person would look away, grow red with shame, and maybe say something embarrassing. But you? You just smile.

Because you're painfully naive.

“Really?” you turn your head to face him, neck craned back so he gets a perfect view of your soft skin. “Do I look seven?”

Of course, you don't look seven. You look twenty, which you are. But you're mature and not in a creepy way. No one else would think twice about seeing if he's okay, and no adult would have their panties organised by colour like you do either.

The sound of his chewing eventually fills the bleak room. You can see him looking straight ahead through your peripheral.

“No.”

“A man of few words,” you grin.

“A girl of far too many.”

You aren't a girl. You’re a woman. You don't spend time chasing boys, you enjoy literature, and you have your whole life planned out. Kids don't do the things you do. Kids don't want a life with a decent man, with him.

“School’s boring,” you cut through the silence, voice soft, quiet, shy.

Relief washes over him like the first rainfall in the Sahara. He swallows- quickly, and brings his attention back to you- not that it ever really left you.

“It shouldn't be, you're smart, princessa, and if your professors are doing their job you should be engaged with their subjects,” he hates that he sounds so parental and demanding when he speaks to you but it's like a default setting. He expects the best from you because he knows you can achieve it.

You scoff and this time you don't bother hiding it at all. “Thanks,” you mutter dryly, “I’ll keep being smart and then school will be more exciting.”

He grimaces at your dull tone. He's used to your sparkly side, the smiles and the giggles and now you're acting your age, all attitude and sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he groans, his voice harsher than before.

“What did you mean then, Miguel?” you press on.

“I meant that you're smart enough to entertain yourself, unlike other people.”

And in its own strange way, his ‘complisult’ makes you smile. He sees who you are, that you aren't some immature child.

It feels nice not being viewed as a child for once. A slow, steady warmth travels through you. He's being nice to you, not a rare occurrence but uncommon enough to mean something.

Slowly, you edge your hand closer to his, fingers gently nudging against his own. You pause for a moment, knowing you’re pushing it and waiting for his reaction but when he doesn't pull away you give his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks,” your gentle voice making his cock harden beneath his suit, “in its own way, that was sweet.”

And you grin at him again. Soft lips beaming up at his plain expression as he tries not to think about how badly he needs some relief.

Against his better judgment, he squeezes your hand back. And the soft, nervous, almost squeak that escapes you makes it all worthwhile.

“It’s true. When I went to your universe,” not to jack off while you shower, “I saw your study notes. You work hard, princessa, and it's good, admirable,” hot.

All your life you be craved words so sweet. Someone to tell you that all those years of dedication to being the best and coming second is too, better than good. Someone to tell you that when they saw your study notes they didn't see you as dumb you have to revise but studious enough to want the best.

You don't even think twice about him being in your universe, just putting it down to an anomaly or another perfectly innocent reason.

He can smell it again, that dopamine rush. You pull yourself closer to him, taunting him unknowingly and let your head rest on his shoulder.

You do this often, allow yourself to lean against him, intertwine your fingers with his, plant endearing kisses to his stubbly cheeks when he helps you out. And you do it so secretly that it's almost sexual but the innocence you perform these acts with makes it feel painfully platonic.

All he can do is ride out this moment of pure torment. Cock stiff and thighs burning.

Deep down he knows he shouldn't be like this, savouring your innocence that he can so easily capture on cameras he can use later. You're so pure, sacred almost, that it feels wrong to even have his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Migs?” that nickname that only you get to use because if he gets to call you princessa its only fair.

Your hand slips off of his and moves to rest on his thigh. “Migs?” you say a little louder this time. He hums dully.

“Princessa?”

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how wet his voice makes you. The low rumble that passes through his chest, the silky smooth movements of his lips, the slight tinge of an accent that makes your cunt flutter.

You let your thumb travel over the ridges of his fingers, smooth over the peaks of his knuckles.

His hand is so big compared to yours, something that the two of you haven't ignored.

He wonders how the rest of you feels, past the tight lycra of your suit as it covers your wrists, against the fresh cotton of his bedsheets, flush against his chest.

The dull humming of the monitors accompanied by your heavy breathing and the subtle whirring of the random machinery warms up the silence between the two of you.

You shift yourself to face him, pretty lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Maybe it's because he's so safe right now. Or maybe it's because you failed your paper and his praise is all you need. But he looks painfully handsome.

Broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Soft lips parted in hunger. The sea of deep sepias and carmines that is his eyes.

Miguel has always been there for you. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Your roommates being assholes? You can sleep at HQ. Suit ripped? He’ll make you a new one.

And in this moment, you can't see past that. He may be older, grey strands peppering his umber locks and worry lines framing his features, but that doesn't matter.

So you lean up close to him, faces inches apart. Just to smell him, just to see him, just to be near him, just to feel him.

He flinches at first, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. His gaze runs up and down your figure, trying to figure out what you're doing, your innocent expression leaving far too much up for interpretation.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, arousal burning white-hot in your core and bodies thrumming with desire.

A calloused hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Miguel lets out a low sigh, hot breath tickling your face and making your nose scrunch in a way that can only be described as perfect.

Your breathing slows and your heart hammers. He's so close, soft lips just within reach.

“Can I?” his voice is almost a croak, a desperate plea.

He can't tear his eyes away from your quivering lips. He wants to feel them against his own, taste you, have your mouth in his possession.

You don't get time to finish your feeble “please” before he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's soft at first, the two of you gradually warming to the sensation of each other. But when you let out a soft sigh something inside him switches. All morals and guilt go completely out the window and his senses are filled with you.

His tongue probes hungrily at your lips, seeking access to the warmth of your mouth and you happily agree. His hands slide down to your hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh crudely hidden beneath your suit.

“Need you,” you groan, hands gripping his chest with desperation. He silences you with another kiss, tongue immediately attacking yours, too impolite, too hard, too impatient to wait for your sanction.

He's blinded by lust, a desire that's been building up inside him for too long. His arm snakes to the small of your back, protruding talons catching on the material of your suit. He pulls you into his lap and you nearly gasp at the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed cunt.

You lean back slightly so you can look at him, chest rising and falling with each pant. “Say something,” you pout, his mutism making your head swarm with confusion, “let me hear your voice.”

The neediness of your tone makes him smile, a boyish, cheeky one that makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you want me to say?” he questions, fingers tracing up and down the bridge of your spine.

“Just… talk me through it,” you pause, cunt fluttering and thighs tensing, “it’s my first time,” you admit quietly. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It's something you've never admitted, viewing virginity as a burden more than the blessing men do.

“Who said I'm gonna fuck you?”

Oh.

You purse your lips, your smile faltering and skin prickling with embarrassment as you fidget on his lap. His cock strains against his suit, hips threatening to buck up when you unintentionally grind against him.

You look down and a smirk forms on your face. You press the heel of your palm against his erection, eyes widening with arousal at the whine that escapes him. “This did.”

You swear that for a moment you can see a glint of red in his eyes, much darker, meaner, than his usual cool mahogany.

“Don't,” he grunts, hand gripping your wrist.

The excited grin on your face brings him back. He can't do this to you. He can't take your innocence, be the one to steal what makes you so pure. He's done things he's ashamed of, killed, lied, hated. He isn't deserving of the sweet bliss that’s you.

Your lips fall into a disappointed pout. Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve been too eager?

“I… I'm sorry?” you pose your apology as a question, unsure of what's actually going on. You’re inexperienced but this… this isn't normal.

“No, mierda, no, princesa,” and his hands back on your cheek, thumb tracing over the curve of your vermillion. “No digas lo siento.” your brow furrows in confusion but he doesn't elaborate.

He wants to ruin you, corrupt your pretty pussy with his hot cum and watch it seep out in think dribbles before he can stuff it back in with his fingers. But he can't.

That sweet innocence in your eyes, lashes fluttering with arousal from a simple kiss. He can't do this to you.

“Look at me,” he commands and on instinct, your eyes meet his.

“Good Girl,” he croons.

“I'm confused, Migs,” you push his hand off your cheek softly, head cocked to the side, “you’re confusing me.”

He brings a hand to your cunt and he cups it, the heel of his palm digging into your cunt. “Let me do this instead, hmm?” you nod in agreement, head too fuzzy with the strange mixture of arousal and bewilderment to even process the jolt of pleasure that shot down your spine.

The sound of ripping draws your attention down to your arousal-slick folds but he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, chica,” his tone is slightly harsher now but his eyes are still warm.

You don't know what he's doing. If he's coming or going. If he's teasing you or allowing this to go further.

“Mi-” he presses his index finger to your lips, not that he needed more than his intense gaze to silence you.

“You said this is your first time?” you nod again.

“No one else has touched you?” his fingers part the tear in your suit, your damp panties on show for him.

“No one.”

His thumb starts to slowly circle your cotton-clothed clit eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“Do you want me to touch you, princessa?”

Your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs but he doesn't flinch. A sharp talon nips at your weeping bud and you nearly cry. It sends a jolt of pain fused with sickly sweet pleasure coursing through your veins. “Asked you a question didn't I?”

You nod your head again, not knowing how to answer.

“Use your words.”

Your cunt is dribbling its juices all down your thighs- and he can smell it. His mouth is practically drooling at the scent it your arousal. He's trying so hard not to rip your suit all the way and split you open with his cock. But you're gentle, soft, sweet, delicate. So he has to be as well.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you nod your head again, “I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

“Muy bein, princessa,” his thumb slips under the waistband of your panties and comes to rest on your clit but he doesn't stimulate you. Just leaves it resting on the hardened nub.

You whine at the lack of friction, hips trying to grind against his hand but his free hand holds you down.

“Migs, please,” you know you sound pathetically needy but you don't care. The man you've been lusting after since he first recruited you has his hand in your pants.

“Then keep looking at me,” he instructs, “wanna see your pretty face. Can you do that for me?” he grins at the twitching in your cunt caused by his words. That's all the confirmation he needs.

His thumb begins its slow pattern around the hood of your clit while his other hand rests on your waist, keeping you planted firmly on his lap. And maybe so you can feel how big he is.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You've seen him kill before, seen the plethora of blood he can draw from someone with one fell swoop. Yet he's always been so careful with you, right now being no exception. Maybe that's what’s drawn you to him, the idea of him viewing you as something so sacred that he can't bring himself to damage your fragile body.

The tedious speed he's using is purposefully slow. He wants to draw this out for as long as possible, keep you a squirming mess on his lap, your sweet nectar running down to his thighs. But you want more; you’re too shy to ask for it but you want it.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into his mouth almost sloppily. He's taken aback at first by your sudden burst of confidence but he doesn't protest. The hand that was resting in your hip moves to the back of your head to press you deeper into the kiss.

You whine hungrily and he rewards you with a faster pace. Your thighs clench around him, not actually expecting your plan to work. Your eyes flutter for a moment but he grips your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“Princessa, I'll stop,” his warning is heed enough.

Your mind’s a foggy blur of arousal and pure bliss. He keeps toying with your clit, slowing down when your gaze falters but speeding up and rewarding you if you've kept eye contact.

“Please, I'll be good, so good for you,” you mewl, craving his kind words of praise again.

“Will you? Will you let me see those pretty lips of yours smile so sweetly for me while I make you feel good?” you nod your head excessively, mumbled “yes I will”’s and “good for you”’s spilling from your lips.

The hot coil of pleasure tightens with each flick of his distal. More and more sweet moans spew from your loose hanging mouth which are just music to his ears. Your leaky hole clenches around nothingness but you're too shy to ask for more. Miguel’s thumb is good enough but what you really crave is that hard cock that's pushing up against your stomach.

Soft, sticky clicking sounds mellow in the warmth of the rooms atmosphere, arousal blending in smoothly along with the scent of your nearing climax. He can sense it, your hips stuttering and your nails digging into the meat of his chest. But he can't let you go just yet.

“Hold it for me,” its a command, not a request.

You bite your lower lip, eyes nearly watering as you try you hardest to hold back. Your poor cunt throne needily while it continues to pump hot juices all over his hand. “I-I don't know how,” you blubber, thighs trembling and hands twitching.

Your body runs white hot with pleasure while your mind teeters on the edge of climax.

“I know you can, be a good girl, princessa,” he pressed earnestly, two-toned lips falling into that signature smirk.

You let your head come to rest in the crook of his neck. He flinches at the warmth of your breath and grabs the back of your hair roughly. You whine at the sharp tug but don't protest further.

“Fuck did I tell you ‘bout looking away?” his voice is almost harsh but you don't care. Your whole body is tingling with so much euphoria, blood pumping hot with pleasure, that you don't even care about his talon catching on your clit.

You’re so close to cumming, to reaching that paradise he's dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick. “Let me, I-i can't, Migs.”

He frowns.

Once you're done that's it. He has to let you go, push off his lap and keep you at arm's length. But he can't bring himself to do that, get rid of your warmth and tiny frame.

“Migs? Please, let me…” you cut yourself with a silent moan.

Your mouth falls slack, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed. Warmth washes over you, trickling down your spine like honey from a jar. And for a moment you think you've gone deaf because Miguel’s lips are moving but you can't figure out what he's saying.

Your arousal spills from your cunt and all the way down his hands in a warm, blanketing trinket of your pleasure.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment but lets you ride out your high with his thumb remaining on your pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking in a way that only makes his cock harden.

“Mmmm, did my princessa enjoy herself?” you look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust.

Your orgasm took enough energy for you to be exhausted now. You can barely lift your head let alone reply to him. When you try to smile your eyes just roll back slightly, your lashes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

You’ve come before, plenty of times, but this feels different. This time it feels all warm and gooey like it's going to stick to you forever. Maybe it's because it's Miguel’s fingers instead of your own toying with your cunt or maybe it's because you got to hold onto him. Either way, you've just cum all over his hands and can't form a proper sentence now.

