#i always put too much in the tags. i should write a post about that and share my article

[milfygerard]

but fr outside of my contracted madness i absolutely refuse to give joe alwyn gold rush like how is that song at all related to their relationship the lyrics clearly spell out a relationship that either never existed or only existed in implication and fantasies and maybe-maybe nots and its so bitter and yet desperately soft in the bridge where it almost projects a sense of envy, of wanting to be them as much as you want them. It continues an interesting oft ignored lyrical trend of taylor wanting just as much to be her lover as to have them, envying their easy charisma (you were flush with the currency of cool/i was always turning out my pockets) or quiet dignity (your integrity makes me seem small) dating back to her earliest songs (the kind of flawless i wish i could be). Theres a projected self hatred and yearning to be better that twists itself into both romantic and sexual lust for her partners thats so fascinating and speaks to how all of her songs regardless of who theyre about are also an act of self reflection on who she is and who she wishes to be.

[not-so-superheroine]

deseret book is more persistent than duolingo.

i ordered 2 books for a church research project on Black saints in the early Church and also in the Reorganization, on which the one book had a small section us and all had info from the our shared early church history, and it was an ebook too!

and i get physical mail from them once a month. i have no idea how to cancel.

herald house, the community of christ publishing house, contacts me much less, and i buy books from them all the time.

and oh their church book app reminds me to read my scriptures and the words of their prophets regularly if it's not in sleep mode.

i have to admire the effort behind it, ngl.

[sereniv]

ok for rn i am going to try and get some art done and finish this crappy audio book.

read tags i said some stuff i should have just written here

[diamondcitydarlin]

Just fair warning- I said on my personal post about this that I wasn't going to talk about Neil Gaiman anymore, but as it's becoming clear that him and his publishers and anyone else who makes money off of him is circling the wagons and trying to bury these allegations, as well as some fans still defending and trying to 'rationalize' this information, I feel like, actually, we need to keep talking about him (as much as I cannot stand him and feel physically disgusted now when I so much as see his face somewhere). Specifically, the fact that he's a liar, master manipulator and should not, under any circumstances, be given access to his fans like he has in the past. At the very least. (And if you need to blacklist his name or even unfollow me so as to not be triggered, I completely understand, but I will always try to tag these posts accordingly and I think it's crucial right now that the truth be put where people can see)

This post specifically is in response to those 'rationalizations' I've seen, some that have gone as far as to blame the young fans/groupies that hooked up with him for being 'golddiggers' or just making a mountain out of a molehill for something they now regret. It's not that simple, yall. (And, again, this requires some amount of completely ignoring the story about him extorting his tenant for sex under threat of eviction of her and her three young children, I'm not sure how you 'rationalize' that under the best of circumstances)

So let's be clear here. What we know is that NG has routinely, for possibly an upwards of 30 years, pulled sexual 'partners' from his fan groups, most of whom are 18-22 year old young women (though possibly younger, accounts are coming forward of 16 year olds having allegedly been inappropriately touched/flirted/propositioned by him, which ig is the age of consent in the UK but still?? 16 year olds!!). This wasn't one or two times in the course of three decades, this was a constant pattern of behavior for him and for a very insidious reason.

This isn't to try to infantilize those fans or young women/young people in general or try to suggest that they couldn't have consented to sex with an older person or famous person. In fact, the onus isn't on them at all. This is about an older guy with a lot of fame, power and wealth choosing to sleep with people that he had already conditioned to idolize him and using that power imbalance to coerce them into doing things they didn't want to.

Regardless of one's age or gender identity, it can be difficult to impossible to say 'no' to someone like that. After all, you've been 'chosen' by the chosen one, you're special and not like everyone else, and if you don't do what the popular person everyone trusts is telling you to do you could end up ostracized. Alienated. Or worse. And you know what? Gaiman knew that! He knew it when he was crafting his 'approachable dad' persona on tumblr. He knew it when he was cultivating a fandom of personality. He knew it when he was having huge meetups to try to ensnare more victims. I hate to even think it, but I'm starting to believe he knew it when he was writing children's books too.

It's been talked about again and again in separate issues, but needless to say something not being strictly illegal does not make it inherently, morally okay. It does not erase the fact that this man has been essentially grooming his fandom to feel safe meeting/speaking with him so he can coerce those he can snare into sexual acts they're not comfortable with. That is predator behavior, whether strictly 'illegal' in the eyes of a court or not (but ofc I think he should be criminally punished even if I'm not naive enough to think he actually will be, because this IS rape and rape should be criminally punished)

I'm not personally advocating for anyone to give up being in his related fandoms, but what I am personally advocating for is that people don't forget who he is and what he's capable of, especially when he tries to crawl back to where he was (I'm almost certain he will eventually, as I've said).

Again, at the very least, we need to use what little influence we do have to keep him from infiltrating fan spaces again. He should not be on tumblr yukking it up with young people, he should not be at public appearances hitting on teenagers, he should not be given the unrestricted access to fans that he's 'enjoyed' for the past 30+ years because he is not a safe person. While I wish there was more in the way of restorative justice that could be done, I think at very, very least we should do what we can to limit his proximity to people he could hurt in the future. Make sure no one forgets, because sweeping this under the rug means Gaiman gets to hurt more people.

Lastly, no one is the wrong for having been manipulated by him. Let's make that very clear. What we're NOT gonna do is blame ourselves, each other, the victims, etc, for evil acts that Gaiman chose to do himself, time and time and time again. It doesn't help the situation and it certainly doesn't protect future potential victims. We were all duped because we're human and we attach and a lot of us want to believe there are good people out there, particularly those who make art that means so much to us.

And there are. But let's also use this a teaching/learning tool about how much faith we place in famous people in the future, regardless of how 'approachable' and 'safe' they might seem. Let's remember to have a healthy suspicion of creators/famous people that are oddly immersed in fandom spaces- yes, even the ones you still currently like that seem fine, as difficult as that may seem.

At the end of the day, we don't know them or what they're capable of doing or what they might be plotting to do to us. Support victims. Amplify their voices. Don't forget.

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

[zayneslady]

summary: it's been a while since the last time you saw him, but you missed him so terribly.

warnings: angst/comfort. Happy endings for the win *sobs* Pt. 2 of these scenarios

characters: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier x reader (separately)

a/n: I wanted to apologize. I got some comments saying that perhaps I wrote them a bit too ooc and that they wouldn't do something like this, so I was thinking maybe I should step out from writing these; I'm probably not understanding the characters very well. I'm really sorry! I had this one written already, so this is probably going to be the last post I make! Thank you for your support! In only a couple of days you guys were so amazing and loving, I'm super moved and I don't deserve you all at all ❤️

classification: scenarios

tag list: many of you asked me to tag you in the second part, I hope you guys like it! 💕

@biitchyberry @rosaryia @lcheerymotion @mo0nforme

ZAYNE ❄️

It's been four weeks since your argument with Zayne. The first days had been like hell. You had already tasted the honey of a relationship with the person you liked the most and loved the most. You wanted more of him, you needed more. You felt anxious without him, like you had become addicted to his kisses, his gentle touch, and the sweet words he whispered in your ears. You missed him more than you dared to admit.

The days passed slowly, each second seemed to last an eternity. When you got home you felt the emptiness of his presence and you felt like dying, but life continued on, and eventually you got used to being without him. The pain was still present, but more bearable as time kept its course. 

You had stopped frequenting the places you knew he liked for fear of running into him. The dessert shop, the cafe near the hospital, the night stands near the library. You even avoided getting sick so you wouldn't have to go to the hospital. Your life was limited to going to work and coming straight home, with occasional visits to buy groceries. 

You would never have thought that you would have to live a life again without Zayne and only because he didn't know how to separate his friendships from his romantic partner. So smart, but so stupid at the same time. 

You sighed, returning to the present and the food you were making; it was too late when you realized it, but unconsciously you were making one of his favorite dishes. You weren't going to waste the food, so you just carried on trying not to think much about it. 

“Now, where did I put–,” you stopped, surprised by the sudden knocking on your door. You frowned, you were not expecting anyone, but the knocking continued once more and you sighed, turned off the stove. “I'm coming.”

