#i feel like my true signature comic is the 'cute' comic

[gamebunny-advance]

Question:

Are there any posts of mine that you consider to be "essential" or "signature" gbunny content?

I've been thinking about queueing up some gbunny "greatest hits," and I want to make sure I'm not missing any hard hitters. These aren't necessarily my "best" or most "popular" posts (though they are not mutually exclusive), but things that make me think, "Oh, you need to see this to understand the 'lore' of this blog."

I do want to preempt any answers with: "If it's a comic, assume that I'm already gonna add it to the queue." Probably not today, but sometime soon.

[lanadelnegan]

Wildest Dreams

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader

Song inspo: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Summary: Y/n's celebrity crush, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, makes her dreams come true when she meets him at a bar after the walking dead comic con.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, *Jeffrey is single*, plot, smut, sexual tension, cursing, sex, oral, daddy-kink

This is my first attempt at fanfiction ever, ahhh! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

This can't be happening right now. I can't believe he's actually right there. I'm about to touch him.

"Well hello there." Jeffrey's smile widens as I approach his open arms. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Y/n...Hi" I smile and let him wrap his arms around me.

"That is a beautiful name, y/n. You ready?"

"Yeah, but can we pose a different way though.. maybe looking at each other?" I ask, hoping he can't hear the nervousness in my voice.

"Absolutely, doll." He turns his body facing mine and gently places his fingers around my jawline, looking directly into my eyes and lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "Relax." His tone is soft but demanding.

The photographer counts to 3 but it feels like 10 because Jeffrey's hazel brown eyes are burning flames into mine. I swear this man is staring into my soul as if he can read every thought I've ever had about him. Including that one, because the left side of his mouth suddenly raises and he lets out a "negan-like" chuckle that only the two of us can hear.

I'm the first one to break away from our embrace and I can feel my cheeks redden as I take another glance at him. I make a mental note to never forget what he looks like in person and let my stare linger a little too long on his chest hair peeking out from his white t-shirt. His smirk grows wider and he leans down, putting his mouth next to my ear. "You... are adorable."

When he leans away, the smell of tobacco, leather, and sweet mint fills my lungs.

Even now as I sit in my car, his scent is burned into my nose and the front of my shirt.. I'll never wash it again. My eyes close and my head falls back against my driver's seat.

The rest of my evening is spent binge watching The Walking Dead -season 7 of course - and ordering too much room service. I should go out. I drove 3 hours to Austin, TX.. by myself, which is a big deal for me. I should at least explore the city while I'm here.

I shower and throw on some jean shorts and a cute top, pretending I'm not bothered by the fact that I just washed any trace of my parasocial boyfriend off of me. At least I have this. I hold the picture we took and study it for the 48th time today.

After google searching "nightlife in Austin", Sixth Street seems to be where it's at, so I head that way and although it's only 7 minutes away from my hotel, it takes me 30 to find parking. I have no clue where exactly I'm going or what I'm doing, but hell - I met Jeffrey Dean Morgan earlier. If I could do that, I could do anything. I apply some lip gloss and tell my anxiety to go fuck itself before climbing out of the car.

Bright neon signs from every building light up the street and I smile to myself at the couples holding hands walking past me. I browse around at my options for drinks - not food - because I destroyed $70 worth of room service earlier - and make out the faint sound of Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift coming from one of the pubs up ahead as if it's calling my name. "Shakespeare's." the old sign reads, and I know that's the one. I make my way into the mildly crowded pub, find a seat at the end of the bar, and don't waste any time ordering a drink.

I bring up the picture of Jeffrey and me on my phone and study it.. for the 49th time today. I'm lost in my thoughts when a deep voice fills my ear. "Shit. That is one handsome dude." He takes a seat next to me and orders himself a drink while I stare at him wide-eyed and unable to speak. Oh.. my god.

Jeffrey orders his drink and turns his body towards me slightly with that signature grin on his stupidly handsome face. He breaks the silence since my lips seem to be paralyzed at the moment.

"Tell me what you're thinking, y/n." ... he remembered my name.

"I'm thinking that there is no way this is real life right now." I grin and look around, trying to mentally focus on suppressing the redness in my cheeks.

He laughs as the bartender places his drink down. "Want me to pinch you?"

"You can do whatever you want to me." I say under my breath as I sip my drink, surprised by my liquid courage. If he heard me, he ignores it and I internally cringe at myself.

"Cheers, darlin'." We tap our drinks and I throw my head back to finish mine completely. I sense his gaze on me and turn to face him completely. "So.. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" He fires back.