Miguel smiles down at you, revelling in your blissed-out expression. Knowing that he's drawn this pleasure from you makes his insides churn.

“Pretty Girl,” he coos, hand smoothing your spine, “so pretty for me, hmm? Cumming just from me playing with her pretty pussy.” as if to prove a point, he spreads your sticky folds open with his thumb two middle fingers, a soft gooey sound catching your attention.

“Wonder if your cunt is just as pretty?” be slides a harsh finger inside with a grunt, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, “want me to fuck your tight hole, princessa?”

And you nod. Too fucked out, too tired, too needy, too in love with him without either of you knowing it yet, to push him away.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #fluff #miguel fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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nariism · 1 year ago

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ೃ⁀➷ THIEF! ★

Based off this ask by @raphuna-nekomada !!

The first time, Neuvillette brushed it off as if nothing had happened.

He spent the entire morning looking for his dedicated Monday bow, black with silver intricacies that you personally picked out for him many years ago.

"Must be a sign from the universe not to go into work," you hummed from the bed, rolling over and inviting him back under the blanket. He hadn't indulged you on Monday, instead opting to use his Tuesday ribbon and huffing about how he would find the missing article later.

The second time it happened, he was suspicious.

Two days in a row his ribbon had gone missing, now his Wednesday ribbon had been used for Tuesday. It irked him, and while he had no other reason to suspect that you were the culprit, the way you beckoned him back to bed again flicked a switch in his mind.

Ultimately, he hadn't indulged you on Tuesday either.

The third time it happens, he saunters up to your side of the bed immediately.

"My love," he calls, and for a moment you think he hasn't caught you because he's lacking any sort of stern tone— the kind he would address Wriothesley with.

"Yes?" You peer up at him with a glimmer of mischief, clutching something to your chest. His eyes narrow and he kneels onto the bed beside you.

"Have you seen my ribbon?"

"I haven't."

"Are you sure? I'm certain I left it on the dresser last night."

"You must be imagining things, dearest."

You give him a sly, lazy smile and that's when he knows you're nothing but a terrible liar. He nearly scoffs in your face, leaning down closer so he can look at you with a hardening expression.

"And what exactly is your ploy here? Would you like me to wrestle it out of your hands?"

Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before you laugh, clearly finding his suggestion humorous. "Would it keep you at home longer if you did?"

The gears turn in his head at your words, slow realization washing over him as you blink up innocently. (Feigning innocence, actually. Poorly.)

Ah, so that's what this is all about.

"You want me to stay home?"

A beat of silence. "And if I said yes?"

"You know my answer." Yet he hasn't pulled away, gotten off the bed, and left for work like he does every morning. In fact, you're pretty sure he's drawn a couple inches closer to you.

The fabric you stole from him suddenly wraps around the back of the neck and you rein him in until he's hovering just above you, arms and legs caging you in on either side.

"Got you," you sing quietly.

His gaze flickers down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "You got me," he repeats in faux defeat, swooping down to capture you in a kiss.

He starts to think that maybe a day off wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but he has more than one trial today and there is no one to fill his role in his absence.

Still, Neuvillette decides that he can come to a compromise if only to hold you like this before his busy day. Besides, if he didn't indulge you now this would never end.

"Ten more minutes."

"Ouch. Stingy."

He smothers you under his body so you'll stop talking.

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joelmillerisapunk · 10 months ago

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Divide my legs like a mathematician

Dbf!Joel x virgin!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 4K

Summary: you find yourself drawn to Joel's confidence and charm, unable to resist the forbidden fruit. After sharing an intimate moment by the pool, you're left feeling both guilty and exhilarated, eager for more.

Warnings: 18+, virginity loss, reader has first kiss, age gap (reader is early 20's and Joel is however old you need him to be.) Reader has hair and breasts, and wears a bikini, unprotected p in v, m&f oral receiving, fingering, Joel comes twice. Joel, being a typical middle-aged man, saying "you know.."

Notes: please do not read if this kind of dynamic or situation is offputting or something you do not like or enjoy or object to. Please be responsible for yourself and your fic reading. Love you bye 💝 and don't ask about the title unless you wanna hear and see something weird 😂

The sun beats down relentlessly, its fiery rays reflecting off the shimmering surface of the pool. You've sought refuge by its side, lying on a vibrant, floral towel, your swimsuit clinging to your skin. Your eyes flutter closed, and you breathe in the scent of chlorine and sunscreen, letting the warmth of the day lull you into a state of peaceful relaxation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a shadow eclipsing the sun. You squint up, the brightness giving way to the familiar face of Joel Miller, your dad's old buddy. The one you haven't seen in a few years.

His salt-and-pepper hair, flecked with silver, is styled in a casual yet purposeful way. His muscular build is evident through his t-shirt and swim trunks. Joel's eyes, a stunning shade of chocolate brown, crinkle at the corners as he turns his attention to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, well, who do we have here?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over your body in a way that makes you feel a bit nervous.

You shield your eyes from the sun with your hand before you reply, "Hey Joel, my dad's not here. He had to run some errands."

Joel chuckles, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, good thing you're here to keep me company while I wait for him.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the heat that rises to your face. "I'm not here to entertain you," you say, trying to sound stern.

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You know you've sure grown up since I last saw ya, more beautiful than ever."

You can't help but feel a little flattered by his words, even if you try to hide it. You've always had a bit of a crush on Joel, but you know that he's off-limits, the forbidden fruit. He's your dad's friend, and he's much older than you. You've never even had a boyfriend, but there's something about him that you find irresistible. Maybe it's his confidence, or his sense of humor, or the way he makes you feel when he looks at you. Whatever it is, you can't help but be drawn to him.

You try to play it cool. "Oh, please, you're just saying that because you feel awkward being alone with me and you're trying to be nice."

"Maybe, maybe not," he admits. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're beautiful."

You feel your heart flutter at the way the word rolls off his tongue, but you try to hide your reaction. "Prove it," you say, challenging him.

Joel raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "Prove it?" he repeats. "How do you propose I do that?"

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "I dunno, race me to the other side of the pool, maybe?"

Joel's laughter rings out, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as he accepts the challenge. "You're on.” With a swift and fluid motion, he peels off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and arms. The garment lands carelessly on a nearby chair, but you barely notice as your gaze follows the contours of his physique. You notice how broad he is and how beautiful in return you think he is.

Joel dives into the pool, cutting through the water with surprising grace and agility. The splash startles you, breaking your reverie, and you take a deep breath diving into the pool swimming as fast as you can towards the other side of the pool.

The cool water feels refreshing against your skin, but you're determined to win the race. You swim with all your might, your legs kicking furiously behind you. But despite your best efforts, Joel reaches the other side just before you do.

You come up for air, panting slightly, and Joel grins at you. "I win."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Fine, you win," you concede. "But that doesn't mean you're right about me being beautiful."

Joel's expression softens, and he looks at you with a seriousness that takes you by surprise. "You know darlin, I'm not just sayin' it to flatter you," he says as he gets out of the pool and then helps you out. "I've always thought you were beautiful. But now, you're all grown up, and I can't help but notice the way you move, the way you challenge me, it's all so - intoxicating."

His words make you feel self-conscious, but also excited. You've never had anyone talk to you like this before, and it's both scary and thrilling.

Joel notices your reaction and takes a step closer to you. "I know this is unexpected, and maybe even a little inappropriate," he says. "But, I can't help the way I feel. And I think you feel it too, don'tcha darlin?”

"I-I don't know," you stammer.

Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "It's okay, take your time. I'm not goin’ anywhere." You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You've never felt this way before, and you're not sure what to do. "It's okay," he repeats. "I know it’s a lot to take in.” Joel moves so his body mere inches away from yours. "You ever done anythin' before, you got a boyfriend?”

You pause, feeling the air get tense. You can't believe how abrupt he is to just ask like this. You shake your head, feeling a bit ashamed you've never even kissed a boy before, let alone have a boyfriend.

Joel can see the uncertainty in your eyes, but he also sees curiosity and desire. He takes a deep breath, and his eyes never leave yours. "You know, I can teach you how to please a man, how to be pleasured. I wanna make sure that when you do decide to be with someone, you're not so inexperienced."

Your eyes flitter around, never fully meeting Joel's gaze. "I dunno I've never done anything like this before," you admit.

Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand. "I know babygirl," he says. "And I'm not going to push you into anything. But I want you to know that I'm here for you, if you want me to be."

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You know that what Joel is suggesting is wrong, but you can't help feeling like a snake, trying to convince yourself to take a bite of the juiciest looking apple you’ve ever seen. He's always been so helpful, and now that he's offering to show you the ways of intimacy, you can't help but be tempted. You really don't want to be so inexperienced when it's your real first time. "I want you to teach me Joel," you whisper.

Joel's face lights up, "I promise to make this a learning experience for you, somethin’ you'll never forget."

He takes your hand and leads you to a secluded spot by the pool, sits down on the grass, and pulls you down next to him. "First things first, let's start with the basics. You ever touch yourself?"

You shake your head, feeling yourself fill with embarrassment.

"S'okay," he says. "This is all new to you. Just do what I do, okay?"

He takes your hand and guides it to your bottoms, helping you to slip your fingers under the fabric. You can feel the heat radiating from your core, and you gasp as Joel's and your fingers brush against your clit.

"Just relax," he says, his voice soothing. "S’all about pleasure."

As you continue to touch yourself, you can feel something building inside of you. It's a strange, unfamiliar sensation, but it's also incredibly pleasurable. You moan softly as Joel continues to guide your hand, his lips close to your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. "Just relax and enjoy the sensation." You can feel the heat radiating from your core, and you can feel your body tensing as you get closer and closer to your first orgasm. Joel can sense this too, and he places a hand on your belly, feeling each jolt and tremor as it passes through you.

"Just let go, baby," he whispers. "I've got you. You're safe."

But suddenly, you pull your hand away, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I can't," you say, your voice shaking. "It feels too weird."

Joel can see the look of fear and uncertainty in your eyes, and he pulls you against his chest.

"Yes, you can, I promise," he says, his voice soothing and reassuring. "Just let yourself feel the pleasure. Let me help you, baby. Tell me what you're feeling, baby," he says, his voice gentle and coaxing. "What does it feel like when I touch you like this?" He starts rubbing circles on your clit again.

You take a deep breath, trying to put your feelings into words. "It feels...good," you say, your voice hesitant. "But it's also scary. I've never done this before."

"I know, baby," Joel coos. "But there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm here with you, and I'll never let anything bad happen to you."

Joel can see that you need a different approach, something that will help you to relax and let go of your inhibitions.

He pulls away from you, his eyes meeting yours. "Let's try something a little different," he says with a gentle voice. Before you can protest, Joel is moving down your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your skin. When he reaches your thighs he gently guides them further apart, leaving kisses all the way until he reaches your swimsuit bottoms, he pulls them to the side, exposing your clit. You gasp as you feel his tongue flick against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear.

"Just relax," Joel murmurs, his voice soothing. "Let me show you how good this can feel."

He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers slipping inside of you to stroke your G-spot. You can feel pleasure building inside of you, more intense than anything you've ever felt before.

"Yes, just like that," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go, babygirl. Let yourself feel it."

And suddenly, you do. The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, so intense that you can barely breathe. You cry out whatever vowels and constants your brain can, and your body shakes with the force of it. Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing to work their magic. Another orgasm builds inside of you, even more intense than the first. You can feel yourself on the edge, your body trembling with pleasure.

"Come on, babygirl, come again, such a good girl."

And you do. This orgasm tears through you like a lightning bolt, so intense that you see stars behind your closed eyes.

Finally, the orgasm subsides, and you collapse back onto the grass, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel moves beside you, his arms wrapped around you as he holds you close to his body.

"How do you feel?" he murmurs, his lips close to your ear.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I feel...amazing," you say, quietly.

Joel smiles, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm glad," he says. "That's exactly how I wanted you to feel." Joel's expression is gentle as he looks at you, gauging your reaction. He then reaches down and slowly starts to undo the drawstring of his swim trunks. "You ever seen a cock before?"

You shake your head, feeling a mix of curiosity and nervousness. Joel seems to sense your apprehension, and he takes his time as he pulls down his swim trunks, revealing his erect length. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight before you, the way the sunlight dances off his smooth, taut skin, the way the veins protrude just slightly, creating a roadmap. Your gaze drifts down to the base, where the same salt and peppered hair that graces his head dusts his pelvis. Joel gives you a moment to take it all in before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper, "Do you wanna touch it?" The question hangs in the air.

You nod, feeling a surge of excitement and curiosity. Joel's hand finds yours, guiding it towards his stiffening cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. As you wrap your fingers around his shaft, you marvel at the weight and firmness of it in your hand.

"Mmm, that feels so good," Joel moans, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxes into your touch.

Encouraged by his reaction, you begin to explore his cock more fully. You stroke your hand up and down its length, feeling it twitch and throb beneath your fingertips. Joel helps guide your movements, his hand covering yours as he shows you the rhythm he likes best.

"Tighten your grip a little... yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his breath hitching as you increase the pressure. Joel's moans become louder and more frequent, and you can feel him grow even harder in your hand. It takes no time at all for Joel to reach his peak.

"Fuck baby, I'm gonna come," Joel gasps, his hips thrusting forward.

You pull your hand away, unsure of what to do. Joel opens his eyes and looks at you. You look like a deer in headlights, and the sight almost makes him come without help. "It's okay, baby," he says with a gentle voice. "You don't have to do anything. Just wanted to give you an idea of what it feels like, what it looks like, what it tastes like," he says softly, "But, if you're curious, I can show you how to pleasure a man with your mouth."