You regretted opening the door. Opening just a crack to see who it was, your heart fluttered in your chest as if there was a small caged bird inside it. Zayne was standing in front of you. He looked ridiculously tired, more than you'd ever seen him. The bags and dark circles under his eyes were deep, his skin did not look radiant and healthy as always and his eyes did not shine like emeralds. 

Your hands were sweating and your insides were churning. "Are you okay?" You asked with a broken voice. Zayne shook his head and he fainted, but with a gasp, you quickly wrapped an arm around his waist and tried to keep him upright. “Zayne! Hey, what's happening?” 

Zayne didn't answer you, and just leaned on you. Not knowing what to do, you dragged him inside and carefully guided him to your room. Once there, you laid him down on your bed, he looked weak. 

“Zayne? Can you hear me? Are you okay?” 

He mumbled your name and your heart raced. “I'm… I am sorry,” he said as he finally passed out. You gasped, but soon heard the soft snores you were so used to. 

Was he that exhausted? And what was he doing at your house? You frowned, fighting back the stinging sensation in your eyes as you tried to hold back some tears. He really always appeared to stir everything inside you. You had already accepted your life without him, but here he was. You sighed heavily, taking off Zayne's shoes and covering him with a blanket.

Your eyes couldn't help but admire him. Even though he was tired, he still looked as handsome as ever. It seemed like a dream, an illusion that would disappear at any moment. You wanted it to happen. You wanted him to disappear, but at the same time, you wanted to take him in your arms and kiss his face. But no, clearing your throat, you grabbed an extra blanket and left the room, closing the door behind you. It was better to let him rest so he could leave as soon as he got up. 

The next morning you woke up to soft steps. Sitting up and whining a little after sleeping on the couch, you saw Zayne coming out from your bedroom. His hair was messy and he was rubbing one of his eyes like a little child, something warm spread across your chest and a smile tried to spread your lips, but you stopped it. He seemed more rested, the bags under his eyes had diminished considerably and his skin looked a little more alive. 

“Zayne.”

He seemed a bit startled as he looked at you with slightly wide eyes. “Hello… I am sorry I fell asleep.” 

You hummed, folding the blanket. “Haven't you been sleeping well?" You didn't want to sound worried, but you were. 

“I haven't… I constantly have nightmares and I've been working over time… a lot more."

“Why?”

“Because I can't stop thinking about you,” he said and despair filled his eyes. “You have no idea how much I've missed you. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I have been working nonstop so I can have my mind occupied, but you're always there, in the back of my head.” 

Don't cry. Don't cry! 

“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Zayne?” You said coldly, wanting to get over with this. 

Zayne approached you and you couldn't move as he took your hands. “Please, please. Give me another chance. I swear. I swear in my life that I do not have feelings for her. I just… I was just stupid and took you for granted. Please, my love, please.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes and you cried even harder as Zayne grabbed your face. "N-No, don't touch me.”

“Please. How can I show you I truly want you? Do you want me to stop talking to her? I'll do it. I'll do it, so please. Just… please. I can't live without you.” His words sounded sincere.

His eyes were glassy and the pain on his face was evident, but your heart still hurt. How did you know that he really wouldn't leave you as a second option anymore? You couldn't even tell him to stop talking to Miss Hunter, you knew this was just Zayne's fault. 

“Zayne… Zayne you're hurting me so much.”

“I know. I know I am and I am terribly sorry for this. I love you. I truly love you.” 

You also loved him, so much. 

“... If this ever happens again, Zayne… I won't forgive you another time. Remember that.”

His green eyes shone with happiness as he pulled you into a tight hug. You hugged him back, the tips of your fingers tingling as you felt his warmth, the tip of your nose digging into the crook of his neck, you breathed deeply, enjoying his scent. 

“You're on trial, Zayne.”

Zayne chuckled and he nodded. “Yes. You won't regret me, I promise you.”

RAFAYEL 🐠

Life was boring without him. He was the spark and the spice in your days. With him, every day seemed like a small adventure, but now that you no longer saw him, the days seemed dark and lifeless. You didn't even remember how much time had passed since that day. One week? Three days? Two months? You weren't sure and, honestly, you tried not to think about it too much because, even though you missed him, the pang of pain in your heart almost made you gasp for air every single time you recalled every moment with him. It was almost as if his bodyguard had also been there, on every date with Rafayel, for all of your conversations were about her. 

He was full of praise for her. He named each of her virtues and laughed affectionately at her defects. He didn't accept anyone claiming that they were better than her or stronger, because his precious bodyguard was the strongest and the bestest. Just thinking about it made you feel tears filling your eyes. You didn't want to remember any of it, but as you held your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial button, you couldn't stop thinking about how miserable Rafayel made you feel, even when he also made you feel like the most loved person in the world. 

When he didn't have his mouth full of his wonderful bodyguard, Rafayel showered you with affection. His kisses, his hugs, and his caresses all felt full of love and tenderness. His beautiful eyes looked at you sweetly, as if you were the most precious thing that ever existed on earth. He liked to tease you and make you laugh and he always said that you were like a muse for all his paintings: The sparkle in your eyes, the color of your hair, the texture of your skin, the curves of your body, everything was inspiration.

How could he be so cruel and loving all at the same time? Poor bodyguard, you even didn't like her although she hadn't done anything wrong, as far as you knew. 

Sighing, you finally tapped on the green button and your heart raced faster and faster at every beep coming from the other side of the line. Would he answer you? Was he… with her? Was he busy with one of his paintings? What if- 

His voice calling your name surprised you, making you jump. “I’m here! Hi!” he sounded out of breath and your cheeks blushed. “Hmm, h-how are you d-doing?” 

“Rafayel…,” you took a deep breath. “I… have some clothes at your place. Could I stop by later to get them?” 

“YES! I… I mean… yes. I'll- I'll be here all day. You can stop by at any time you want.”

“... Right. Then, see you there, Rafayel.” 

You let out a long sigh after hanging up. You had forgotten how wonderful his voice was and the way he pronounced your name. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. You were going to see him, you were really going to come again, but you shouldn't be excited. What if he and his bodyguard were dating? The thought made your stomach twist and you decided it was best to leave immediately. The quicker you finish this, the better. 

As always, the door was open, but you didn't immediately enter, your hands were shaking and your heart was racing against your ribcage. You didn't want to see him.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pushed the door open and you were greeted with that aroma that you had missed so much. The smell of acrylic paint, the sea and Rafayel's scent. You couldn't help but take a long breath- this exquisite smell felt like home. Your eyes watered a little, but you tried to stay calm as you walked deeper into the spacious house.

“R-Rafayel? Are you here? "You heard a gasp from the room and in a second, Rafayel appeared in front of you. Ah, he looked as wonderful and beautiful as always. His gorgeous eyes were wide, looking you up and down as his mouth stretched into a shy smile. You wanted to hug him. “The door… was open so I just- I'm sorry.”

“No! That's okay! I… I left it open for you!” 

You nodded. “I see… do you mind if I just…”

“No, go ahead, please.” You excuse yourself as you made your way to his room, as you passed by him you felt your legs tremble and you gasped in surprise when he suddenly took your hand.

“Rafayel, what-

“Please, forgive me,” he begged, his eyebrows furrowed in a painful expression. “I was absolutely wrong, you were so right. I was stupid and careless and hurt you so badly.”

“Rafayel… I just came for my clothing, let me g-

“Please!” He hugged you and you went stiff. “Please, please,” he sobbed in your ear. 

“Are you crying?” 

He nodded. “I can't live another second without you. I can't paint anymore. I feel like a piece of me has been taken away, I live half and barely. I really, really do not have feelings for my bodyguard. You're the only one I can think about.”

“Then why- 

“I just… I was just stupid, I didn't mean anything to hurt you, I swear! When I said I missed her, what I wanted to say is that I wanted to train with her, I would never make you train, that's too dangerous,” he started to explain in a rush. “When I told you about the candies, it's because she gave me some amazing chocolate I wanted to gift you and then-

“Rafayel-

“Please. Just this once, I swear,” he said, finally showing his reddened face, tears streaming down his face. You gulped, reaching up to clean his tears away and he whined. “I wasn't there to wipe your tears, I am so sorry.” 