"Apparently having a drink with my celebrity crush." I laugh and cringe again. I need to stop.

"Crush? Me?" sarcasm drips from his smirk as he sips on his whiskey. "Would have never guessed.. not with the way you were blushing like hell during our picture."

My mouth drops open. "I was not!"

"No? Lemme see then." He nods towards my phone in my lap.

I pause hesitantly before handing him my phone and unlocking it for him. Bad idea. Instead of looking at our picture, he clicks on the camera button and turns it to selfie mode. He raises my phone in front of us and leans into me. I'm caught off guard but quickly lean into him, our faces touching and I smile as cool, calm, and collected as I can be in this moment.

He snaps a couple pictures of us and looks at them. "We are fucking cute as shit." He shows me and I laugh.

He pulls some glasses out of his jacket pocket and slides them on his face while holding my phone. I watch him in awe as he takes it upon himself to browse through my phone. My heart drops when he goes to the home screen and sees himself as my wallpaper with cute little hearts and cherries surrounding him. Fuck.

I wait for his reaction but it doesn't faze him. And if it does, he says nothing. He stares at the screen a little longer then finally glances at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to my phone. His thumb presses the tiktok icon and I watch curiously. He's not seriously about to suggest we make a tiktok together. Ick.

Worse. Instead, he clicks on my favorites and multiple squares of his face pop up - edits of him. I almost reach for my phone, but part of me likes that he sees it. What is wrong with me.

He looks at me and raises his brow. For the first time all night, I don't blush when he looks at me and it seems to amuse him because he chuckles and looks back at my phone. He clicks on one of the edits and watches himself on top of another woman kissing her passionately. I watch it with him unashamedly. Before it ends, he suddenly clicks my screen off and hands me my phone back.

"Why did you save that?" he asks with a serious tone.

"Uh, I jus - I liked it." I shrug.

"You like watching me make love to women?"

I laugh to myself. "Uhhh. Yeah, I guess so."

He pauses and stares at me, this time with a serious expression. "Do you wish it was you?"

My eyes widen and I open my mouth to answer but no words come out.

He stands and puts his jacket on. Oh great, I scared him. Good job y/n.

"Let's go." He throws a $100 on the bar and motions for me to stand up too.

I'm obviously not going to question this man. If he tells me to bark, I'll bark. I almost faint when I feel his big palm firmly placed right above my backside as we're leaving.

We exit the bar with our heads down as we quickly walk to his car. He opens the passenger side and I get in, waiting for him to appear on the other side. Leather, mint, and tobacco fill my lungs and I'm gone once again.

I'm so lost in my head that I don't even notice that he's already in the driver's seat. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Don't ask me that. I don't even know anymore." My answer amuses him and he drives a few blocks away to one of the "rich" hotels. The entire ride over is awkward silence with the exception of Jeffrey blowing puffs of cigarette smoke towards the crack in his window every few moments.

"Y/n." He puts the car in park and turns towards me while flicking his cigarette out the window and rolling it up. "At any point tonight if you want to leave or.. you.. want me to stop, I need you to tell me, okay?"

I look at him and his face is the most serious I've seen it all day.

"Okay." I whisper.

"Come here." Is all he says before I'm leaned towards him over the middle console and so close to his face that our noses are touching. I wait for him to make the move but he doesn't. He looks down at my lips and sighs. "Fuck. I'm not going to kiss you."

I back away a little, feeling embarrassed before he continues explaining. He brings me back closer to him and his hand caresses my cheek. "I need you to understand that tonight is a one time thing, y/n. You.. you can't catch anymore feelings for me than you already have, okay? I'm going to make you feel good, but I'm not going to break your heart in the process."

The smell of his minty cigarette breath tempts me and I have to mentally restrain myself from not crashing into this man's lips. But I just nod instead.

"Good girl." Is all he says before he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door.

The way up to his room is quick and discreet. It's 11pm so we only pass two people on the way up and they didn't seem to recognize him. Even his hotel room is already filled with his signature scent, minus the tobacco.

"Would you like to stay the night with me, y/n?"

"Um, obviously. Are you kidding? ..Yes, I'd love to." I laugh and look around his room.

The lights are off, but the room is bright enough with the city lights shining through the windows. I fall into the bed dramatically on the side closest to the window.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable, okay?" he grins before closing the bathroom door. I stare back at the closed door and imagine what he looks like getting undressed behind it.