You nod, your curiosity getting the better of you. "I want to, I wanna learn."

Joel smiles, his eyes softening. "Okay, just remember to take it slow. There's no rush."

Joel takes your hand and guides it down to his cock, which is already rock-hard and pulsing with desire. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you're eager to explore him further. With a gentle nudge, he encourages you to take him into your mouth.

At first, you're hesitant. You've never done this before, and you're not sure what to do. But Joel is patient and kind, gently stroking your hair and murmuring words of encouragement.

"That's it, baby," he whispers. "Just relax and take your time. Mmm, yeah, just like that."

Emboldened by his words, you begin to explore him more fully. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a low moan of pleasure, and you can feel his hips bucking up towards you.

Encouraged you take him deeper into your mouth. You suck harder, your cheeks hollowing out as you work him over. Joel's moans grow louder and more frequent. Suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair, guiding your head up and down in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna come," he gasps, his voice tight with pleasure.

You pull back, letting his cock slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. Joel opens his eyes and looks at you, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Keep goin’ like you were, just swallow if you can, it's natural."

Joel's eyes flutter closed as he helps guide your head back down to his cock, savoring the feeling of him growing hard in your mouth once more. You wrap your lips around him, taking him in slowly, and begin to move your head in a gentle rhythm. Joel's breathing grows heavy as he lets out a low moan, his fingers finding their way into your hair.

You can feel him tensing up, and then, with a shudder, he comes, filling your mouth with warmth. The taste is strange and unfamiliar, but you swallow, determined to please him. You pull your mouth away from him quickly, probably a little too quickly. "Joel," you say, your voice hesitant as you look over at him, catching his breath. "Can we... do it?"

Joel looks at you, his expression serious. "Do what, babygirl?" he asks, puffing out a response through caught breathes even though he knows what you're asking.

"You know...have sex," you whisper.

Joel's eyes widen, and he looks at you with a mix of surprise and desire. "Baby, I just came," he says, his voice gentle. "Let me catch my breath for a bit, and then we can figure somethin' out."

Joel's eyes meet yours, and he can see the slight hint of disappointment in them. But he understands, and he takes your face gently in his hands, leaning in close so that his mouth is almost touching yours. "Don't worry, babygirl," he says, his voice soft and soothing. "I'll make it worth your while." You can feel your heart flutter at his words, and you can't help but smile. Joel's breathing begins to return to normal, and he pulls back slightly, looking at you with a serious expression. "I think I have a couple of ideas," he says. "But, it's gonna take some effort on both our parts."

You nod, eager to please him and experience more of the pleasure he's shown you.

Joel takes a deep breath, looking at you with a serious expression. "I want you to take your top off."

You look at him in surprise, your hands instinctively going to cover your chest. "What? Why?" You ask, your voice hesitant.

Joel reaches out to take your hands in his, his eyes meeting yours. "Because it's a natural part of a woman's body, and it's one of the things that turns me on the most," he explains. "And I want to be able to pleasure you fully, without any barriers between us."

You bite your lower lip, you've never been naked in front of anyone before, and the thought of doing so with Joel is both terrifying and thrilling. But you trust him, and you want to please him. Taking a deep breath, you nod your head, signaling your agreement. Joel's eyes softened as he smiled, his hands moving to gently guide you onto his lap. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you straddle him, your thighs brushing against his. His fingers deftly undo the knot that holds your bikini top in place, and the fabric falls away, leaving your breasts exposed to the warm summer air. You feel a shiver run down your spine, your nipples hardening in response to the exposure.

Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your bare chest, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Mmm, so perfect baby.” Before you can respond, Joel leans in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples. You gasp at the sensation, your hands instinctively going to his hair as he sucks and licks at your breast. Joel's hands come up to cup your other breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. You had never felt anything like this before, the sensation of his mouth on your breast, his hands caressing your body. It's intoxicating.

Joel's hands start to wander down your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. He reaches your bikini bottoms, and you can feel him tugging at the fabric. "Lift up for me, baby,"

You do as he asks, lifting your hips off the ground as he pulls your bikini bottoms down your legs. You're completely naked now, exposed to Joel's gaze, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you feel a thrill run through your body. Joel's eyes are dark with desire as he takes in the sight of your bare body.

"Fuck, babygirl, you are so damn delicious," his hands reach out to touch you. He runs his fingers along your inner thighs, teasing you. "Spread your legs for me, baby, nice and wide," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You comply, spreading your legs apart.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "You have no idea how fucking sexy you are, do you? I've been dreaming about this for years, imagining what it would be like to touch you, to taste you."

You gasp as Joel's hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. "You're so wet," he growls, his fingers circling your clit in slow, deliberate movements. "I can feel how much you want me, how much you need me. You think you're ready, baby?"

You nod, feeling a surge of excitement and nervousness. Joel moves between your legs, his body hovering over yours. He looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

"If you want to stop at any time, just tell me," he says. "I won't be upset."

You nod and shyly say, “I'm ready.”

Joel positions himself at your entrance, his tip pressing gently against your opening. He looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort or fear. "Just breathe, babygirl," his voice soothes you a bit. "It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it'll feel good real soon."

You nod, taking a deep breath as Joel starts to push inside of you. You feel a sharp pain as he breaks through your barrier, and you can't help but gasp at the sensation. “Ah, Joel, it hurts," you whimper, your eyes watering.

Joel curses under his breath, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm sorry, babygirl," he says, his voice gentle. "I know, I know, I gotcha.” He continues to move slowly, giving your body time to adjust to the intrusion. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and you can't help but wince at the discomfort. Joel leans down, almost kissing you, his lips soft and gentle against yours. "It's okay, babygirl," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

As he continues to move, the pain starts to fade, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation. It's not entirely unpleasant, but it's not exactly comfortable either. Joel seems to sense your confusion, and he starts to move his hips in a slow, circular motion. "Feel that, babygirl?" he touches your lower belly where you can feel his cock hitting. "That's your body gettin’ used to me. It's gonna feel good soon, I promise."

And he's right. As he continues to move, the sensation begins to shift, becoming something more pleasurable. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to Joel's movements. "That's it, babygirl," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel it. Let yourself feel me."

He starts to move faster, his hips thrusting harder against yours. You think you can feel yourself getting closer to another orgasm and Joel can sense it too. "You like that, babygirl? You like feeling my cock inside of you? You like feeling me stretch you open, fill you up?"

You nod, a small whimper coming from the back of your throat.

"Good," he breathes, pushing his hips deeper into yours, the friction making him groan. "Tell me when you're gonna come, sweetheart."

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I-I'm gonna come," you gasp.

Joel's eyes widen, and he nods, his hips thrusting harder against yours. "Come for me, babygirl," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "Come on my cock."

The orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, so powerful that it feels like every nerve in your body is firing at once. You can't help but cry out, a loud, primal sound that probably alerts everyone in close proximity to what's happening. Your body convulses with pleasure, every muscle tensing and then releasing as waves of ecstasy wash over you.

Joel's thrusts become more erratic, his hips slamming against yours with a fierce urgency as he chases his own release. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps, each one hot and moist against your ear. "Fuck, babygirl," he groans. "I'm so close. I'm gonna come too." You can feel him throbbing inside of you, each pulse of his cock sending another shiver of pleasure through your body. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of you, wanting to feel every inch of him as he fills you up with his warmth.

And then he's there, his body tensing as he reaches his own peak. "Fuck, babygirl," he groans. "Oh fuck!" He collapses on top of you, his breath hot and heavy against your neck.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest. For a moment, neither of you say anything, both of you too caught up in the afterglow of what just happened.

Finally, Joel lifts his head, looking down at you with a mixture of awe and desire. "Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice still low and husky. "That was...incredible."

You wrap your arms around him, feeling a surge of affection and gratitude. "Thank you," you whisper into his ear as you instinctively start stroking his hair.

Joel looks up at you, "What are you thankin’ me for?"

You feel a mix of embarrassment and shyness. "For showing me how good it can feel."

Joel smiles. "You're welcome, baby girl. I'm glad I could be the one to show you." He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, in the feeling of Joel's lips on yours, in the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Your first kiss.

But all too soon, the bliss comes to an end. Joel pulls away, his eyes meeting yours. "I better get goin'," he says. "Your dad will be back soon."

You nod, feeling a surge of disappointment. "Okay," you say kinda pouty.

Joel smirks and lifts your chin in his hand so you're looking at him. "Don't look so sad, babygirl," he says, his voice gentle. "This is just the beginning. I promise to show you so much more."

With that, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead and he gets up, putting his swim trunks back on. You watch as he walks away, your heart heavy in your chest. You know that what just happened was wrong, that it's not something that should have happened. But you can't help the way you feel, the way your body responds to Joel's touch. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You know that you should feel guilty, that you should be ashamed of what just happened. But all you can feel is a sense of excitement, of anticipation. You know that this is just the beginning.

And you can't wait.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #virgin!reader

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wordbunch · 5 months ago

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healer's healer [Elrond x reader]

a/n: WELL! look at that. the people want ROP Elrond and of course I give them Elrond ♡ it's short but bear with me - I haven't done creative writing in ages and I feel very rusty, but he deserves good things. 🥹

I didn't watch the S2 trailer bc I never do that, but I did see screenshots of baby El after some battle 😭😭😭 so this vaguely goes off of that. Enjoy! 💞

Your breath hitched in your throat as you hurried down the spiraling staircase from your chambers, having noticed a familiar (and beloved) figure on the horizon. Though he was approaching uncharacteristically slowly, without mistake it was your spouse in the distance, returning from his latest task along with his companions. As fast as your legs carried you, you ran out to meet them - well, Elrond - and your heart clenched at his disheveled and evidently injured state. Immediately you scurried to the horse he was on, all drawn into himself and with scars etched into his handsome face.

“Meleth nín,” you breathed out, helping him down as gently as you could muster. Elrond clung onto you as soon as you came in contact, as he held one arm protectively over his middle.

“Beloved,” he replied, fatigue dripping from his words. “I have returned to you… as promised.” His attempt at a soft smile turned into a painful grimace as you slowly walked to somewhere he could at least sit down comfortably. You helped lower him onto the nearest settee you could find and began anxiously examining his wounded form.

“I knew you would keep your promise, always,” you whispered to him, cradling his face in your hands with a feathery touch. The way he was looking at you was shaking you to the bone - in his storm-colored eyes you could see an echo of many a thing he had seen, found, and been through, and you could all but hear your heart crack. “Breathe,” you attempted to soothe him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he winced, meeting your eyes once again, shakily reaching for your hand laid across his scarred cheek. It was easy to notice his breaths were heavy and uneven. “I love you,” he added hastily, stopping your thoughts in their tracks, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get many more chances to lavish you in his feelings. “I-I did not know whether… whether I would have another opportunity t-to… tell you that… one more time.”

“My brightest star,” you breathed out, leaning your forehead against his and reveling in his presence after the agonizing weeks of uncertainty. Elrond soaked in your warmth and softly nudged his nose against yours. “We will not speak of such things, ever. You are home now, you are safe, and I am here. We are going to get you healed, I promise. Neither of us is going anywhere, ever”

“Until the whole Middle-earth is no more than a distant memory,” he quietly echoed the vows you had exchanged quite a few moons ago. You were hoping you could actually sense, and not that you were just deceiving yourself, that he was beginning to feel more at ease (if not less in pain) only through being in your arms once again.

“Meleth nín,” you inched back only slightly to look at his state, “do you think you could be strong enough to get up with me and walk to our chambers? I will hold you the whole time,” you squeezed his chilly hands in encouragement, eliciting a subtle nod from your spouse. “Then we will make you comfortable, warm, and I will do everything in my power to heal you. From the things you are able to tell me, just as much as from the things you cannot speak of yet.”

Immediately his arm was around your shoulders as he reluctantly rose to his feet. You heard him breathe through his teeth, but you knew he could do it. He was as strong as he was kind, and you were more than willing to bring back his joyous laugh and twinkling eyes.

“How strong have you gotten in these weeks, my dove,” he quipped, doing his best to lighten the somber atmosphere. “I have got a true elven warrior by my side.”

“I have only tried to match you, I admit.”

♡

I should try to somehow revamp my taglist too :/

#from my pocketses #trop #the rings of power #rings of power #rop #trop season 2 #rings of power fanfiction #the rings of power fanfiction #elrond peredhel #elrond #elrond x reader #elrond fanfic #elrond imagine #trop elrond #rop elrond #trop x reader #rop x reader

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gaywineauntsstuff · 2 months ago

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Dick Grayson is my favorite lil guy

And my favorite way of consuming content of my favorite lil guy is the core 5 titans

There is also about 5 billion pieces of media where these 5 interact and some of it sucks so here I am scrapbooking canon together with glue and scissors so I can talk about how I view Dicks relationship with the other OG titans and how different these relationships are from one another while all still being boiled down to found family love

Dick & Donna: Listen. To. Me. These two aren't besties, or fav teammates or siblings. These two are the sun and earth revolving around each other except they each think the other one is the Sun. Dick Grayson and Donna Troy are the blueprint for platonic soulmates. Dick and Donna make everyone around them believe in ancient story by plato "humans once had 4 arms and legs and 2 faces and the God Zeus split them in half for their hubris and now they are destined to roam the earth forever looking for their other half". If y'all think Dick wasn't doing well after Jason died?? Donna Troys death fundamentally changed who Dick Grayson was and how he was written in teams for years. Donna Troy and Dick Grayson absolutely have debated getting platonically married (not canon but it is in my heart) and the only reason they haven't is BC if they do, Donna will kidnap Dick and never let him within 1000 feet of Bruce Wayne and Gotham.