That made you burst into tears. That's right, you really wanted him to wipe your tears. He gently cupped your cheeks and his thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching all of those tears falling from your pretty eyes. 

“You can break up with me if I do something like that again! But please… just this once. I love you so much. I really do.” 

You looked at him, His eyes were still wet and some tears were still falling down his cheeks. Maybe…

“Just this once, Rafayel… I won't forgive anything like this ever again.” He beamed and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, but you covered his mouth, frowning slightly. “I'm still mad at you.”

He blinked and gently smiled behind your hand before taking it in his. “Of course, I'll prove myself to you, beautiful creation.” 

XAVIER ⭐

You couldn't sleep. It's been two weeks since you last slept properly. Two weeks ago you were in Xavier's arms and he held you lovingly, whispering words of comfort in your ears. You weren't sure why, but being around Xavier always made you feel relaxed, a little sleepy, but never bored. You loved spending lazy times with him, taking naps and frolicking in bed, giggling like fools and giving each other soft, tender kisses. 

With his warmth and love it was not difficult to fall asleep at night, he always wanted to sleep so that tranquility that emanated from him was enough to relax you and make you sleep throughout the whole night. In the mornings you felt rejuvenated and full of life and seeing his sleepy smile was like living in a dream. 

You felt your bottom lip quiver into a pout. You missed him too much. You never thought he would behave that way. Had you never really been important to him? If he wanted to be with his partner so much, why had he even agreed to go out with you in the first place? 

“Agh! I hate you Xavier!” You cried, banging your fists against the table in your kitchen. “Why did you let me fall in love with you?” Maybe you really had gone crazy, talking to the table like that. 

There was no time for this. It was almost dark and you still needed to go buy some groceries for your dinner. You struggled out of your house, so tired and dragging your feet. You wanted to sleep... with Xavier. You wanted to feel his warmth. But... what if he now wrapped his partner in his arms? Your cheeks turned red and, trying to avoid thinking about it, you hurried to catch the bus. 

You found a seat near the door and next to a young man, there weren't as many people as you imagined and as the bus started to go you felt your eyes heavy. Maybe... you could sleep for a few minutes? The store wasn't far away, so just a few minutes... just a couple of minutes… 

You heard your name being called between clouds. From far away. Over and over and over. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

“Hmm?” You opened your eyes and gasped, How long had it been?! Where were you? And... why was your head...? Had you fallen asleep on someone's shoulder?! "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" You said, raising your head only to find that the young man next to you... "Xavier?!" 

The hunter blinked, his eyes avoided yours for a second before looking directly at you and nodding a small greeting. Had he been there next to you the whole time? You could barely notice what was happening around you with how tired you were, but, strangely, you felt very good. It seemed like he really was the cure for all your ills. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. Xavier looked at you confused, tilting his head to the side like a little bird. 

“I'm sorry, Xavier. I didn't know you were there,” you jumped, “but wait, where are we?!” Checking outside the window, you could tell you were far away from the store now. 

“We're almost at my place,” he said gently and the alarms in your head set off. His partner... didn't she live in the apartment below?! Oh no. Before, you had no problem staying at Xavier's house, but... if they were really in a relationship…

“I gotta go,” you said, seeing the next bus station. It was already dark outside.

“Where are you going?” Xavier asked and you frowned.

“What do you mean? Back home. I only wanted to go to the store, but I fell asleep as you could see… Now it's even dark. Thankfully it's not raining,” you were babbling to yourself as you waited to arrive at the next stop, when you finally did, you got up. “Sorry about that, Xavier. Goodnight.” 

"Now... The next bus…," you mumbled checking the bus's schedule. "10 minutes? Lucky~"

“I'll go with you.” 

You couldn't help but squeal and jump when you heard his voice right behind you. Turning around, you saw him standing there, as tall as he was and as bright as the stars. 

“I'll take you home. It's dark. Something could happen.”

You rolled your eyes. "What could happen, I'm only going home.” 

“Some witnesses have seen wanderers in the area. I can't let you go alone." 

You sat on the bench, arms crossed, Xavier sitting next to you. "Ah, that's true. I'm not strong like your... Forget it." Your cheeks turned red. Very well! Keep opening your big mouth! Xavier didn't say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you and the blush on your cheeks traveled to the tips of your ears. 

Silence reigned between you. You could feel him, his warmth, he was so close to you, you could reach out and touch his knee. Your eyes felt heavy, you wanted to hug him. 

“I am sorry,” he suddenly said and you thought you imagined it but then he repeated it. “I am sorry for what I said the other day.” You turned to look at him and flinched when he saw his bright eyes looking sad and red. “I don't know what I was thinking. Talking like that in front of my girlfriend. Acting like I didn't want to have been there with you, but you're the only person I want close to me. I don't like nor have feelings for my coworker, I only want and need you.” 

He gently wiped a tear from your rosy cheek, his touch was electrifying. 

“You haven't been sleeping well.” You didn't answer, but he continued. “I haven't been able to sleep either. I keep recalling that day and seeing your crying face, I can't stand it… please forgive me.” 

He took your hands and you finally looked up at him, your eyes widening as you saw a small tear fall down his cheek. 

“I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I still beg you, I beg you to give me another chance. I promise I'll do better. Something like this will never happen again. I was an idiot." 

You frowned, “you were an idiot. Do you have any idea how you made me feel? It's hard to believe you love me.” 

He nodded, listening to you carefully. “I know it's hard to believe, but please let me prove it to you, let me show you how much I love you, please. I can't be without you anymore, my star. I need you, otherwise I'll go crazy. Please.” 

You sobbed and Xavier gently pulled you close to him. Wrapping you between his warm arms. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let you and soon you melted in his embrace, crying into his work clothes. 

“Please, give me another chance.” 

You nodded softly. Just one more chance. “There's not gonna be a second time,” you warned between sobs and he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. 

“I won't need them. I will treasure you as the most valuable thing that you are. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem) A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.” 

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before… 

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[wrioluvr]

coming out to + confessing to belobog men. ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆

note: wanted to try my hand at writing more cute stuff <3 also there are like ZERO posts in the luka x male reader tag my baby deserves more. happy pride my beloved readers!!! i wrote this like 6 months ago and coincidentally just picked it back up in time for june! i don't even play hsr anymore... crying emoji content: male reader, fluff. luka, sampo, gepard

sampo (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

would 100% know before you even told him

"hey, [name]! heard you got something to tell me, don't worry, your good pal sampo's all ears."

"sampo... uh.....i like... guys...."

"oh, is that it? i thought it was obvious..."

"HUH????"

"i meant- thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. your secret's safe with me, hehe." placing his hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture, he promises sincerely. despite his initial reaction, he really is touched. not many people trust him, so your willingness to share something so personal made him feel special.

"oh, and one more thing....."

"what is it? you got a secret boyfriend you didn't tell me about?" he asks teasingly, not expecting the bomb you're about to drop on him.

"...i like you."

his eyes go wide. "now that's a surprise."

even though he'd scam people without a second thought, some calling him cruel, he can't bring himself to be indifferent to you. here you were, pouring your heart out, with such a nervous expression on your face, how could he maintain his usual sly demeanour? in all seriousness, he knows he's a bit scummy, so he would be a bit hesitant about getting into a relationship for your sake. he's always running about, chased by the authorities, he doesn't want you to be involved into all that. but if you're willing to accept him and his slippery ways, he'll be sure to put an equal amount of effort. he hates owing favours, after all.

"oh, how could i refuse such a an enticing offer? of course i'll be your boyfriend, [name]." he can't help the grin that appears on his face at your expression, simultaneously shocked and overjoyed. "seriously, you're too precious.... c'mon, let's go on a date!" throwing an arm around you, he squeezes your shoulder excitedly.

"wha- like right now?? and you accepted my confession just like that???" you're at loss of words as he drags you along to who knows where.

"what are you waiting for? let's go, pal! wait- should i call you pal now that we're dating? how about buddy? hmm... still too friendly. how do you feel about sweetheart?"