I glance around the large room and notice his phone sitting on the nightstand next to "his side" of the bed. He went through mine.. so it's only fair if I -

I reach over and grab his phone. 042266. I type in his birthdate and the phone locks. I laugh to myself. Too easy, old man.

There's a recent text message from.. my number? I click it and the picture he took of us at the bar pops up. And another one - our picture we took at comic con. He sent them to himself.

I don't want to intrude on his personal business too much, so instead I open his camera and take some goofy selfies. The bathroom door opens while I'm mid tongue out. He stops and stares at me as I slowly set his phone down on the bed. I shrug at him and he shakes his head a little and laughs. He appears in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. I turn my gaze away before I get carried away and my eyes get permanently glued to his torso.

"It's okay, y/n. You can look at me. In fact, I want you to."

I look back at him and don't even bother hiding how hard I'm checking him out now. I observe every hair on his chest and my eyes travel south until I'm imagining what he looks like under the towel. A lucky water drop runs down his flat stomach and disappears and I'm hoping the drool I just felt run down my chin was just my imagination. He walks slowly over to my side of the bed and stands next to me.

"You ready to find out what my cock looks like, y/n?"

If I was drinking water right now, I would have just spit it out all over him. I nod and he drops the towel. His cock springs free and I stare at it in awe. He's about 7-8 inches of thick perfection and I've never seen something so hot in my life. He looks down at himself, a proud smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Tell me one of your fantasies, y/n. We're not doing anything tonight that you haven't already thought about."

"I - well, one of them is.. putting it in my mouth." I look up at him innocently.

"What are you waiting for, then?"

I get up and push him gently for him to sit on the bed, then get on my knees in between his legs. If I weren't still buzzing from the drinks earlier, there is no way I'd have the confidence to do this.

He leans back slightly with his hands on either side of him on the bed and looks down at me through lust filled hazel eyes.

"It's all yours baby." He smiles and tucks his bottom lip under his teeth.

I slowly take him into my mouth, savoring the taste of him - like man and fresh leather soap. I groan around him as I take him further and the growl that escapes his throat encourages me to take him as far in the back of my throat as I can.

"Fuuuck baby." His deep voice strains and I watch as his head fall back with pleasure. I continue steadily sucking him and stroking where my throat won't reach. His moans grow louder with each time he hits the back of my throat.

He suddenly thrusts his hips up slightly, causing me to gag and jolt back a little.

"Goddamn it, y/n. You are not making me cum yet." He hanks my hair back and his cock pops out of my mouth and stands strong against his stomach. It's big and wet and throbbing, and my legs clench together and the sight of him.

I stand up and take my shirt off, then my bra. Then slowly slide my shorts and panties down while facing away from him. A satisfied moan escapes his lips and he wastes no time grabbing me and throwing me on the bed. He positions me until my head is on the bed and my ass in the air before I feel his cock press against my soaked pussy from behind. He rubs himself against my wet slit until I'm whimpering and begging him to put it in me.

"Beg for me, baby." He slaps my ass and the sensation causes me to jump a little.

"Please, Jeffrey. I need you. Please."

"Baby, now I know that's not what you call me in your fantasies, is it?" Another slap to my bare ass makes me yelp.

"Daddy.. please!"

His dark chuckle fills the room and every one of my senses is on fire. His scent, his voice, his dick all surround me until I'm crying and pleading for this man to ruin me. "Please daddy, I need you. Please."

"Sorry, princess. I'm taking my time with you." He flips me over suddenly until I'm laying flat on my back. His knees push mine apart, signaling me to spread open for him until he positions himself above me. He leans over me until our faces are inches apart.

My hands roam over his lean body and scratch his back lightly as his lips travel down my neck. His hard cock slides back and forth between my slit and it feels too good every time it brushes my sensitive clit.

"Goddamn, you are soaking my fucking cock and I haven't even put it inside you yet, baby." he groans and bites my nipple gently before taking it into his mouth and sucking so hard it hurts.

He finally leans up, sitting on his knees, and positions his cock right at my entrance.

"Was I or gentle or rough in your fantasies?" He rubs the head against my clit before sliding it back down. My pussy is weeping for him at this point.

"Rough.. please." I choke out.

"Please.. what?" He growls.

"Please daddy!"

He chuckles. "You want it rough baby?" I nod and a tear runs down my cheek at how bad I need him.

"Be careful what you ask for." In one motion, he enters me fully, causing me to scream out at the sudden sensation. My body feels like it was just completely ripped in half, and I wouldn't want it any other way so I cry out for him to do it again. He smirks before pulling out all the way and ramming himself back in.