Dick & Roy: remember how I said Dick was fucked up post Troias death in the comics? yeah? Roy Harper is the only reason he made it out of that period of his life alive. These two are like fire and Gasoline, they're quick and angry and always inexplicably near each other. They are VICIOUS with one another in a way they almost never are with anyone else. They try so hard to ruin their relationship bc implicitly they know (unless its the new 52 which I ignore for my own mental wellbeing-hey I did say this was a scrap book of canons) they'll always be there for each other. Roy Harper never misses, Dick Grayson cannot fall and yet Dick is there to hold Roy when his hand trembles and Roy is there to catch Dick when he loses his Grip.

Dick Grayson is the first person Roy calls to get Lian

Roy Harper is the designated keep Dick Grayson alive even if he has to tie the bastard up-

Dick (and wally depending on the run) help Roy with his addiction)

these two are each others roman empires

Dick & Wally: to cut back on the pretentious seriousness of this post. Every time these two are drawn together be it 80s road trips or being the most likeable part of tom Taylors run. Wally west always reads like he's about to invite Dick to swing with him and his wife. If you see them as platonic, romantic (right person wrong time is my favourite Fanon flavour but canonically I like em besties) or somewhere in between Wally West is always Dick Graysons best friend. There is something so wholesome about the fact that Wally canonically stalks checks up on Dick Grayson as much as he does his wife and twins and Dick who is a bat, notorious for expressing their love via breaking into your house and doing your casework for you. Is getting stalked checked up on by someone who loves him without it triggering his "see obviously you're not good enough they're literally babysitting you" paranoia. its like meeting your partners love language needs but its for deeply messed up individuals. They canonically call themselves best friends, and while Dick will always love Roy he always Likes being around Wally (as well as love him but that's a given)

(sidetone are you even besties if people don't think you're dating when they meet you?)

Dick & Garth: The amount of trust, love and respect that tempest holds for Nightwing melts my damn heart (but then again everything garth does melts my damn heart, baby Garth you will always be famous) they are such an underrated pairing and I love the fact that no matter the media, whether they're rivals like in the cartoons or Garth deferring to Dick as leader to the point where he disobeys aquaman (rebirth) Bc yeah THATS how much my purple eyed perfect boy trusts wing. There is always this really sweet understanding that Garth can go to Dick for advice (he asks for Donna advice in titans and advice on his relationship with Dolphin in the comics). And him and Dicks reunion post RIC? I love them sm. Its just... There was also a period of time where Garth was the only titan with sense and tbh sometimes its refreshing to see that when the rest of them (except donna she was dead at the time we never say a bad word about donna in this household) are being fucking insane

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging.

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim.

“My entire Christmas bonus.”

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh.

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this.

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work.

“Please, Steve.”

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours.

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process.

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away.

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today.

Javier P.

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office.

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with.

Every single woman, except you.

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner.

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo.

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed.

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk.

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her.

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs.

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails.

Red chipped paint.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway.

Probably.

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you?

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless.

Stupid fucking Peña.

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though.

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap.

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday.

Jesus.

You know way too much about him.

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails.

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette.

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night.

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower.

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt.

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes.

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected.

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses.

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours.

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt.

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach.

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation.

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie.

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier.

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up.

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift.

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things.

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away.

Javier traded for your name?

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting.

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again.

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident.

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend.

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people.

Javier’s office.

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand.

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him.

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult.

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab.

What a foolish question.

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home.

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall.

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow.

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out.

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends.

“So this is about the secret Santa.”

Of course he wouldn’t get it.

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him.

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first.

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms.

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide.

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye.

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night.

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.”

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go.

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you.

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole.

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth.

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts.

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt.

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment.

Jesus you’re soaked.

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him.

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here.

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock.

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission.

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you.

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor.

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk.

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time.

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning.

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk.

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while.

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin.

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss.

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait.

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier.

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting.

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

#pedrostoriesgift23 #lincolndjarin #taro-666 <3 #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

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endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

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the only intermission (Ewan Mitchell x f!reader)

a/n: this is a direct result of my wishing that Ewan would do a play here in London so I can watch him. So, here you go <3

main masterlist ▪︎ previous part

You and Ewan share a moment during intermission.

The play's intermission is under way, with twenty minutes of reprieve for the actors and the audience. Bethany had gone to the bar to grab a drink with Harry, and somehow, to Ewan's obvious delight, he was able to corner you out in the foyer.

The two of you stand at a semi-secluded spot away from the main doors, clear of the passage into the theatre.

"So, what do you think of it so far?" Ewan leans against the wall, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, and hoping you didn't notice that he kept shuffling closer to you.

There had been a two-foot distance, which became one, after he said something along the lines of—Wait, I can't hear you, say that again?—even though you are well away from the bustle.

And now, his arm is close enough to brush against yours as you respond, "I really enjoyed it. Emma's absolutely brilliant! I mean, the whole cast is amazing, but Emma's a standout for me."

"For me as well," Ewan agrees. He's mesmerized by the way you beam in enthusiasm.

"I wanted to ask you if you've ever done a play? I think you would be really good at it!"

Ewan feels the heat rush to his cheeks. "Really? No, I haven't been in a play yet—"

"Well you should!" You touch his forearm lightly. For but a second. He wishes you hadn't let go.

"Should I?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Ewan," you say, smiling and tilting your head. Is this flirting?

Can you do it some more?

"If you say so." He tries to match your tone. "Will you be there to watch me when I do?"

"Am I invited to press night?"

Either his own desires are fooling him, or you shuffle closer to him this time.

"You'll be front and centre, darling."

You nod in appreciation. "Well, I would be honoured. You know, if they do another rendition of Romeo and Juliet, you should go for the part of Romeo."

He laughs lightly, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Only if you would be Juliet."

Your face contorts in apparent confusion. "But... I'm not an actress."

His smile drops, thinking that his attempt at flirtation flew right over your head.

"No, darling—" he stammers. "I, I just meant—"

You throw your head back, giggling to yourself. "Ohhh, you make it too easy!"

He can't help but join you, the trill of your shared laughter echoing in your little corner of the room.

"You're mean," he clicks his tongue, his voice lowering.

"Hmm. So do you still want to take me out?"

You most definitely move closer to him. He sees it clearly, and he mirrors your motion, gently brushing his fingers along the side of your face.

There is a moment of static, electrifying tension. His eyes are drawn down to your lips, which part slightly.

But it all dissipates when the usher's booming voice cuts through, announcing that the play is to resume in five minutes.

You sigh. "We should head back inside."

No. Not yet. Would Bethany be cross with him if he asks to switch seats so he can be close to you for the next hour?

He feels silly—he can't even wait until after the play.

"Hold on," he says, grabbing your hand when you start to turn away. "I do still want to take you out."

"Oh," you smile sweetly. "Great." You glance around quickly, likely checking if Bethany already went back inside. "We'll talk after the play?"

"Yes, please, darling," he exhales, giving your hand a squeeze. Why can't plays have hour-long intermissions? Maybe you wouldn't be averse to just walking out of there and having that date way sooner than expected.

There will be plenty of other nights to watch the play anyway.

"Come on," you tug at his hand, tilting your head toward the entrance. "Time to go, handsome."

You hold on to his hand, and a shiver runs down his spine, your touch sending a surge of warmth through him.

Your skin feels so soft. And you called him handsome.

As you merge back into the crowd, shuffling toward the doors, he leans in close. "You know," he whispers, "when we go on our date, there won't be any intermissions like this."

"You won't need a break from me? I can be annoying, you know," you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles softly, his gaze holding yours. "I think I can handle it, beautiful."

You blush, lowering your head. He feels pleased with himself.

He continues, "Besides, I have a feeling you'll keep me on my toes."

On his toes, on his knees, on his back—whatever position you want him in.

Oh, he's going to hell.

#the only intermission #the only place #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd

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ckret2 · 8 months ago

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Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch.

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live.

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him.

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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tinylilacbun · 5 months ago

Note

Rafe from s2 two, with the sweetest reader, who is completely crazy about the idea of nedding to be in control of *something* in his life, and little reader being his safe place because he gets to take care of her, he is going al psycho and just about to act impulsive again but then he remembers he has her, so everything is going to be fine, he tells himself🤧

Rafe stands on the balcony, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes to stop himself from crying after just hearing from his dad how 'he fucked up everything'.

"Man up..." He mutters to himself, a choked sob escaping him.

His attention gets drawn to a phone dinging nearby multiple times, glancing to his left he sees Wheezie's phone laying on a table. After checking that no one's there he walks over to grab the phone, looking at all the messages from an unknown number.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who it is, his anger and frustration building up again. Sarah, the golden child. Every time it's about her and it pisses him off. This whole ordeal with his dad a few minutes ago was, again, just because of her.

A moment of hesitation passes as he thinks about confronting Sarah, to make sure she keeps her mouth shut about everything that happened. He's about to message her back over Wheezie's phone but he stops, he isn't in the right mind to act rational and this could all go south quickly knowing that somehow Sarah always manages to rile him up simply for just existing.

"No, no..." He mumbles, erasing what was about to send and delete the messages all together, blocking the number he places the phone back on the table.

Rafe steps back again just in time as Wheezie comes out. "Have you seen my phone?"

"What?" He turns to her.

"Have you seen my phone?" She repeats and Rafe sighs, acting all nonchalant.

"No I haven't seen your damn phone."

She groans and is about to leave, stopping in the doorway. "Oh, and Y/n is here. Said she'll wait in your room."

He visibly relaxes at the mere mention of your name, nodding his head he walks past his sister. "Thanks."

He makes his way to his room, opening the door and quickly locking it behind him his gaze softens the moment his eyes lock with yours, your bright smile and the happiness radiating off you just by seeing him.

"Hey baby." He smiles a little, striding over to you he cups your face in his large hands, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. "What y'doing here, hm?"

You frown at him. "You forget? You said we make disney night today..."

"Nah, 'course I didn't forget. It's- I was just wondering that you're here so early. Even went to get your favorite snacks yesterday." He says, letting go of your face he walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer, pulling out various snacks and throwing them on the bed beside you.

Rafe chuckles at your wide eyes from seeing all the sugar, knowing he'll have one hell of an energetic little on his hands but he couldn't care less right now. Your happiness is all he needs right now.

You're practically his therapy, it's funny how regressing is your type of dealing with all the stuff you go or went through but somehow heal him as well by letting him take care of you and making him feel appreciated for the things he does, unlike his dad.

The only thing he hasn't messed up yet surprisingly is his relationship with you. You're still looking at him like he's the only person on the planet, the only one you can run to when things get rough and Rafe relishes in that fact. It makes him have control of at least something.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when he hears you talk to him, holding up a bag of gummy worms. "Help pwease."

With a smile he walks over to stand in front of you again, taking the bag and ripping it open, dropping a few worms onto your awaiting palm before popping one in his mouth as well.

"So, what should we watch first?" He asks, grabbing the remote from his bedside he lays down beside you with his arm behind his head.

"Mmm...Beauty and the Beast!" You grin.

"A'ight, whatever the princess wants." He searches for the movie, huffing out a breath when you collapse beside him, letting you snuggle into his side with your lamb plushie tucked under your arm.

As the movie starts playing he wraps an arm around you, his cheek pressed against your head. "Y'know I love you, right? More than anything..."

You lift your head to look at him. "I love you too daddy. Mm, more than my lamb."

"Damn, that's...that's gotta mean something."

As long as he has you by his side everything will be alright, in his eyes at least.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

#little!reader #daddy!rafe drabble #age regression

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fairqves · 8 months ago

Text

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU !

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. enemy! park jongseong x fem! reader synopsis. you and jay had always despised each other- at least that’s what you thought until jay got a girlfriend, your true hidden feelings making its way to the surface- uh oh.. genre. angst ,, fluff ,, wc. 2500. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ this is so labyrinth coded 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

if you enjoyed reading, please like & reblog !! <3

YOU HAD KNOWN PARK JONGSEONG FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, AND YOU HATED HIM FOR NEARLY JUST AS LONG.

from the very first moment you laid eyes on him in kindergarten, he had been nothing but a thorn in your side. it all started when you had asked the young boy to be friends- instead of a yes, you got water spat on your face as he cackled at you- yes, cackled.

you despised him. his teasing, his smirks, his constant attempts to one-up you in every single aspect of life—it all grated on your nerves, day after day.

the relationship between you and jay was well-known. your friends and family had long since accepted it as a fact of life. you couldn't bare to stand him, and he couldn't stand you. it’s as simple as that.

until it wasn't.

the first crack in your carefully constructed wall of hatred came when jay got a girlfriend. her name was minji, and she was everything you were not—soft-spoken, gentle, and sweet. she was always by his side, laughing at his jokes, holding his hand. it shouldn't have mattered to you at all. in fact, you should have been relieved. if he was busy with his girlfriend, maybe he would leave you alone for once in your years of living.

but it didn't feel like relief. it felt like something else entirely, something you knew was wrong, something sharp and painful that you couldn't quite place. you found yourself watching them more than you would care to admit, your eyes drawn to the way he looked at her, his eyes sparkling, the way he touched her. and with each passing day, the ache in your chest grew stronger, more insistent. more unbearable.

you really did try to ignore it, to push it away deep inside of you and pretend it didn't exist, but it was no use. the feelings you had harboured for so long, hidden beneath layers of anger, resentment, and pride were bubbling up to the surface. you were falling for him, and you were falling deep. it was the most terrifying thing you had ever experienced as a teenage girl.

so, you did the only reasonable thing you could think of, you avoided him. you stopped going to places where you knew he would be, you stopped engaging in the petty arguments that had once been a staple of your interactions and everyday life. you had distanced yourself as much as you possibly could, hoping that the feelings would fade away with time.

but jay noticed. of course he did. and he didn't like it one bit.

one evening after school, after yet another successful day of avoiding jay, you found yourself cornered in the hallway of your apartment building, which he knew the address of from a day where you were sick, and delivered you your missed homework and soup, which he claimed he was forced to deliver to you.

he had been waiting for you, his expression a mixture of confusion, a bit of sadness? and anger.