જ⁀➴

every time he appears at your door, giving you a sheepish grin as he explains how he needs to lay low for a bit, it always comes with a kiss, or several, along with a heart-shaped box of your favourite chocolates. he might go missing for a few days at a time on "business" (probably some illegal trading), but he always makes sure to update you on his whereabouts so you don't worry, sending a bunch of heart pom-pom stickers to let you know he misses you. if anyone were to ever make some snide comments about your sexuality, his first instinct would be to drop every job he's doing and comfort you, followed by using his various contacts to deal with that person swiftly. natasha and seele can't believe he actually got someone to like him, much less get into a serious relationship, but nevertheless, they make sure to look out for you to ensure he doesn't break your heart. he vows not to ever hurt you though, it's the last thing he'd ever want. his promises are often fickle with his clients, but with you, they're always sincere.

luka (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

would definitely being overenthusiastic about being an ally

"[name], hey! you wanted to tell me something? i hope it's about training with me...."

"sorry, luka, it's not about that.... i.... i just wanted to let you know that i'm gay."

"oh! like seele and bronya!"

"i mean- i guess....?" your nervousness was immediately replaced by a comical surprise at his response, you had to suppress your laughter. he was so genuine, it was endearing.

"don't worry! if any thugs give you shit for it, just tell me. i'll deal with them right away... i've been itching for a fight anyway." he immediately gets into a fighting stance, throwing a few punches in the air to get his point across. he ended his little show with a wink, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. you decided to tell him then and there.

"and uh, luka. i like you."

"aw, thanks! i like you too. you're a great friend, [name]."

"like, in the romantic way..."

"that works too! that way, i can protect you easier." without missing a beat, he flashes you a grin and a thumbs up, seemingly unfazed by your sudden confession. but the slight dust of red on his cheeks let you know your words did have an effect.

"wait... you know this means we'll be boyfriends?" your head's reeling at how easily he accepted your feelings. did this man really not think about anything but training and beating up thugs??? not that you were complaining, his drive was one of his charming points, but still.

"yeah, i don't mind. with someone like you by my side, i'm sure i could take on any enemy. thank you for giving me this opportunity."

જ⁀➴

even though he puts on a strong front, secretly, he's deathly afraid of becoming a burden, especially to you. one of his favourite pastimes is training and working out with you, or he'd be content for you to just watch him train and cheer for him as well. as long as he has the reassurance that you know he's getting stronger, allowing him to shield you from the dangers of the underworld. if he ever gets injured, a simple persuasion won't work, you'll have to physically hold him in place so that you can treat his cuts and bruises - no matter how much he protests and insists he's fine, he does appreciate it. a lot. he enjoys the little things, the way you run your fingers along the cool metal of his arm as you ramble about your day, or the enthusiastic whoop you give every time he knocks an opponent out at the fight club, or the scent of the freshly cleaned towel you bring him to dry his sweat. you help him realise that there's time to relax, his self-imposed training schedule being so intense and demanding. getting him to not be so hard on himself would be a treat. if you ever get derogatory comments about your sexuality... trust, he'll personally teach them a lesson, and ask natasha not to treat them once he's done. after all, you give him another reason to continue training to be the strongest. he has to be there for you.

gepard ( •̀ - •́ )

dense cutie... wouldn't get your hints until you told him explicitly

"my apologies for being late, [name]... you had something you wanted to tell me?"

"no problem, gepard... i just wanted to tell you that-" taking a deep breath, you prepare youself for his reaction. "-i like guys."

"oh? me too, i'm quite fond of the guards under my care."

"i mean that i'm gay..."

"oh, that's what you meant. are you telling me this because you've faced some form of discrimination lately? don't worry, belobog has strict laws in place to prevent-"

"no, gepard- i'm telling this because i like you..."

"oh."

જ⁀➴

congratulations, you've courted the sweetest man in all of belobog! initially, he was slightly worried that your newfound relationship would interfere with his duties as protector of the people, but much to his surprise, making time for you is easy. or more so, it's because you always make the effort to stop by whenever he's out patrolling, so you end up spending a lot of time together anyway. his face might get red when you blow him a kiss behind the rest of the silvermane guards' backs, but he always makes sure to let you know how much he appreciates your guidance. he's a little self-conscious about his lack of romantic experience, so be gentle with him! don't tease him too much. while he is fully devoted to his duty, he's not above slipping away for a few minutes when you text him to meet in a back alley, to gift him some flowers you may or may not have stolen from belobog's florist. the next day, he would return the favour by holding out a bunch of your favourite flowers, home grown (an attempt was made) in his very own garden. hey, even if they're slightly wilted, it's the thought that counts, right? don't look at him with that affectionate gaze! he's embarrassed. it would be quite funny if you had criminal tendencies, gepard would be absolutely torn between lecturing you and turning a blind eye simply because his lovely boyfriend had made lunch for him earlier in the day. especially if you're friends with sampo, the little shit would threaten to snitch to you everytime gepard almost catches him. or.... perhaps.... he let you off the hook because of that one time you pinned him against some alley wall (when he was supposed to be patrolling! blasphemous.) and kissed him so hard his legs gave out. you've become one of his weaknesses, but he doesn't mind it. at all.

pic credits to dailysampo, dailygepard and dailylukaa on twt!

[gemini-atz]

Seonghwa as your Boyfriend₊˚⊹♡

('Realistic Imagines' + Astrology Based)

Background/Disclaimer: !!This is all my own interpretation based on my personal astrology knowledge and research. I consider myself an amateur!!

✩Gemini Notes✩ IDK what happened but I ended up getting really into writing the NSFW part of this and it got long so I'm making a part 2 for it which I'll post tomorrow night! I'll create a link at the end of this post and in my Astrology Series Pinned post. If you'd like a tag please comment!

SEONGHWA SUN Aries MOON Cancer MERCURY Aries VENUS Aquarius MARS Aries

Dating Seonghwa is pretty much like being with your best friend. He's such a caretaker and protector in your life almost from the moment he enters it. You guys probably had a base of friendship for a bit before you started dating, and it would have probably (definitely) been you crushing on Seonghwa hard first before he even notices his own feelings for you.

Aquarius Venus and really anyone with their Venus in an Air sign tend to seek intellectual or stimulating connections with people before falling romantically. For Seonghwa his partner should be someone he also considers a close friend. He'd be like the guy you'd meet in your second year of college in class because you were put in a group for an assignment and of COURSE you two turned out to be the only two that even gave a shit and tried. Showing a sincere interest in his hobbies or likes would really endear him to you, and he would try to return the favor by getting into yours. For Seonghwa, a comfortable kind of friends to lovers thing is ideal. He loves spending quality time with you but his idea of quality time is very much giving parallel play, where you both do your own thing in the same room, maybe listening to a playlist you made together. With his three Aries placements, he has the potential to have a really explosive temper. It's a little diminished by his Moon in Cancer but he's probably the type of guy who holds in all his annoyances until he can just get them out at the end of the day either through his hobbies or physical activity. Basically, he likes to keep his mind focused and his hands busy. Air Venus signs can come off as aloof occasionally to other passionate signs who literally want to be with you all the time. He's the kind of boyfriend that will give you some space if you need it, because he'll need it too. You'll be soooo tempted to go an interrupt him when he's focused on his Legos because he's just so beautiful and cute when he's focusing but the thing he loves about you is how much understanding you always give him; its all you can do to just kiss his forehead and go to read a book while laying on the couch. Eventually he'd come over to you, bouncy and energized and flop onto the couch, wiggling up to rest his face into your chest and wrapping warm, solid arms around you. "Can I show you the set I just built?" He'd ask, and of course you say yes! His eyes get so sparkly while he shows it off to you, smiling so proudly at your reactions. If you're a person who loves being spontaneous or adventurous with your plans, having Seonghwa as your boyfriend means you two will genuinely have a lot of fun together. He's the boyfriend that wants genuinely does want to go to art museums and fashion archive exhibits with you, and you guys can chat excitably about your opinions of different works, be it games, anime, fashion or music. As a couple, you are always ready to try something new and probably always have weekend plans.