"what's your problem, y/n?" he demanded, his voice low and tense. "why have you been avoiding me, huh?"

you crossed your arms, shaking off the butterflies from talking to him for the first time in weeks, trying to keep your composure. "i haven't been avoiding you," you lied, your voice shaken and unsteady

"bullshit," he snapped. "you've been avoiding me for weeks. did i do something to piss you off more than usual? because if i did, ill fix it.”

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "it's nothing, don’t worry. just leave me alone, jay."

"no," he said, stepping closer. "i won't leave you alone until you tell me what's going on, y/n." he whispered.

his proximity made it hard to breathe, let alone think. the scent of his cologne, the intensity of his gaze—it was all way too much for you to bare. you could feel the walls you had so carefully built around your heart beginning to crumble.

"why do you care?" you shot back, your voice trembling anxiously. "you have minji now. go bother her for all i care!”

jay's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening with a frown. "this isn't about minji. this is about you and me. why are you avoiding me?"

"because i can't stand you! being around you!" you shouted angrily, the words bursting from you before you could stop them.

"why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "what did i do that's so bad you can't even be in the same room as me?"

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. but the emotions that have been building inside you the past few weeks were too strong, too overwhelming. you couldn't keep them bottled up any longer.

"because i’m in love with you, okay?" you yelled, tears streaming down your face. "i love you, and it hurts to see you with somebody that’s not me..”

for a moment, there was silence. jay stared at you, his eyes wide with shock. the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the pounding of your heart in your ears, as you cursed under your breathe shutting your eyes anxiously in panic.

"you… love me?" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, unable to speak. the confession had left you feeling raw and vulnerable, and you didn't know what to do next.

jay's expression hardened, and without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart shattered into a million pieces as you fell onto your knees and sobbed, you sobbed for your broken heart and for the loss of the relationship you had with jay- gone forever.

the next two weeks were a blur of constant pain and complete and utter embarrassment. jay ignored you completely, avoiding you at every turn. you threw yourself into your studies, trying to distract yourself from the aching heartbreak and void inside you. your friends noticed the change, but you couldn't bring yourself to explain. how could you tell them that the person you had hated for so long had become the one you loved? and even worse, broke your heart.

you saw jay and minji together more often than you would have liked. each time, it felt like a knife twisting in your heart. but you forced yourself to smile, to act like everything was fine. it was the only way you knew how to cope.

one day, while you were sitting in the campus courtyard, lost in your thoughts, someone sat down next to you. you looked up to see taehyun, one of your friends from class. his presence was a welcome distraction from the feelings inside you.

"hey," he said, patting your shoulder giving you a warm smile. "you look like you could use some company."

you smiled back, grateful for his kindness. "yeah, i guess i could."

taehyun was easy to talk to, he was kind and understanding, and before long, you found yourself laughing and joking with him. it was a relief to feel something other than pain for the first time in the last few weeks, even if it was only for a little while. he pulled you into a hug, after you had finally opened up about your situation and you let yourself relax in his embrace, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, sniffling away your tears.

unbeknownst to you, jay was watching from a distance. he had come to the courtyard to clear his head from everything, from the confusion and the dull feeling in his heart, but the sight of you with taehyun stopped him in his tracks. the way you laughed, the way you hugged him—it should have made him happy to see you smiling again after breaking your heart. but instead, it filled him with a burning jealousy and sadness.

seeing you with taehyun brought everything into sharp focus. and it suddenly hit him- he realized that he had been a fool, pushing you away when he should have been holding you close. he couldn't deny it anymore longer—he was deeply in love with you. and he couldn't stand the thought of losing you to somebody else.

jay knew what he had to do- that evening, jay broke up with minji. it was one of the hardest things he had ever done, she was a kind and sweet girl, but he knew it was the right thing. minji deserved someone who could love her- and that wasn’t him. his heart had always belonged to you.

the next day, jay found you sitting alone in the library, studying and deep in focus. he approached anxiously and cautiously, his heart feeling like it was about to explode in his chest.

"can we talk please?" he asked, his voice quiet.

you looked up, surprise and shock flickering in your eyes before looking down again. "kinda busy- what do you want, jay?"

he took a deep breath, steeling himself. "i'm sorry. for everything, y/n. i never should have ignored you. i was in denial, i was scared and confused, but that's no excuse."

you stayed silent anxiously playing with your fingers, waiting for him to continue.

"i broke up with minji," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "because i realized something that took a while for me to realize but i’m here now- i realized that i'm in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. "you… you what?”

"i'm in love with you, y/n. i’m so in love with you" he repeated, his voice breaking as his eyes shined with sincerity. "i've been in love with you for a long time, but i was too stupid to see it. and when you told me how you felt, it scared the hell out of me. i didn't know how to handle it, so i pushed you away. but i can't do that anymore."

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart aching with a mixture of hope and fear. "do you really mean it?" you whispered.

jay nodded, his gaze unwavering. "i mean it. i love you. and if you'll give me a chance, i promise i'll do everything i can to make it up to you, please y/n.”

you searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deception. but all you saw was honesty, a raw vulnerability that took your breath away.

"i don't know if i can trust you," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "you hurt me, jay. a lot."

"i know," he said, his voice breaking as he cups your cheek, leaning his forehead against yours. "and i'm so, so sorry. but i'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you can trust me. i promise."

for a long moment, you stayed silent, the weight of his words sinking in. and then, slowly, you nodded. "okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "one chance, jay. but if you hurt me again, that's it. i'm done."

jay's face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. he reached out, taking your hand in his, looking into your eyes for permission as you nodded with a soft grin.

jays lips feel soft against yours, you spent many nights wondering what it would be like to be like to kiss jay, and it’s even better than you could’ve imagined.

and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

the weeks that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. jay was true to his word, doing everything in his power to prove himself to you. he showed up at your door with your favourite coffee order every morning, walked you to your classes with your hand in his, and spent every spare moment with you. he was attentive, kind, thoughtful, and for the first time, truly present.

your friends noticed the change in him too. they saw the way he looked at you, hearts in his eyes and the way he treated you with a newfound gentleness and adoration. it was clear to everyone that park jay was a changed man, and it was all because of you.

but there were still moments of where you were in denial, times when the past hurt you felt would come back, casting a shadow over your happiness. the moment came to you on a rainy afternoon, the weather complimenting your mood as you sat together in a quiet café. the rain pattered against the windows, creating a soothing backdrop to your conversation.

jay gave you a knowing look as he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

"i love you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "i know i've said it before, but i need you to know how much you mean to me. you're my everything, so get those thoughts out of your head, mmh?”

he said pulling you into a soft kiss across the table.

tears welled up in your eyes at his words. it was everything you had ever wanted to hear, but the fear still lingered, a dark cloud over your heart.

"i love you too," you whispered, your voice trembling. "but i'm scared, jay. i'm scared of getting hurt again- it was so bad.” you said as you closed your eyes with a trembling voice.

jay's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes shining with determination and love. "i know," he said. "and i will spend the rest of my life proving to you that you have nothing to fear. i will never hurt you again, i promise baby.”

time passed, and true to his word, jay continued to be the man you deserved. he was patient, understanding, and never once pressured you. he was there for you in ways he had never been before, and slowly but surely, the trust and reassurance began to appear.

one warm night, as you sat together on the same playground jay had rejected you on as kids, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"i can’t bare losing you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "you're my everything."

you looked up at him, your heart overflowing with love. "you won't," you said, your voice steady and sure. "we're in this together, you can’t get rid of me that easily."

you both threw your heads back, laughing together as the moonlight shined down on you.

and as he held you close, you knew that no matter what pain he had caused you before- you knew that your love for each other was stronger than anything else.

@FAIRQVES 2024

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sungbeam · 9 months ago

Text

nonidol!jung sungchan x f!reader

at some point beneath the glittering summer sun and along evening tides, you and sungchan tripped over the line drawn in the sand.

▷ genre, warnings. brother's best friend!au, friends-ish 2 lovers, family vacay + sungchan lol, swearing, kissing, fluff, humor, sungchan does go shirtless (it's a beach), mentions of food, mentions of alcohol; lee jeno, sohee, and anton r ur brothers! (so u have the lee last name but u "look more like ur mom"); barely proofread, also im sorry if this is boring my head has not been in the game for Months

▷ word count. 10.0k

DISCLAIMER: i DO NOT actively write for or stan riize; this is literally just a birthday present T-T so if dynamics/personalities aren't right, i literally don't know these guys 💀

a/n: happiest birthday to my beloved soulmate and wife @justalildumpling :')) i hope u like it <3

OFTEN when you came back home from work, your joints and muscles ached to the point you could barely stand, your hair felt gross on your head, and your eyes stung from dehydration and sleep deprivation. That was the toll of working closing shift at the restaurant you worked at, and had been working at, for the past several years.

It wasn't out of the ordinary to see the lights in the house still warm and bright when you got home either. Your family was a handful of night owls, not discounting yourself. They had witnessed you in this particular rat-nest dump of a state time and time again, which was why you didn't worry about looking like Death Incarnate.

“Hey.”

Your soul left your body.

Sitting on your living room couch was not a family member. Though, he might as well have been a part of it from how much you had been seeing him lately. Jung Sungchan was your older brother Jeno's best friend, but Sungchan was in your year rather than Jeno's. The two met via the high school soccer team and had been good friends since.

Years later, he was sitting on the living room couch, nearing one in the morning, his hair damp from a recent shower, T-shirt sleeves rolled up his shoulders, and his phone paused from the game he was playing. Your brain was too tired to even register the amount of muscle packed onto his arms (what the fuck—).

“Sorry, did I scare you?” He chuckled sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair, grown out slightly.

“What are you doing here?” You blurted instead. Exhaustion meant that conventional politeness was completely defenestrated. It was one in the morning on a summer night… usually your older brother was out clubbing or drinking (not that you were any different, but you worked quite a bit more nights lately).

Sungchan's eyes danced up and down your form. “Jeno and I decided we're gonna pull an all-nighter for the road trip in—” He glanced over at his phone, “—seven hours and just knock out in the car. How was work?”

Road trip? Car ride? If you could just make it to the shower… “It was fine. Tiring,” you said with a sigh. You trudged over to the far side of the room, behind Sungchan, into the kitchen. You grabbed a cup to fill with water, then drained it down your throat just as fast as it had been filled.

With water in your body, your systems were finally coming back online. Road trip. Car ride. Your eyes widened. “Oh my god. I have to pack.”

“You haven't packed yet?” He queried, tone light and teasing as he watched the progression of your panic with amusement. “Even Jeno's packed.”

You sputtered back at him, “Quiet, you!”

Sungchan's warm laugh followed you out into the hallway and all the way to your room. You couldn't understand why your face felt so hot; you should have been too preoccupied to be embarrassed, after all.

You slammed your bedroom door shut, dragging a hand down your face. You couldn't believe Sungchan just saw your I-just-worked-for-eight-hours-in-customer-service face. Not even some of your closest friends had seen the aftermath of your night shifts at work yet.

Crazy.

It wasn't every family vacation where a plus-one was invited. Your family tried to set aside time for these trips just for the six of you, but this time was an exception. Somehow—you weren't a part of the delegations—Sungchan was invited on this summer's trip to the coast. Your mom mentioned offhandedly it was because Sungchan “was a nice boy,” or something to that effect. Your family rented out a cabin right along the beach for a week, and the lot of you were going to be stuck in the family minivan for a good eight hours together.

And if Sungchan was tagging along, that meant you were going to have to fight for the middle row seat or—

“Yn—you’re in the back with Sohee and Anton.”

You came to a screeching halt on your way out of the house, a bucket hat shielding your puffy eyes from the waking world, your duffle strapped over your shoulder. It was seven hours later—an ungodly eight in the morning. “What? Nuh-uh; I don't think so.”

Jeno stood only a few meters ahead of you by the door of the minivan, his hands primed on either side of his hips as if he was the self-proclaimed guardian of the car seating chart. “Well, I said so. Sungchan has longer legs than you—”

“Why don't you sit in the back then?” You shot back with a saccharine sweet smile. You were too tired for this shit.

Sungchan scratched the side of his head as he walked out of the house to stand by you and join the argument, his flip flops thwacking against the ground. “Uhh, I can sit in the back middle seat. It's cool, dude.”

“Sungchan's too tall for the middle seat,” your dad interjected. He took yours and Sungchan's bags to add to the trunk. “Yn's in the back. Sorry, hon.”

“Dad,” you groaned.

“You can switch with Jeno half way.”

“Dad!” Jeno squawked this time.

Your father gave a tired sigh, saying more than he would ever say aloud. “Everyone in the car. Can't you two be like Sohee and Anton? At least they're knocked out.”

“They know they'll be sent to the back without question,” you pointed out as you made your way to the minivan. As you passed by your brother, you sent him a very potent stink eye, then clambered into the back row.

Like your father had said, your younger brothers, Sohee and Anton, were already dead asleep. Their mouths hung open wide enough to catch any wayward fly with their heads angled back against their neck pillows. You snorted and snapped a photo of them to add to your collection of brotherly blackmail.

Your mom was settled into the front passenger seat already queuing up driving directions to get to the coast. From your perch in the middle, you had a clear view of her phone screen—seven hours and two minutes. Yay.

You supposed there wasn't anything too terrible about the middle seat; you were out like a light as soon as the car pulled out of the driveway.

When you woke up, it was about four hours later, and your parents were having a hushed discussion amongst themselves and Sungchan. A baseball cap had materialized on top of Sungchan's head at some point when you were asleep, and the sleeves of his T-shirt were once again rolled up to expose his muscled shoulders. Did this guy not have a tank top?

“...I like it, at least—well, I don't mind all the extra requirements, and I know it'll help me reach my ultimate end goal, so.”

Your mom let out a hum of approval. “Ah, that's good that you like it. You'll be busy as a nurse.”

Right, Sungchan was in the nursing program. Your brother wasa kinesiology major, and you were going into law. It made for quite the diverse pool in the car.

You opened your mouth in a yawn and fumbled your hand around your lap for where your earbud had fallen out of your ear, carefully so that you didn't shake off Anton's head on your shoulder. (Oh no, was he drooling?)

“Yn-ah, good morning,” your mother teased quietly.

You glanced up, eyes going wide when you realized both your mom and Sungchan were now peering back at you. “Morning,” you murmured. Your fingers enclosed around your fallen earbud to tuck it into the case left in the bag at your feet.

“Sleep well?” Sungchan piped up. There was that twinkle in his eyes, the same one from last night. It made your stomach twist in a way that was more pleasant than not.

You cleared your throat, unconsciously reaching up to adjust the placement of your bucket hat and praying you didn't look like a sewer rat. “For the most part,” you replied. “How about you?”

He shrugged. “I had a decent power nap. Your mom says you're going into law. That's really cool.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Thanks. And you're in nursing, right? That's cool, too—super admirable.”

Sungchan's mouth widened into a small grin. “Thanks. It's only our first year, but it feels like so much work already.”

“Right? Tell me about it…”

Less than fifteen minutes later, the family van pulled into the parking lot of a diner off the interstate, exactly halfway through your journey. The seven of you, weary and hungry, filed out of the vehicle and into the establishment. You and your parents slid into one booth, while your brothers and Sungchan occupied the one behind you.

There was a low-spun fan swirling above your heads, an 80s song you vaguely recognized wafting through the air at a dull decibel. Your phone was stashed away in the bag tucked into your end of the booth seat while you idly sipped on your glass of iced water.

You jolted at the feeling of something light hitting the back of your head.

A gasp from behind you.

You rolled your eyes, twisting around in your seat while picking the wadded up straw wrapper from your hair. “Who did it?” You deadpanned.

The boys table was filled with sheepish expressions, to their credit. Your younger brothers, who were sitting on the far side facing you, thrusted their fingers in each other's faces in a torrent of blame and accusation.

“Aish, never mind. I don't care who did it,” you dismissed. Your eyes caught onto Sungchan's. He sat just diagonally to your left and for some reason, his eyes on you made you feel warm.

You flicked the wrapper back; it hit Anton square in the forehead. Jeno barked out a laugh.

“Nice shot,” Sungchan nodded, extending his fist to you.

You couldn't suppress the smile from coming onto your face as you bumped his fist with yours.

Food arrived swiftly afterward, and it was demolished as quickly as it came. In the sway of a palm tree frond, the seven of you were back in the confines of the family minivan.

The remainder of the car ride carried over quickly. Though Jeno unhappily sat his ass down in your previous spot with you claiming his from before, he and your other brothers snored away five minutes in. You didn't go back to sleep despite having a full belly and less than five hours of sleep under your belt; you watched the world pass by outside the window in a blur.

Urban skylines melted into rolling emerald mountains and pastures, sank into palm trees and sandy shores that met a blue horizon as far as the eye could see.

The beach house your family rented this year was a two story cottage-type. It was small, with only one bedroom and bathroom upstairs, a bathroom downstairs, and a living room and kitchen. The rest was all beach. It was determined that you and your mom would be given the honors of the upstairs bedroom and bathroom, while all the boys piled into the living room.

Once everyone was settled in, there was little else to do but go make use of your new backyard for the next week.

“Yn! Come on, slowpoke!” Sohee shouted at you from the shoreline with cupped hands. You saw his bare back as he splashed into the waves after Anton, who was already only a speck in your vision.

Your bare feet sank into the sand, and you wiggled your toes between the warm grains. Sunshine, glorious and concentrated above the distant horizon, soaked into your skin. Ah, this was the life.

Just as you reached for the hem of your shirt to reveal your bathing suit, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Jeno and Sungchan were coming onto the beach from the front of the house, a disassembled volleyball net hanging between them.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head at the sight of Sungchan's back—

Before Jeno or any of your other brothers or Sungchan could catch you ogling, you gave yourself a nice, mental slap to the face. No more. You needed to stop this. When did you ever look at Sungchan like this?

(You could still remember when he was the gangly kid with the growth spurt trying out for the high school soccer team. He was paired with Jeno to test his potential, and the rest was history.)

Sungchan was the first to spot you as he and Jeno determined a place to set up the net. He beamed boyishly, his chin inclining toward you. “Hey, wanna play?”

Your eyes flickered to the corded necklace hanging from his collar and between his—Yn, shut the fuck up. “Sure,” you said simply, feigning nonchalance.

If he noticed your wandering eyes, he didn't comment. Instead, he nodded back at you. “Sick.”

You both turned back to your original tasks. Your hands went back to the bottom hem of your shirt to tug it up and off your body. (Maybe you weren't the only one with wandering eyes, though.)

You draped your clothes over the back porch railing and began making your way down to the shoreline. “I'm gonna take a dip and then come back up!” You said to Jeno and Sungchan.

“Oh, okay—ow!”

You didn't see nor hear what happened, but when you glanced back, Sungchan had his back turned to you as he furiously rubbed the back of his head, while Jeno smiled innocently.

Your older brother waved you along. “Carry on!” He said.

Walking backward for a couple steps, you shot him an incredulous look, then turned around to meet your little brothers in the ocean. Whatever.

You had been staring at the wooden ceiling above your head for the past forty-five minutes. Your mom's even breathing and the ocean waves rolling outside the window failed to rock you into unconsciousness. You'd figured the sunlight from this afternoon would have made you tired, or perhaps all the food you ate for dinner, but your eyes continued to stay wide open.

A quiet sigh fell from your mouth as you rolled over onto your side and gently peeled the covers off. With near silent footsteps across the oak floors, you slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

The cacophony of combined snoring from all the men in the living room was comparable to the volume of the waves just outside.

You barely contained your snort of amusement. You didn't worry about waking any of them up as you crossed the living room, full of a smorgasbord of limbs and bodies draped across the large couch sectional and blankets on the floor.

The back door was left unlatched when you reached its threshold. Outside, moonlight dappled across the calm sea like a sprinkling of diamonds. You slowly pried the door open, freezing.

You and Sungchan made eye contact from across the back porch. He was perched on the top step, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. A loose breeze wafted through the strands of his hair.

“Sorry,” you whispered, moving to retreat back into the house.

“Oh, no—please.” He patted the empty space next to him on the porch step.

You blinked, at odds. He was clearly out here for a reason and you'd figured he wanted some space, but if he was inviting you, then…

You closed the back door behind you and settled beside him, with a comfortable amount of negative space between your bodies. You folded your arms over the tops of your knees and stared out at the midnight horizon. It smelled of salt and sea spray, and the light wind was a refreshing crispiness against the humid evening air.

“Couldn't sleep?” He murmured, glancing over at you.

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response.

“I'm not surprised,” you said. The corners of your lips curled upward. “I wouldn't be able to sleep amongst my brothers either. Their snoring could wake a bear.”

Sungchan sputtered out a laugh as his eyes crinkled upward and he pressed the back of his knuckles against his mouth. “I wasn't gonna say it, but…”

You shared a grin with him. “I will happily say it for you, dude.”

His eyes were stunning in this lighting. The moonlight hit his irises at an angle that made them shimmer like a shade of molten copper. He licked his lips, and you saw his eyes dart from your eyes, down a few inches, then further down to the beer bottle in his hands.

“Oh, uh,” he stammered, tipping the bottle nose in your direction, “want some? I thought the alcohol would help me sleep, but it's not looking awfully promising.”

For a split second, your heart leapt at the thought—your mouth pressed against the place his mouth had been, tasting the place he'd drunk from.

You dashed the thought from your mind. It couldn't have been so significant as your brain was making it out to be. You were probably just sleep deprived.

“Thanks,” you said while reaching across the gap to accept it from him. Judging by the weight, it was just about half full, and you took a light swig.

A drop of liquid dribbled out of the corner of your lips, and you swiped it with the pad of your thumb, sticking the finger into your mouth to suck it off. You passed the bottle back over to him, catching his eyes not looking at yours.

(The organ in your chest was no longer in your chest. Was it normal for your heart to make a home in your throat instead? Why did he look at you like that?)

“Any reason for not being able to sleep?” You asked him to break the silence. “I mean, besides the symphony my brothers and dad are conducting, of course.”

His eyes shuddered, as if breaking out of a trance. “Oh, uhm—nothing in particular, I guess. Maybe it's just from all the excitement. I think it's usually hard for me to sleep in new places.”

You bobbed your head in understanding. “No, I get that. It takes me a little to get used to new environments, too. I don't know how I would have survived if I was living in the dorms at uni and not at home.” The university you attended was a decent commute from your house, so living on campus was never something you gave much thought to. The idea of living independently appealed to you sometimes, but in general, you didn't have a ton of qualms against your circumstances now.

“For sure,” Sungchan whistled lowly. He contemplated the opening of his beer bottle, then took a gentle sip of its contents. “Have you made a lot of friends? I feel like it's a lot harder than people make it seem.”

You passed him a curious glance this time. “Some, but it's definitely not as easy as high school. You haven't made a lot of friends?”

“The soccer team, mainly,” he chuckled. “The occasional ally in my classes.”

You let out a bright laugh that made his smile widen. “'Ally?’” You parroted. “What a fun word to call classmates.”

“It's true!” He insisted, chuckling. “Some of these professors are evil, man. Competitive grades? Not a chance,” He scoffed. “We're all in this together, even if the curve is against us.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud, but the rolling waves likely covered your noise plenty. Your family were deep sleepers.

“I just figured that you meet lots of people,” you offered when your mirth died down to a giggle. You toed a pile of sand sitting on the last step of the porch. “Your socials are pretty active,” you said, “but I guess I shouldn't judge a book by its cover.”

“I could say the same about you, Miss Party Girl,” he smirked. “When are you gonna drag me to a rave?”

Heat raced up to your cheeks. “I've only been to one,” you said, rolling your eyes. He'd seen that post? First, the post-work daze, and now, the turnt raver? “I haven't gone to a party in a few weeks 'cause of finals anyway.”

Now that you thought about it, you'd been so busy as of late, you couldn't even count the amount of outings you'd declined on your two hands.

“Trust me, I get it.” He raised his hands in an act of surrender, his knees angling toward you. The negative space was suddenly a lot less negative.

Another tip of his beer bottle; it swapped hands once, twice more. The liquid dribbled smooth down your throat just as Sungchan knocked the rest back. The empty glass made a dull thunk sound as it hit the wooden porch to Sungchan's right.

“So what I'm getting,” you drawled, mimicking his position by angling your knees toward his. You felt your legs brush—the stimulus sent a jolt down your nerves that warned of addiction and tasted like the forbidden. “Is that you've never been to a rave before?”

Sungchan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I have.”

You mocked his shrug. “Maybe you have.”

“Or maybe it's just that I haven't gone with you yet.”

Even the waves seemed to quiet for a second. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, and you tied down the nervous laugh ready to bubble out of your mouth. You bit your lip and found yourself nodding. “We'd paint the town red, Jung Sungchan,” you murmured.

There it was again—that flicker of his gaze to some place you both knew crossed a line. It was the beer, was what you were telling yourself. It was the beer.

Seagulls surfed the ever-blue sky. Eternal summer could be thought of as a filter of golden, glittery gauze across one's already rose-colored glasses. But summer, truly, was the shade of Jung Sungchan's tank top peeling off his body as he sprinted down the sandbank after your brother, Anton.

You watched the fabric whip around in the salt breeze before settling into a heap where his footprint melted into the mineral grains. You were giving Sohee the sunscreen spritz-down up on the covered porch, while Jeno barreled down the bank after his friend and brother.

From behind you came the scratch of the back door sliding open. You and Sohee peered back to where your mom poked her head out.

She just barely caught her sunglasses in time as they slipped off her head. “Hey, your dad and I are heading out. Watch each other, okay?”

“Got it!” You and Sohee chirped.

One more nod from your mom, and then she was gone. Your parents were going to take a date into town, just the two of them. That left you and the boys here with the surf and sand—definitely not a terrible compromise. If you wanted, you could probably have the whole house to yourself, anyway. These guys could entertain themselves.

“Yn! Sohee!”

Jeno arced one arm up into the sky to beckon you down to the sea, only to get dragged underwater by his two comrades. You and Sohee harked out twin laughs as you watched Jeno fight for his life with limbs flailing and foam flying into the sky.

You patted Sohee's shoulder as you set the can of sunscreen onto the porch step. “Alrighty, you're good to go, bro.”

“Thanks—race you down!”

“Hey!” Your laughter echoed as you bolted down the sand after him to join the fun.

As your feet dug into the wet embankment, your palms made purchase against Sohee's shoulders to shove him into the water. A yelp leapt into the air, and you turned away to avoid getting hit in the face with the consequence of your prank.

“I'm so gonna get you for that!” Sohee spat water out of his mouth, a wicked grin pulling onto his lips.

“No, you're not, actually!”

You bolted—well, stomped, your way through the knee-deep water, furiously trying to get away from karma. Water yanked down on your limbs in a forceful coax to give into your punishment, but you were determined.