As a Cancer Moon Seonghwa might gravitate toward the caretaker role in your relationship and tends to anticipate your own needs before you do, just doing little actions to look after you, like preparing your coffee or tea in the morning while you rush around getting ready for work. He isn't super big on PDA, maybe holding hands in public is as much as he's comfortable with but once you're alone....he's your personal giant teddy bear. So many hugs, so many cuddle sessions where you both play on your Switches and pause occasionally to show each other something cool or cute in your game.

You'll end up thinking its funny that some people have the impression your boyfriend is quiet or shy; If he's not saying anything, he just might not be interested in the conversation. Once you get him talking about his interests he's a certified YAPPER. And, surprisingly one of the most stubborn people you have ever met. Like, good luck feeling like you can ever "win" an argument. With both a Sun and Mars in Aries, Seonghwa feels like he can give you energy just from being near him. Aries men tend to have a lot of physical stamina and can push themselves pretty far in that aspect.

Which brings me to my next point......

NSFW

I see Seonghwa as someone who eventually gets into orgasm denial on his partner because of just how long he can go for. That Aries stamina feels like he's the type who can cum and be ready to go again faster than you were expecting.

Read More

[tune-on-in-folks]

Angry Sex with Ex!Vox? They’re both secretly still pining for each other but are too stubborn to admit it so it builds up until one day they’re fighting and it snaps and smut ensues??

BEHOLD, I HAVE RETURNED. Just two weeks late as to when this should have been posted on the 18th of October. For some reason this prompt killed me, and in my brain I wasn't allowed to write anything else until this was done. Well it's done! So, let's all ignore the fact that it's November.

Thank you, anonny, for this prompt, it's a good one, I apologize it took so long. (Also I'm posting this now so I don't try to rewrite this. This version is the fifth rewrite.) Haha! I hope you enjoy~ :D

Tags/Warnings: Smut, P in V sex, fingering, fem!receiving multiple orgasms, angry sex, arguments, sex as punishment kinda?, dub-con for that reason solely, squirting, possessive Vox, jealous Vox. Word Count: 2,988

Vox was insufferable.

It had been two months since the two of you had broken up. You had grown tired of being second best to his company, to the Vees. You were his partner, his lover. Why did you always get overlooked? Why did you always have to fight him just to get him to go on a date with you? It had happened enough that you had started wondering if he actually loved you. Or if you were nothing more than an excuse and a convenient fuck. So you had broken up with him.

He had broken your heart, but you still fucking loved the man. Worse than that, you missed him. It didn’t help that you were surrounded by reminders of him daily. You woke up everyday in your VoxTek issued employee apartment, put on your uniform that had his symbol on it, and had to preach about his products and company day in and day out. You had tried quitting, tried getting another job. But every attempt was moot because he was the one who had the say if you stayed or went. Instead, he had made certain that you would always have to report to him personally. Which you hated. Because he consistently made it a point to argue with you, to try and guilt you because you had left him.

 Vox was hurt. In fact that was an understatement, he had been absolutely gutted when you had broken up with him. You had marched into his office two months ago, told him you were tired of being second to his company and that you were done. He had laughed, because you couldn’t possibly be serious. But you had been, and he realised it that night when he had come home to an empty apartment, all of your belongings gone. He had been a wreck privately for days afterward. Two months later, he missed you and as much as he denied it, he still loved you. He had spent the last month reflecting on why you had left, taking everything you said in your near daily fights, into account. A part of him still wanted you, the part of him that still loved you. But the other part of him, that was angry and hurt, wanted nothing more than for you to suffer. Especially when he caught wind of the fact that you had a date tonight. Which is why he called you up to his office, using your latest report as an excuse.

He sat up when you entered, pushing down the excitement he felt whenever he saw you. You had broken his heart, why it still beat for you, he didn't know.

He says your name softly, before clearing his throat. “Your latest report is absolute garbage.”

It wasn't.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you lean your weight on one leg. Great, he was picking a fight immediately. 

“No the fuck it isn't. That's the same format I always use. The one you said you like.” You sigh, rubbing your face, already expecting a bad argument, “Seriously, Vox, what's the real reason I'm here?”

You were certain he had caught wind of the fact that you had a date tonight. Which was precisely the reason you didn't want to be having a conversation with him. You were trying to move on, that's what you told yourself at least. But the truth was that you had no interest in your poor date. Your heart still beats for Vox and only him, regardless of if you wanted it to or not.

He leans back in his chair, his expression hardening. “I heard you have a date tonight.”

Ah, so he had heard, at the very least he didn’t deny that was the real reason he’d called you up.

“Yes I do, actually-”

“Cancel it.” He cuts you off.

A baffled laugh escapes your lips. “Excuse me?”

“I said cancel. It.” He growls, eyes meeting yours as he leans forward.

You shake your head, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yeah, sure, let me just cancel my date because my boss said so… Go fuck yourself.”

You turn away from him, intent on leaving. You didn’t have the energy to have another fight, to push down what you truly wanted to say. Vox’s brows furrow, his left eye gaining the black spiral, betraying his rising anger. Sparks of electricity arc off him.

“We’re in the middle of a conversation, so don’t you even think about leaving. What do you see in this guy anyway? He’s undeserving of you.” He hisses, his eyes never leaving you once.

You turn back around scoffing, “So are you! You never deserved me, Vox. So no, I will not ‘cancel’ my date just because you’re pissy I’m moving on.”

You take long strides towards his desk, slamming your hands down against the surface as he grits his teeth. You were in too deep now, the words had already started and you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop until you were completely burnt out.

“I broke up with you, I’m moving on, let me go and stop perpetuating this.” You meet his gaze head-on, steeling yourself against the anger in his eyes. “I. Don’t. Love. You.”

A flicker of hurt flashes in his expression but it’s gone in an instant. “You expect me to believe that? That you don’t love me?”

You break eye-contact. You were angry and hurt, but you’re unable to keep looking him in the eye as you force yourself to lie. “I don’t. Haven’t in months, why do you think I broke up with you?”

He laughs in disbelief, but you can hear the sadness. He considers your words, wondering if they were true. Had you fallen out of love with him months before you even broke up?

“Months?” There’s disbelief in his voice when he finally speaks, but underlying it is a fear that it was true.

“Months.” You confirm ruthlessly, the words spilling from you, “Why would I love a man who makes no time for me? Who lies to me, makes excuses, and gives me empty apologies?”

You begin to pace, ignoring the lights flickering around you both. You were accustomed to his powers messing with the power whenever the two of you bickered. He stands up, approaching you with every word you speak.

“Every missed date, it was another half-assed reason why you couldn’t make it! About why your company was more important than me, why you had to be at work instead.” You rant. “I eventually stopped trying. It was easier than having to feel the sting of disappointment-”

Your voice catches in your throat, the emotion hitting you full force. You hadn’t stopped for a moment in the last two months to sit and process your feelings after you had left Vox.

Swallowing, you force yourself to finish your thought, “As once again, I wasn’t important enough!”

“Not important enough?” He growls, “Of course you were fucking important! You were always more important than my fucking company! But I was working because I wanted you to never have to work another day in your after-life. I was doing it for you! For us!”

You laugh, tears spilling down your cheeks, the warmth of them startling you. “Yeah, real fucking nice of you, Vox. I didn’t want or need that. What I wanted, what I fucking needed, was the man I loved!”

You take another step back as he continues to advance on you. “But what could I expect from a man married to his job? I doubt I was even a thought in your head. Did you ever even love me?-”

Your back hits the wall, expelling the air from your lungs as he slams his hands above your head, boxing you in. There’s genuine anguish on his face at your words.

His voice is low and dangerous, “Don’t you ever question that I loved you, doll. I loved you with all my heart and soul. I still love you.”

He doesn’t give you anytime to respond, crashing his lips down against yours in a bruising kiss. He kisses you like a man starved, desperation evident in every moment. He moves his hands to your waist, dragging you closer to him as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You whimper, feeling the walls you had meticulously built around your heart shatter in an instant. With his mouth on yours, his body pressing against you, you could almost forget how hurt you had been. Could almost pretend that everything was okay, that neither of you had hurt each other. But the truth was ugly, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Vox..” You pant, eyes fluttering close as he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at your skin.