You could hear your brothers’ hollers of encouragement: “Get her, Sohee!” and “RUN, YN, RUN!”

Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you pushed your legs harder.

“I got her!” Wait, was that Sungchan?—

You suddenly felt a pair of hands on either side of your waist—you swore as your legs came out of the water and your world twisted.

“No, no, no, no, no!” You squawked, squirming wildly in Sungchan's arms as he scooped you into his hold like a bride. (NO. NOT LIKE A BRIDE. WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE A BRIDE?—) One arm cradled your back and the other under your knees, and he laughed—he chuckled—as you attempted to flip yourself out of his grasp.

“You're not getting out of this, party girl,” he said close to your ear.

For a heartbeat, you lost your breath at the rasp behind his words and the grin on his face. But a heartbeat was all he needed.

There was free fall, and then all sound muffled as cold water engulfed your body. You plugged your nose and screwed your eyes shut. You felt your ass hit the sand at the bottom in slow motion, before the air in your lungs began to lift you back up to the surface of the water.

You broke out with a gasp, hair flipping back as you furiously swiped your hands down your face to get the water out of your eyes. They stung like a bitch, but you could feel the rush of blood in your ears; it was thrilling.

A hand in your vision enclosed around yours.

“You asshole!” You scowled up at Sungchan from where you knelt, though it was half-hearted.

He beamed back at you boyishly with damp hair hanging in his eyes and water running down the crevices of his stomach like a goddamn system of canals. “You're a good sport, Yn.”

“I'm really not.”

You had the distinct pleasure of seeing the smile slip off his face before you used his grip on you to yank him into the water. You swallowed a good half pint of saltwater, but the revenge couldn't have been sweeter.

When Sungchan's head broke the surface, it was followed by a dog-like shake of his head. You laughed to turn away from the spray of water; Sungchan delighted at the sound.

Amusement still lingered on your lips as your eyes snagged on the piece of seaweed that made its home on his head. You didn't think twice about it before leaning closer to reach it.

You stepped forward, and—oh boy, was that a mistake.

You had a front row seat view of a droplet of water slipping down the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the cliff of his chin. You wrestled down a swallow, and pulled the seaweed off his head, flinging it into the water.

“You had, uhm, a little…”

“Right, thanks—”

You both flinched apart as a man-made wave of water crashed into your sides. “AMBUSH!” Your three brothers declared, springing up out of the water and parading a full-blown attack with all weapons firing.

You and Sungchan were swift to launch your own counterattack.

Merriment filled the summer air as much as saltwater embedded into your skin and eyes and mouth. You almost made the mistake of thinking your racing heart was just from the determination to beat your brothers, and not from the guy on your side of the war. The heat was getting to you and the sun was getting to him.

It was about an hour later that you found yourself lazing upon the slick and smooth plane of a surfboard. The ocean rocked you gently from beneath the board; it had been surprisingly calm all of today.

At some point, you and the boys established a truce in the Great Water War, mainly because your brothers were hungry and there was a big, juicy watermelon just begging to be cut open and devoured in the house.

Suffice to say, you let your brothers figure it out.

Your consciousness faded into the foreground of your mind as a distant sound of splashing neared. You peaked one eye open, lifting the rim of the hat up to see who dared to encroach upon your isle.

You could recognize Sungchan's mop of hair from a mile away, at this point. You couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing, but why did it have to be either?

He cropped up right beside you, pushing back his hair to keep the water out of his eyes. “Hi.”

A smile curled onto your lips, teasing. “Hi. Good swim?”

“Good nap?”

“As good as one can be on the open ocean,” you said, shifting the hat up so you could see him better, but keeping your face shaded. “I don't know how dolphins sleep with half their brain on.”

Sungchan's brows rocketed toward his hairline. “They sleep with half their brain on? Crazy.”

“I know. I can't even stay awake with half my brain on.”

You and he shared a laugh, and he set a palm on the board next to your body. “Aw, no,” he assured. “If you've got less than half a brain on at all times, then I've got one brain cell.”

“Joke's on you, half my brain is half a brain cell.”

He wrinkled his nose at you. Cute. “Sweetheart, hate to break it to you, but that's not how brain cells work.”

You nearly fell off the board. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, do tell.”

“I'm not about to talk about neurons on my vacation.”

You challenged him with a look. “Overruled, counselor. Answer the question.”

His mouth fell open in a stunned daze, and his reaction made you break face for a moment to laugh. He blinked. “I have to be really honest with you…” Sungchan carded a hand through his hair, then pressed his knuckles to his mouth. “That was really hot.”

Was it suddenly five degrees warmer out here?

If blood rushing in your ears was akin to the sound of waves crashing, there must have been one hell of a tsunami in your veins right now.

You sputtered a laugh. “You need to get out of the sun—”

“I'm sorry I said that aloud,” he grimaced sheepishly.

“Nurse? Nurse!—” You feigned raising your head up to look around for an imaginary nurse in the middle of the ocean. “Oh, right. You are the nurse.”

He groaned, tilting his head back and playfully punching your shoulder. “You're so—”

“Hot?”

You howled at the sight of his cheekbones blooming the color of ripe watermelon. “I'm kidding; I'm teasing!”

He sighed, smiling despite the pain etched onto his gorgeous features. “Never living that down, am I?”

You shifted your position to laying on your stomach now, your arms folded beneath your chin. Sungchan carefully turned the surfboard so the tip faced him, and you were trapped in his gaze, head-on. “It was cute,” you consoled.

“So you think I'm cute?” He cocked a brow.

“And you think I'm hot.”

He flicked water at you. “Aaand, there it is!”

You laughed again, delighted at the red lingering on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. God, he was fucking gorgeous.

A beat passed for a second. Something settled between the two of you, a thing you couldn't yet put a name on, but it had been there since last night. Or maybe it had been there longer, festering in the negative space between you until said space could become something of a memory.

You weren't sure why he was here—why he'd swum out here to meet you when his best friend was back at the beach house, gorging on watermelon and getting his ass handed to him in Mario Kart by his siblings; why he all of a sudden occupied a part of your mind like the tide creeping up the embankment at four in the afternoon. At first, he was far enough for you to settle into a false sense of security; until all of a sudden, there he was, the foamy waves lapping at your feet and his smile the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes.

His tongue swiped over his lips and he cleared his throat. “So, uh, watermelon?” That was his original reason for coming out here. (He did volunteer, after all.)

You perked up. “Right, sure. Watermelon.”

“Great.” He broke into a smile, but the corners of it were softer, fonder. You could get used to the look of it.

There was this saying—the elephant in the room—but here in the cabin living room, it was definitely more of a blue whale. Just completely out of the water, weighing about thirteen tons, the size of twelve school buses… yeah, that sounded about right.

“GO FISH!” Anton flung his finger across the circle at Jeno with the glee of a kid on Christmas morning. “Suck it!”

Your mom sent an express glare his way. “Anton.”

Your youngest shrunk down sheepishly. “Sorry, eomma.”

The seven of you were settled in the living space this fine evening with a deck of cards. Your parents were on the couches watching the movie on screen and the game before them, while you, your brothers, and Sungchan huddled around the coffee table playing said game. Sunsoaked and weary, it only took one hearty and filling dinner to perk the lot of you right back up like a field of sunflowers.

“This is a stupid game,” Jeno sulked as he examined his hand of cards.

“You only say that because you're losing,” you pointed out. “Anyways, Jeno, can I have that three?”

Jeno cut you a glare as the rest of the table rolled into fits of laughter. Your smile was cheeky, reaching out to snatch the three Jeno revealed he had during his turn.

“That's cold,” Sohee snorted.

Your eyes darted over to Sungchan opposite you. His eyes were glimmering. “Yeah, I didn't know you had so much ruthlessness in you, Yn.”

“Why do you think she's going into law?” Jeno grunted. Though one card less, it meant that he had one less pair in his finished pile. At this rate, you might win and end up with the most pairs.

“Guys, it's literally just how you play the game.” You nodded over at Sohee. “Sohee, do you have a jack?”

Your younger brother handed it over without ceremony. “Unfortunately.”

“Anton, do you have an ace?”

He shook his head. “Go fish, noona.”

“See?” You said to the rest of the table, but your eyes went to Sungchan's. “The nature of the game.”

They let you off the hook because you didn't plunder everyone of their cards this round. It continued on with Sohee, then Anton, before landing on Sungchan.

He made a show of considering his cards, a furrow between his brows. He glanced up at you over the rim of his hand and gestured with a curl of his fingers. “I'd like that ace, Yn.”

“Oooh,” Anton giggled.

Jeno grinned as you extended the ace across the table to Sungchan. “Karma.”

“Thank you—” his fingers grazed against yours as he plucked the card from your grasp, “—very much.”

You pressed your lips into a small smile, nose wrinkling up at him. You had a few cards left to rid yourself of.

Your dad cleared his throat as he stood up from the couch to bring his empty bowl to the sink. “By the way, are you kids still going into town tomorrow?”

The five of you exchanged brief eye contact with one another. “Yep.”

The idea had come up during dinner after your parents came back. They'd mentioned a variety of activities and little shops to visit that might be fun for you to see, including a hand churned ice cream shop and a port side arcade building. It would just be the five of you going, while your parents would walk down to the beach trails about a mile from the cabin to go hiking.

In the morning, you and everyone else in the house took your time getting up and ready for the day. Breakfast was taken together at the table before you split off into your separate parties.

Jeno took the wheel with Sungchan riding shotgun, and you sat in the middle row with Sohee, while Anton occupied the back. You rolled down your window to rest your chin on the fold of your elbow, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you watched the scenery pass by.

Right in front of you, Sungchan also had his window rolled down with his arm propped on the lowered sill. He chatted animatedly with Jeno about whatever game he and all three of your brothers were playing this morning, but you could feel his gaze go to his side view mirror more than once.

The ride was an easy, breezy one.

The main town center bustled with locals and visitors alike in the late morning. Jeno found free parking about a block away, and the five of you walked over as one big group.

“Ice cream first!” Anton declared with one arm raised toward the sky.

“I concur,” you chimed in. You lifted your sunglasses up slightly so you could read the town directory easier. “Seems like we're close by.”

Anton nodded in approval. “Onwards, then.”

You and your youngest brother led the way. The idea of ice cream made your mouth water, especially since you could already feel a bead of sweat dribble down your spine. Why was it so goddamn hot?

The shop was a cute, little building with a pink and white striped awning and a large window in the front that gave visitors a front row view into the ice cream churning experience. You snorted as Anton pressed his nose up against the glass, a wide grin splitting his face.

“You're scaring the workers, dude,” you jested, tugging your brother along.

Anton scrunched his nose up at you. “You scare me every morning.”

“Just because you're a wimp when I put toner pads on—hey! Do you want ice cream or not?” You cackled as he attempted to flick you square in the forehead.

Jeno groaned. “Guys, can we please act normal for once?” He asked as he swung the door open for everyone.

Sungchan beat you to the punchline, slapping his friend on the back while he ducked inside. “That's rich coming from you, man.”

“Hey!”

The squabble was swiftly swept out of your mind when you stepped foot into the shop. You were nearly knocked over from the potency of the sugary waffle cone scent that occupied the room. At the sight of tubs upon tubs of frozen treats kept within the display case, your entire face lit up, eyes going glassy with wonder. “Oh no, too many to choose from,” you gasped, cupping the lower half of your face.

Sungchan chuckled beside you as he crossed his arms and assessed the dozen options before you. “I didn't know you were such an ice cream fanatic, party girl,” he mused. He glanced over at you with a fond sort of gleam in his eye.

“Don't even get her started,” Sohee groaned. “She and Anton have a sweet tooth to rival Willy Wonka.”

Anton flagged down one of the workers, having already found his targets to try. He was in here for less than two minutes and was already rattling off the entire menu to the poor girl behind the counter.

“Tiramisu sounds really good,” you muttered. Your eyes moved slowly from tub to tub. Another gasp flew from your lips, and you clasped a hand on Sungchan's shoulder. “Wait—but strawberry shortcake—hhhhh.” You wrinkled your brows together, lips pressed into a taut line.

This was not good.

“You could always get a double scoop,” Sungchan suggested.

You bobbed your head. “That's true, but I'm just worried I won't be able to finish, y'know.”

“Well, maybe I'll get one of the flavors you want and we can split.” His shrug was all too casual.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, biting his lip through a smile.

The organ in your chest gave a hop, skip, and a leap. You weren't sure if it was at the thought of it all working out alright or if it was because of Sungchan's generous gesture. You were telling yourself it was the former, but you could be persuaded it was the latter if given a light shove in that direction.

When everyone's scoops were paid for, you fell into a loose formation to stroll around town while you finished your treats.

You and Sungchan were glued to each other's sides out of necessity since you were sharing flavors. Jeno walked on his other side, however, lapping at his cotton candy blue scoop seated upon a throne of waffle cone. The two youngest walked in front, leading you all to wherever they wished to go.

The town itself was rather quaint when you finally soaked it in. It seemed like the kind of place everyone knew everyone, and if you were new or only visiting, the locals were just as friendly and welcoming. The town center was stocked with anything a resident might need—a small grocer down the street, clothing stores and restaurants lining the boulevard, a newspaper stand at the corner, a laundromat, a hardware store, and more places you were certain you wouldn't be able to see in just one walk.

As you scooped a bite out of some of the last bits of tiramisu in Sungchan's cup, Jeno was summoned up to his brothers who were debating over which way they should turn next. You and Sungchan lingered behind to finish off the ice cream in your respective cups.

Just as you slurped up the melted shortcake ice cream at the bottom of yours, your eyes caught onto a storefront behind Sungchan. It was decked out in cliché boho-chic, with braided nets, shells, and sand dollars in the window and over the door frame. The souvenir shop seemed to embody the quintessential tourist trap, and you didn't mind falling into it.

“—guys, we're gonna go to the arcade now!” Jeno said, beckoning you and Sungchan over. They must have decided on a route then.

You made your decision. “You guys can go ahead! I'm gonna pop into this place for a second. I promised I'd get my friend Minjeong something.” Minjeong was one of the few close friends you made at university, and though you didn't promise to her face you'd get her something, you were determined to get her a little trinket as a token of your affection.

“You're gonna go alone?”

You blinked. “Yeah, I'll just meet you guys at the arcade.”

Sohee piped up, “But mom said buddy system.” Okay, you should probably honor that, but it wasn't as if the four of you always followed that rule.

“I'll go with you.”

All eyes went to Sungchan who tossed his empty cup and spoon into the nearby trash can. He gave a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “I wanted to get my mom something anyway.”

You tilted your head to the side curiously as Jeno narrowed his eyes at Sungchan, like they were communicating telepathically. Odd.

In fact, you didn't really know what to think about being alone with Sungchan. There was a difference between coincidentally ending up on the porch together or conversing in the ocean away from everyone else, to purposefully breaking off from the group to spend time with each other.

Then again, he said he was getting something for his mom. That gave a different implication to him volunteering to accompany you. The goal was capitalism, not something forbidden.

Maybe you were thinking about this too much.

“Okay, fine,” Jeno relented. “We'll meet you at the arcade, but don't take too long or we'll leave without you.”

“Aye-aye,” you teased, raising a hand to wave goodbye to your brothers. “C'mon, Sungchan.”

You dumped your empty ice cream cup and spoon into the trash before slipping inside the souvenir shop with Sungchan following right after you. You lifted your sunglasses up on top of your head, skin prickling with gooseflesh from the draft of air conditioning wafting overhead. A soft-toned acoustic played in the background, accompanied by the cheery greeting of a staff member from behind the register.

You and Sungchan lifted your hands in warm reply, then disappeared into the aisles to explore.

Your fingers grazed along the racks of clothes branded with the beach town's name and minimalist artwork; your eyes roamed over the ships displayed in bottles on the walls, the not-for-sale surfboard hung for decor. Like many souvenir shops, there were several turning displays that boasted rows upon rows of themed keychains with specific names engraved into them.

“I will never find my name amongst these,” Sungchan mused quietly from beside you as the two of you rifled through the surfboards and seashells and sharks. “And yet, I look for the S names all the time.”

“Valid,” you nodded. “Sometimes I can't find my name either, but it's the hope that gets you.”

“And fails you,” he pointed out.

“Touché.”

Near the keychain displays stood a tower of hats and head accessories galore. There were crocheted bonnets, straw hats, ball caps, and even headbands. Your expression glittered as you plucked up a headband with twin sunflowers on the top like a pair of antennas.

After hanging your shades on your shirt color, you donned the headpiece, twirling around to show Sungchan. “Thoughts?” You asked, failing to sweep your grin away.

Sungchan beamed back at you. “Oh, you're too cute.”

You ignored the heat creeping up the back of your neck to reach for another headband—this time, one topped with red crab claws. Sungchan graciously bowed his head for you to crown him with the piece.

“Fabulous,” you declared with your hands on your hips.

He peered into the small mirror to the side of the hat rack. “You think?”

“Of course.” So much so, that you pulled out your phone to snap a picture. You tilted your head toward his to fit both of your faces and headbands in the frame.

Sungchan peered over your shoulder to take a glimpse at the photos. His tongue was jammed into his cheek, and you could feel his breath along the shell of your ear. “Send me those?”

“I'd need your number first.”

He grinned boyishly, roughing a hand through his hair before taking your phone from you. “You don't even have to ask.”

As he saved his contact information into your phone, you attempted to calm the giddy butterflies in your stomach by peering back into the mirror at the headband on your head. You squished the plush sunflower heads with your fingers, humming thoughtfully. “I low-key wanna buy this.”

He glanced up from your phone before handing it back to you. “If you buy that one, I'll buy this one,” he replied, pointing up at the crab claws on his head.

“You're such an enabler,” you jested. A beat passed. “Okay, but only if you get it with me.”

“That is what I said,” he chuckled, eyebrows arched.

The remainder of the time you and Sungchan spent in the shop was mainly to figure out what you would purchase for Minjeong and what Sungchan would buy for his mom. (Mainly, implying that there was still room for shenanigans.) It took a little more than half an hour, but you both emerged from the souvenir shop with a gift bag each, containing your headbands and the baubles bought.

The arcade was only about a ten minute's walk from your location, so you and Sungchan took your sweet time getting there. As the two of you walked—the backs of your hands grazing against one another, shoulders bumping—you nearly forgot that Sungchan was your brother's good friend. Jeno had never made it a point that you and his friends should never mix, and you knew he could care less about your love life, but this was different. (Was it?) It felt like something that shouldn't happen, and yet, why were you starting to want it so badly?

The outside of the arcade was a cream colored building, much like the others in town, but with large posters on the outside beckoning guests to come in and try their hand. Your brothers texted you to let you know they were in a game of laser tag right now, so that gave you and Sungchan a little more time to yourselves within the arcade.

“I have an idea!” Sungchan grabbed your free hand and hauled you off toward something in the distance.

The feeling of your fingers slotting with his had more than just your steps skipping. “Hey, man—you and your long legs need to chill!” You hollered at him through a laugh.

He sent you a look over his shoulder before stopping at one corner of the arcade. With jazz hands, he presented his marvelous idea. “Ta-da!”

Before you was an all-time classic: Dance Dance Revolution.

Your eyes widened just as your smile did. “It's like you read my mind,” you marveled.

The machine was just like the movies with a multicolored screen of bright blues and purples, a platform with two sets of arrows in the floor, and two arched rails at the back for each player to hold onto as they danced the night away.

Sungchan marched up onto the platform and fished a wadded up paper bill out from his wallet. “Have you played before?”

When the machine devoured his money, the screen leapt to life and blasted its opening music to announce that somebody was willing to step up to the challenge.

You set your gift bag down at the foot of the platform and climbed up to join him. “I've only seen it done before, but I've always wanted to try it.”

You and he locked eyes, and you were sure the twinkle in his was a reflection of just how excited you were.

“Well, today is your lucky day, party girl,” he chirped. “Let's see what you've got.”

It didn't take long for you to figure out that “what you've got” was a lot less than whatever Sungchan had.

You grappled onto the railing behind you tightly as you stomped your feet against the coordinating arrows that flashed on-screen. How long had it been since that fateful first round? Ten minutes? Two days? It was all mashing together.

“This is unfair; you have longer limbs,” you groaned after missing a few arrows in a row. Why were you so out of breath?

A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of Sungchan's head. It was almost comical how serious you were both taking this game. “I have practice,” he corrected cheekily.

“Same difference!”

“A master never blames his tools.”

You huffed. “Bullshit.”

At this point, your losses were becoming ridiculous. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

For a sequence you knew you were going to miss, you leaned over and pinched his side. Sungchan jolted—it did the trick, and he missed the steps. His head whipped over to you, an impish gleam in his irises.

“Oh ho ho… you wanna play that game?”

You placed your hand on your hip as the round ended. “If I'm gonna lose, might as well go out with a bang.”

His tongue swiped over his lip. “You're on.”

The next round commenced, and adrenaline spiked through you like a spear, more powerful than before. You knew to expect Sungchan's revenge, but you struck first.

A poke at his side resulted in a tickle at your waist. You returned his parry with a blind poke at his stomach.

Anticipating his response, you spotted his arm incoming out of your periphery and moved to step out of his reach. Instead of solid platform, however, your breath hitched at the feeling of half your sandal slipping off the edge.

Sungchan's eyes went wide and his arm instead curled around your waist and hauled you to him. “Shit,” he muttered, “are you okay? Sorry, that was totally my fault.”

Your palms had landed on his chest, your heart rate slowing but not fast enough. All of the excitement in your veins was likely more so from the game itself, and not from almost falling off the platform… and perhaps, another part of it was you realizing just how close you and Sungchan were now.

You nodded. “Yeah, I'm completely fine; don't even worry about it. And it wasn't your fault—I miscalculated my step and I started it anyway.”

He pressed his lips together. “Still.”

“Nice catch, by the way,” you said quietly.

You saw his eyes leave your gaze, and this time, you followed in his movements. He ducked his head, almost shyly. “I guess so,” he chuckled. “I'm glad I caught you.”

If anything, your heartbeat was gaining speed again. The hand pressed into your waist was a little more addicting than you would have liked, and his mouth was closer than you thought it had been.

In the neon glow of the Dance Dance Revolution screen, you and Sungchan leaned toward one another with one aim, and one aim only.

“Hey guys!”

You leapt off the dance platform at the same time that Sungchan zipped to his side, gripping the railing with an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights.

You pressed a hand against your palpitating heart and turned to find all three of your brothers bounding over to where you and Sungchan were.

“Oh my god,” Anton gasped, “is that DDR?”

It seemed that Anton and Sohee were more focused on the game than yours and Sungchan's compromising position. But Jeno… you noted the suspicious narrowing of his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest…

You swore you and Sungchan swallowed at the same time.

“Did we interrupt something?” Jeno drawled.

“Nope!”

You and Sungchan looked at each other at your simultaneous answer. Great. That definitely wasn't even more conspicuous or anything.

Jeno pressed his lips together. “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “Well, Mom and Dad texted and asked for us to meet them at the house, so we've gotta go.” He lifted the screen of his phone up for you to see. Dear god, you hadn't even realized they'd texted the group chat.

You cleared your throat. “Right.”

You picked up your gift bag, and your younger brothers immediately flanked you on either side to gush about the game of laser tag they had just partaken in. Though you nodded and engaged in their conversation, your mind was elsewhere.

Plus, it was hard not to be hyper aware of the fact that Sungchan was now alone to face Jeno somewhere behind you. You were not looking forward to the car ride back.

There were always some, unspoken fine lines that should not be crossed—at least, purposefully. In retrospect, you knew Jeno didn't care about who you chose to spend your time with, as long as they treated you right. In the same vein, you didn't care much about what he thought when it came to your own decisions, and yet, you found yourself caring a little more because this was one of his friends. Not yours.

But feelings were feelings… and you were slowly coming to terms with yours.

It was like déjà vu when you crept down the stairs in the dead of night for the second time this vacation. You simply could not bear staring at that wooden ceiling any longer with your mind reeling from this afternoon's events.

The living room was yet again a cacophony of light snoring, and you crossed the room toward the back door once more.

You paused again, the sight of Sungchan's back a familiar one. Instead of sitting on the porch steps, though, he leaned against the railing, gazing out at the dark waves. It was yet another calm night out on the embankment, but the moon tonight was hidden away behind a few wisps of cirrus clouds.

He glanced over his shoulder at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you greeted softly, gently closing the door behind you so you could join him at the railing. It was funny how you both were on the same wavelength. Fate had a funny way of encouraging you.

You and he hadn't properly spoken since the arcade, and Jeno hadn't said a word about it to you either. Dinner had gone on normally enough, so you were unsure of where this all stood.

“I wanted,” Sungchan began, “to talk to you about something.”

You glanced over at him and found his eyes already on you. “Sure, of course.”

He straightened, gesturing to the sandy beach beyond. “Walk with me?”

You nodded and followed him down the porch steps. Your feet met the cool grains of sand, and a sense of calm seeped into your bones from the bottom up.

A hand outstretched in your vision, uncertain. You clasped your hand in his palm, and the pair of you began to walk. You couldn't recall whether you began to adore the feeling of your hand wrapped up in his earlier or just now.

“So…” you trailed off.

“So,” he picked up. “About earlier today. I wanted to, uhm, make sure we were on the same page about something.”

He stopped you both when you were a good distance from the house, where the waves slipped along the sand louder than the snores.

“I had a really fun time with you today,” he said.

You nodded your head in earnest. “I had a great time with you, too.”

He smiled then, hand letting go of yours to drag over his face. “I'm—I’m happy to hear that,” he replied, and you were sure he was trying to hide his growing giddiness.

You reached over and gently pried his hands away from his face. “Did Jeno talk to you about today? Did he say anything?” Before he could reply, you added, “Because I know he means well, but who I choose to spend my time with is my decision. If he can't handle us together, then he'll have to learn to suck it up.”

“He did say something to me about it,” Sungchan admitted, “but it was just to make sure I wasn't playing around.” With his hands locked in yours, he gave your palms a reassuring squeeze. “And Yn, I'd like to take you out sometime—properly. No playing around.”

No more toeing the line in the sand.

Your heart rattled violently in your chest. “I'd really like that.”

His expression melted into something tender, like the dark swirls of molten chocolate in the scoop of tiramisu ice cream. His thumb grazed over the back of your hand. “Okay,” he murmured, barely audible over the soft laps of the waves, “good.”

He considered you for a moment longer, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I also—I did intend on kissing you earlier today, and I probably should have prefaced it, but—mmmh!”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled his mouth over to yours. He sank into your hold with a content hum, his hands slipping around your waist to tug you closer to him. You'd never really thought about what kissing Jung Sungchan would be like, but you knew that your imagination couldn't have been better than this.

When you broke apart with your foreheads pressed against each other and sharing breathing air, you let out a small laugh. The sound coaxed a warm chuckle out of your counterpart.

“Sorry,” you breathed against his lips, “I probably should have asked first.”

He smiled against you. “You can apologize by kissing me again.”

He most certainly didn't have to tell you twice.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! (idek if that was good, im off my Game and off my Rocker dkfnrj)

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