He squeezes your waist, his grip hard enough to hurt. You can feel the anger simmering underneath the surface of his body, can feel it in the way he’s tensed. You can tell with how the lights continue to flicker around you both. He slides a hand to your ass, squeezing hard, his claws bite into your skin, drawing blood. He grinds against you, pressing his growing arousal against your stomach.

“I’m going to make sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” He growls.

It’s a threat that you take seriously even as it sends heat pooling between your legs. He grabs your skirt, tightening his grip around the material and pulling. The sound of it tearing meets your ears before it falls to the floor in tatters, exposing your cyan panties to him. A pair he had gifted you.

His eyes flash with anger, the room suddenly plunging into darkness, save his face. “You were wearing these for that fucker, weren’t you?”

His claws slice through your panties, causing you to gasp.

“Vox, no, I-” You try, a whimper escaping you as he slices through your shirt, exposing the matching bra.

“You thought you could just wear a set I gifted you for someone else?” He shredded the bra in turn. “Well now you can’t.”

You groan, anger flooding you anew. “You asshole! That was my fav-”

His fingers slip between your thighs, rubbing against your clit harshly, cutting you off. He slips two fingers inside your already dripping entrance.

“So wet already.” He mutters, “You really were expecting to get fucked tonight, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t, actually.” You gasp, rolling your hips down against his hand.

It had been months since he had kissed you, had touched you. His touch on you felt electric, your body responding readily. He curls his fingers up against your g-spot, massaging the spot with barely contained anger. His thumb presses into your clit roughly, each touch against it in time with the increasing speed of his fingers pumping into you. You can feel your pleasure growing, the coil in your gut winding tighter with every passing moment.

“Yeah, right.” He growls, “Look at you, you’re already about to cum.”

You whine, annoyed at the fact that he could read your body so well. Could tell by the way your walls fluttered around his fingers that you were close.

“Oh, fuck-” You cry out, your release slamming over you. “You.”

He chuckles, the sound deep in his chest as he works you through your release, reaching to free his erection. “Oh, I’m going to, babydoll.”

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he frees his cock, stroking it a few times. He groans at his own touch, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He spins you around, pressing your chest against the wall as he lines his cock up with your entrance. He doesn’t wait, slamming his cock into you forcibly. You cry out at the burn of his cock stretching you. Your body tries to pull away from him as he drags you down onto his length. But you can’t deny how good it feels to have him back inside you.

“Fuccck.” He groans, rolling his hips into you, pressing deeper. “So fucking tight. Your pussy was made for me and only me.”

He pulls out slowly only to sharply thrust back into you, setting a bruising pace immediately. Your moans fill the air, mixing with the sounds of skin against skin. The wet slap of his cock pummeling in and out of you is nearly deafening. He tightens one of his hands around your hip, holding you in place as he reaches for your neck. He pulls you from the wall, forcing you to arch your back, his hand squeezing around your neck tightly. He grunts, feeling your walls flex around his cock. You close your eyes, whimpers falling from your mouth as he continues pounding into you. The coil of pleasure was wound tightly in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Please.” You choke out, tears biting the corners of your eyes.

You were so close and he knew it. He shifts his hips slightly, hitting your g-spot over and over. His mouth brushes against your ear, his hand around your throat tightening.

“Look at you.” He growls, “So desperate for my cock, so desperate to cum.”

You reach for his hand around your throat, clawing at his skin as he cuts off your airways. He loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. His pace never falters, his balls slapping against your clit with every punishing thrust.

“What will your date say when you show up dripping with my seed?” He growls, sliding his hand from your waist to rub your clit.

You whimper, focusing on your pleasure, on the fact that you were right on the precipice of your release. He grunts from the effort of his pace, his cock twitching inside you as his own release grows closer.

“Cum for me, babydoll.” He commands, “Let me feel how much you still need me.”

“Fuck!” You scream, a particularly hard thrust from him sending you off that edge.

Your walls squeeze around his cock, your body quaking as a rush of liquid erupts from your body. Vox moans as you squirt, slamming into you roughly as he fucks you through your release. He grunts, burying himself as deep as he can go. His cock twitches, ropes of hot cum flooding into your womb.

“That’s it,” He groans, “take every drop, you’re mine, all mine.”

His hand squeezes around your neck once more before falling away. He rocks his hips against you, breathing heavily as you both come down. His cock begins to soften, slipping out of your abused hole. His seed mixed with your own release runs down your legs. He steps back, releasing you. Your legs give out from underneath you at the lack of support. Just before you hit the ground, Vox scoops you into his arms, holding you close to him. 

“Damn, I’m sorry, doll.” He apologises, no anger left in his voice, only remorse as he brushes hair out of your face.

His touch is soft, no anger simmering beneath it. You meet his gaze in the low-light of his office, his seed dripping out of you.

“You know,” You whisper, your voice hoarse, “You can’t fuck me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know.” He mutters, sadness filling his eyes. “I fucked up, I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I’m truly sorry, I never meant to break your heart, doll. I know you probably won’t forgive me, but I can’t live without you. You’re everything to me and I don’t know what I’ll do if I’ve truly lost you. Please tell me, I haven’t.”

Your expression softens, as you search his gaze, finding only sincerity shining in his eyes. His apology was late, and you wished he had said it sooner. Wish he hadn’t fought you so much the last two months, but late was better than never.

“You broke my heart, Vox. My trust.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know I’m not blameless in this, but… I need you to try. I can’t be second to your company, I won’t wait around for you if all you have to offer me is empty promises.”

His heart skipped a beat, hope filling him, it wasn’t much but it was something. It was enough.

“Let me win you back.” He says quickly, “I swear to you, I will work to win back your heart, to earn your trust again. I will put you above everything else. I love you.” 

He presses a gentle kiss against your lips, pulling back to whisper, “Let me show you that.”

You take a deep breath, wondering if you were about to make a mistake, “One chance, Vox. That’s all you get. No matter how much I love you, I can’t let you break my heart again.”

He smiles, a large genuine smile that has your stomach doing flips. That was the smile you had fallen in love with.

“That’s all I need.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against yours again.

You feel a rush of warmth surround you as he teleports you both through his cameras, coming out in his suite. He carts you towards his bedroom, the bedroom the both of you had once shared. The bedroom you’d share with him again.

“Now,” He smirks, dropping you onto his bed. “I think it’s about time I make love to you.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your heart skip a beat regardless as he crawls over you, nudging your legs apart. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a loving kiss. You didn’t know if you’d regret giving him another chance; To love you, to regain your trust, and to prove to you that you were more important than his company. But you also knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be than in his arms.

So maybe he was worth it.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hey, Sea! I'm kinda crazy about your work and I'm always sooo happy when there are new posts from you. I love the way you write the characters, it's so delicate, sweet and just amazing! And truth be told, I came for sub!aemond, but now I'm so hooked up on sub!aegon

In one of your previous posts you said something that made my mind spiral: himbo!aegon. Now I just need to read something, anything about it, if it's not too much to ask

This is so funny to me because I too started writing for sub!aemond and then ended up hooked on sub!aegon so I'm glad to hear others are in the same position.

I have plenty of asks with Aegon angst, which is absolutely brilliant we all know I love torturing the lad, but I think this could be the perfect ask to actually have some happy Aegon? So there will be happy subby himbo!aegon below the cut! Oh and I've made himbo!aegon a tag so that we can discuss it more!

So firstly, very early in your marriage to Aegon you discover that he just functions better when he has instructions to follow? At first this confuses you so much because you've seen how angry and irritable he gets when Allicent orders him to do something, and yet when you do it he almost seems relieved?

It takes a long time for Aegon to talk to you about Allicent and about how she affects him, but eventually he explains that Allicent just has this way of speaking to him and instructing him that makes him feel inferior and stupid? She will purposefully insult him while giving him an order, breaking his confidence and self image down enough that he doesn't trust his own thinking.

But then with you, you're so sweet about it? You listen to him and you help him and you praise him when he does as you ask. You never, ever, make him feel useless or stupid and you always make sure to show him how proud you are of him.

So when you smile at him and ask him to do something, he doesn't even consider disobeying? He's almost giddy as he runs back to you to tell you that he's done as you asked. You always praise him and give him a kiss and him feel so so good, so of course he listens to you!!

His mother is wholly incapable of understanding this by the way.

Anyway, so you quickly realise that Aegon really does function better when you instruct him. You first realise this at your wedding when you ask him for something, and the way he absolutely BEAMED at you when you thanked him and said he was perfect? You immediately knew you'd have to look more into this.

Pretty soon you’ve got Aegon wrapped around your finger and honestly he is loving it. Aegon thrives on feeling owned? He absolutely loves being able to refer back to you for guidance, loves being able to slip onto your lap whenever you two are alone and nibble on your collarbone and ear while you explain what you think he should do. It’s the freely given affection that makes him feel so so special and allows him to let his walls down enough that being told what to do no longer feels insulting.

Of course this works in the bedroom too, but that you knew from day one. The moment you gave Aegon the smallest pushback, he relented and when you responded by taking charge, he was completely enamoured and never looked at another again. It’s like you just claimed him and he’s so so pleased with it.

For a while he tries to not seem as reliant on your guidance as he actually is because he’s scared you’ll see him as too weak if you knew the truth. He’ll ask your opinion on something in passing and try to act all nonchalant about it, but in truth he’s hanging onto your every word because he’s not sure what to do and he knows he can trust you.

Eventually when he realises that he can be more open about it and you’ll never tease him or patronise him, well then you pretty much rule the seven kingdoms. He puts you on his small council, and while you don’t always say much in the meetings, Aegon can tell by your expressions what you think of things and when you do speak, it’s always impactful.

The other members of the small council were originally uncertain about him adding you but after one meeting they were to glad he did. It’s like you’re able to perfectly toe the line between understanding Aegon and also understanding what the realm needs. Aegon doesn’t snap when you steer him in a different direction, so the small council is very very grateful (except Allicent but thats not exactly new or surprising).

Also, Aegon isn’t just a himbo because he’s obedient and pretty and little dumb, he also LOVES his wife. He’s considered to be the most in love king in history. The whole of the seven realms knows how much King Aegon loves his queen, and how important it is for them to get on your good side.

If Aegon had it his way, court would be held with you sitting on the iron thrown and him across your lap, his legs dangling over the side of the thrown. Of course you don’t allow this during court because he needs to maintain some semblance of control in front of the noble lords and ladies, but when everyone finally leaves then he jumps off the thrown, waits for you to sit down and gets back on the thrown, this time across your lap. You hold him and have a little debrief.

The first time you suggested a debrief, Aegon had rolled his eyes and refused. But your tone was firm, and you both knew he’d never tell you no when you spoke like that.

And now he absolutely loves the debriefs. Irrelevant of whether you were at court that day or not, Aegon always starts with telling you everything that happened and venting about whatever he needs to vent about. One of the many things Aegon loves about you is how you can joke with him? When he insults a member of court you respond with an even funnier insult. More than once you’ve had to grab him to stop him from falling off your lap from laughing too hard.

Then he gets to hear your thoughts on everything and he’s so so thankful that the two of you seem to just speak the same language? He always knows exactly what you’re doing about and why, you can just explain things in a way that he absolutely loves.

So yeah, himbo!aegon!!

[celestie0]

hi friends, i won’t be posting or updating any of my works for an indefinite period n will be on hiatus from this blog as well.

i’ve unlisted kickoff & ihm on ao3 (haven’t deleted, they’ve just been made private) and i’ve unpinned my masterlist here on tumblr (again nothing’s been deleted so you could probably find the chapters if you searched my tags)

but the reason i did that is because i don’t want any new readers finding my works during my hiatus because i don’t want to potentially upset more people in the event that, during this hiatus, i decide that i would no longer like to write my fics

that would be an insanely sad decision to make. i put so much thought into my stories not because i am trying to make them entertaining, but it’s because they genuinely mean so much to me and are cathartic in ways i can’t describe. i have spent a great majority of my life self negating for the sake of others, and so writing was just a form of expression where i could talk about all the things i’ve suppressed over the years - anxiety, career stress, financial stress, avoidance, depression, loss, coming of age, navigating love, etc

but lately, and i do think it’s been a build up of just some careless words from a handful of people over the months, i find myself steering towards a practice of writing that is no longer asking the question “how can i put as much of myself in this piece as possible?” but rather “how can i make sure people won’t criticize this…i feel awful that it doesn’t have what they want it to have…other creators are doing xyz, should i be doing that too?…i’m just scared to share this”

not exactly sure when that shift in headspace began, but as of right now, it’s as strong as ever. and i understand that those questions may seem irrational, and i just have to try to not focus on the feeling, n i wish i was someone that could compartmentalize those thoughts better, but here’s the thing — the whole reason i started expressing myself through writing in the first place was because i’ve spent my whole life compartmentalizing. it would feel so ironic & untrue to the lessons i’ve learned in this journey if i just chose to “suck this up” and continue pushing forward until i reach a point of burnout simply because i don’t want to upset anyone

i’m really sorry i couldn’t focus on the positive. especially with all the insane n incredible amount of love n support i’ve received for my works. i’ve said this time n time again but when i started posting kickoff to ao3 back in january of this year, i had NO idea it would be this loved by so many people…i was like ok can’t wait to interact w these four readers for the rest of the year…and then BAM, i find myself fully sobbing after each chapter update because i was so touched by all the sweet n kind words. i don’t want this decision to come off in a way that makes it seems like i don’t love u guys sm or that i’m ungrateful — i’ve always taken pride in respecting my audience. even for a simple hobby, i try to put effort into my works. i proofread, i plan out, i edit in length, all because i am, well, for one, i’m a bit of a perfectionist LOL but also i think there’s a great deal of honor in respecting an audience that gives you their time n attention

but i already am struggling in my life to focus on the positive. medicine has been such an incredibly daunting career to pursue, i’m honestly only doing slightly better now because i’m just filled with relief that i got into med school to begin with lol it’s still surreal to me, so the stress has been kinda manageable so far on that sense of optimism, but dear god the shit i went through to get here…and the shit i know i still face ahead of me. i spend all of my serotonin on trying to stay positive in the face of my responsibilities. so all of this time i’ve spent trying to stay positive for the sake of my stories too has just left me with so much exhaustion — i just don’t see why posting my works should be anything less than fun and endlessly exciting when it’s a hobby that’s supposed to help me thru the actual brunt of life.

anyways, i’m getting a little carried away here. all this to say, i just need to take time away from posting my works so i can see writing as something for myself n not for others again. i don’t want the thoughts swimming in my head to be thoughts of anxiety over people potentially criticizing me n my creative decisions. i want the thoughts in my head to once again be positive, excited, and nurturing towards my stories. i don’t see how i can accomplish that at this point unless i start writing for myself once more, and not for others

i still have a great deal of passion to write, which is why i haven’t formally taken down my works. i anticipate that i may be able to come back in the future to share my writing again. but as of right now, i just want to heal the relationship that i have with this hobby, and i feel like that’s gotta happen in private (lmfao it sounds like im tryna freak my writing)

i’m sorry that i turned off my asks n my replies, i know so many of u care about me n want to support me n i just am beyond thankful. i don’t anticipate this is a forever goodbye, but i do just need some time rn away from all of this.

hope u all have a happy time!! and take care of yourselves :) much love

- ellie

[guiltyasdave]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Hello, hello! Congrats to the milestone! For the festivity may I wish for a fic with 1/A; 2/Canon- adjasond; 3/Hurt/Comfort and 4 is up to you. If it fits your jam, would be an outsider pov be possible? 👀

Thank you so much for the ask, I definitely gave myself some feels writing this one! I've never done a Wayne POV before, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. 🥲

Your first warden

Words: 999

Rated: T

Tags: POV Wayne Munson; Good uncle Wayne Munson; Child neglect; Child abuse; Alcohol abuse; Drowning; Referenced parental death; Eddie had a shitty childhood; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Hurt Eddie Munson; Recovery; Caretaker Steve Harrington; Hurt/comfort

The first time Eddie almost died, he was two years old. 

Al had insisted on bringing him along for that fishing trip. A proper men's day out, he'd said. Of course Al’s idea of a proper men's day out was hitting the booze the second they arrived. By the time Wayne heard him snore, little Ed had already wandered off. 

He found him floating face down between the reeds a few yards away. The water lillies and the pretty lights rippling on the surface must've drawn him in. Wayne thinks he lost five years of his life in the seconds between pulling him out and the kid's first coughs filling the air.

“‘s okay, kiddo,” Wayne murmured as he rocked the both of them, tears and lake water drenching his flannel. “‘s okay. I gotcha.”

The ruckus drew Al, of course. He took one look at them and yanked Eddie away by the arm, slapping him hard across the face. 

“Quit howling, it's your own damn fault for going in the water. And you,” his eyes found Wayne's and his face twisted into something ugly. “Who d'ya think you are, his fucking guard dog? Keep your nose outta things that don't concern ya.” 

And maybe it was because Wayne never liked being told what to do, least of all by his drunk, deadbeat brother - but he promised himself something on that day. 

For as long as Eddie would need him, he'd watch over him. 

He'd often think back on that promise over the years. Teaching Eddie to ride a bike. Letting him sob into his shoulder at his mom's funeral, daring Al to say something about being a man one glare at a time. Taking him in when he showed up on his doorstep, bruised and beaten, hair shorn so short his scalp was bleeding in places. 

Wayne never regretted his decision, and he never broke that promise. 

Until the day Eddie almost died the second time. 

*

The beemer parked by the new trailer is a sight he should be used to by now. Still, Wayne can't help but grumble as he makes his way up the porch steps. 

Don't get him wrong, he'll be forever grateful to the Harrington boy for carrying Eddie out of literal hell, but he isn't sure if this new friendship between the two will ever be anything but bizarre to him. 

Maybe it's because the Harringtons don't mingle with the likes of them, or maybe it's because the lad is the exact type of kid Eddie hates with a passion, usually. 

Maybe it's because Wayne has noticed the way Eddie looks at the boy. He's always had a way of getting in too deep, Eddie has. Drawn to pretty flowers and rippling lights that'll slip through his fingers when grasps at them, luring him in until it's too late. 

The first thing he hears when he steps inside is a thud, followed by a wince. He's just taken the first step when Harrington barrels out of the kitchen and into Eddie’s room, completely unaware of Wayne standing in the door. 

“Eddie? What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” comes Eddie’s reply, and Wayne knows that tone. The just-got-caught-doing-forbidden-shit one. “Just trying to put up this fucking thing.” 

Toeing off his boots, Wayne hovers closer to the half-open door. A look inside reveals Eddie, sitting on the bed with a sheepish grin on his face and that giant banner he made for his band beside him. Harrington, back turned to the door, huffs and picks up the hammer lying on the ground. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds, climbing onto the bed and gesturing for Eddie to hand him the banner. A few swift movements and knocks of the hammer later, it’s hanging. “You could’ve opened a wound. Again. What do I need to do to make you stay in bed, tie you up?” 

Eddie grins toothily. “Okay, one: I am in bed, technically. And two: oooh, kinky.” 

Wayne groans soundlessly. Harrington rakes a hand down his face, plopping down cross-legged on the mattress. 

“Eddie.” 

Their knees bump together. Now that he has turned and he can see him in half-profile, Wayne recognizes the concern on Harrington’s face. Eddie’s grin shifts into something softer. 

“I know,” he says, watching his hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pajama pants. “It’s just … It’s annoying, not being able to do anything on my own. Being such a goddamn burden all the time. To Wayne, to the kids. To you.” 

“Hey.” Harrington’s hand settles on top of Eddie’s. “You're not a burden. We're all glad you're here. I'm glad. You know that, right? 

Eddie flips his hand, tangling their fingers together, and Harrington doesn't pull away. 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “I know.” 

Harrington smiles, reaching up to cup Eddie’s face with his free hand. 

“You just wait,” he winks. “You'll be back to walking on tables in no time. And in the meantime …” 

Eddie melts into the touch, lashes brushing the other boy's palm as his eyes flutter shut. 

“In the meantime, you got me.” 

“I gotcha,” Harrington confirms, and leans in. 

Wayne is just about to sneak away when the kettle whistles in the kitchen. The boys turn … and then they all just sort of freeze.

“Hiya, boys,” Wayne rumbles when they're still silently gaping at him a few seconds later. 

“Mr. Munson,” Harrington croaks. “I mean … sir. I mean … hi?” 

“Wayne?” Eddie blurts. “H-how long have you been standing there?” 

Wayne considers that question while both boys continue to stare at him with matching scarlet blushes coloring their cheeks. Their hands are still lying entwined on the mattress between them. 

“Long enough, I reckon,” is what he finally says. “I'll take care of the kettle, Steve. You lads stay put.” 

And with that, he closes the door on their confused faces and makes his way into the kitchen. It's been a long day, and he's looking forward to resting his feet. 

More celebration ficlets

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Could you do Jenson Button with wife reader? He was interviewing for Sky Sports with Danica Patrick. He was fed up with her and he always made that face whenever he was around her which was amusing to his wife. She was having a field day when one day she was at his interview. Just something fluff and cute. You decide how it goes. Tag me later!! Thanks!! :)) ( @pear-1206 )

Word Count: 645 words

(author's note: i hope you enjoy love !! i enjoyed writing this quite alot 🫶 )

If there was one thing Jenson hated about working with Sky Sports, it was Danica Patrick. He couldn't stand to listen to her outlandish and disrespectful takes on races and drivers, especially her opinions about Logan Sargeant.

During his time in the Williams garage, Jenson became very close to Logan, and the pair developed a father-and-son relationship over the years. This only furthered when Jenson’s wife, Y/N, met Logan. She absolutely adored him and quickly became his biggest supporter alongside her husband.

So, when Y/N was invited to participate in a post-race discussion with Jenson, Danica and some other regular Sky Sports figures, she jumped at the opportunity. Jenson however, was not as keen as his dear wife.

The group stood in the paddock, each one of them holding a microphone. Y/N was smiling from ear to ear, so excited for the opportunity. Her husband watched her intently, realising that he took his job for granted far too often. However, once the interview began it wasn’t long before Jenson remembered why he disliked Danica so much.

“I just don’t think that Sargeant has the skill required to drive at this level. He can’t keep up with the car or the fast pace of the races which is reflected in his poor results. In my opinion, Williams should start looking for a new driver.” Danica said critically.

Some of the other interviewers nodded, but before she could begin talking again, Jenson cut in, “I disagree fully. Logan is a talented driver and we’ve seen just how well he can perform under pressure. I simply believe that this is just a slight rough patch in his career and that it won’t be long until he’s back on track and in the points.”

“I agree with Jenson,” Y/N stated while smiling at her husband, “I’ve spent a lot of time speaking with Logan and he puts far too much pressure on himself. He isn’t happy with how he’s driving at the moment but I don’t think the amount of criticism he receives isn't fair at all.”

Admiration and pride shone in Jenson’s eyes as he listened to his wife talk. He knew Logan would feel the same way too, but more appreciative that she had defended him.

Danica pretty much accepted their statements and moved on to discussing the race and giving even more unwarranted criticisms. Towards the end of the interview, Jenson was finding it harder and harder to suppress his eye rolls and sighs at Danica’s words.

Y/N on the other hand, was finding her husband’s behaviour hysterical. She knew very well that Jenson did not like Danica but watching his reactions made her struggle not to laugh.

Eventually, the interview ended and Jenson and Y/N walked off towards the Williams garage.

“You’re hilarious you know that right?” Y/N said to Jenson as they strolled along hand in hand.

“What do you mean my darling?”

“The way you react to Danica is unbelievable. I could barely stop myself from laughing when you rolled your eyes at her.”

Jenson snorted with laughter, “Sometimes what she comes out with is so ridiculous that I can’t help myself. Especially when it’s about Logan. I nearly kissed you on the spot when you started defending him.”

“Jenson!” Y/N said slapping his arm “You would’ve gotten us into so much trouble! But I’ll always defend Logan, he’s so talented! I don’t see why anyone would question his ability to drive.”

“God I love you,” Jenson said looking down at his wife.

“I’d hope so Jense,” Y/N replied.

The pair continued their walk to the Williams garage, still laughing every so often at Jenson’s previous antics. Other people might see him as rude, but Y/N wouldn’t have her husband any other way.