He starts thrusting at a steady pace and I concentrate on the way his balls feel slapping against me.

Even more tears fall from my face from the extreme emotions he's making me feel. Horny, desperate, obsessed, in.. love.

Fuck.

"Baby. Why are you crying?" He slows his pace and leans over me, assessing my eyes.

"I - I don't know. I - I just.."

"You want me to stop?" his voice is filled with lust and concern.

"No! .. No, don't stop. I just.."

I love you.

"I want it slower." I lie.

"Y/n.. I know you better than that already." He says gently as he thrusts into me deep and agonizingly slow. His lips brush over my ear. "Tell me, baby." He kisses my neck before grabbing my jaw firmly and looking for answers in my eyes. "Tell me, y/n, or I'm stopping."

I close my eyes and blurt out before I can stop myself. "I - I think I love you."

Jeffrey's expression falls serious and he looks back and forth between my eyes while slowly releasing my jaw. His head drops and his eyes close as if he just got slapped, but he continues fucking me.

"Goddamn it, y/n... I told you.. I told you not to catch feelings."

I just stare at him and cry. "I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes again tightly as if contemplating what he should do next. Before I can say anything else, his lips crash against mine. I kiss him back passionately and his tongue slips into my mouth. He picks up the pace with our kiss and his hips and I moan into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby. What am I gonna do with you?" his breathing grows faster and heavier with mine.

"Jeffrey.. fuck, I'm - I'm."

"Cum for me, baby." He growls and quickens his thrusts again.

I scream out for him and he moans into my neck.

"Jeffrey.. you know what else I fantasize about?" I ask him while trying to catch my breath.

"What's that, baby?" His balls slap against me over and over and over.

"What you taste like when you cum."

He lifts his head to look at me and paints a devilish grin across his face. "Yeah? You want me to cum in that pretty mouth, baby?"

I nod without question. I've dreamt about what this man tastes like for so long. If this is our one and only night together, I need to know.

"Fuck." He pulls out of me and leans back on his knees, bringing my head with him as his fingers tightly grip my hair.

"You ready, baby? Open up." His voice is deep and hoarse as he moans out and I swear I've never heard a man sound as sexy as he does right now.

His warm, salty cum fills my throat and I greedily swallow every drop of him, licking his tip until he's completely drained.

"Holyyy shit. Look at my dirty girl." He grins down at me and strokes my hair like he's proud.

He drops down in the bed and holds his arm out for me to lay next to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his rapid heart beat. A few minutes pass and I'm hoping he forgot about my little comment earlier. Well - big comment. I can't believe I told him I love him. I mean, I do love him and I think I have for awhile now, but why did I have to be a psycho and tell him that.

He finally breaks the silence. "Y/n.. We have to talk about it."

I sigh. Here it goes. "I know.. listen.. I didn't mean it. Obviously, I barely know you. I was caught up in the moment and I was just.. emotional. I promise I'm - I'm not crazy. I know this is a one time thing and I'm okay with that."

"Hmph." I feel his chest rise a little and he sighs. I lift my head up to look at him and he smiles wide at me before kissing my lips.

"That's too bad y/n.. Cause I was thinking we could do this again tomorrow."

The End.

If you read this, thank you so much. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so pls be nice. If you hate it, I'll cry. :') Xo,kb.

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma 1/2 Reboot 01x09 - I'll Never Let Go

Here we go with more of the ice skating arc. Fuck these people up, Ranma and Akane.

Modern dubbing has gotten really good. I have my beefs with some modern dubs, like the way Spy x Family translates Anya's comical gaaaaaaan shock noises into just... generic gasps with no funny sound whatsoever. But they're a lot better than they were in my day.

Sometimes I'll flip over to the dub when watching something just because I'm curious how the dub team for this specific piece handled something.

For this bit, the joke is that Ranma called him 慢性発情男 Mansei Hatsujou Otoko, which sounds kinda-sorta similar to Sanzenin Mikado and means "Chronically Horny Man". Or "chronic horndog" as the subs translated, which is accurate but doesn't sound anything like his name.

The dub opted for "McHorny Sex Pest" as a kinda-sorta for Mikado Sanzenin, and that's perfect. Chef's kiss.

This man is so gross. He already forced himself on Ranma and now he's going to use their competition today as an opportunity to force himself on Akane.

I kind of want him to die. I am so glad he does not get to stick around and join the cast full-time.

That is easily the best photo of Ryoga that he has ever had taken of him in his life.

A kolkhoz is a type of Soviet farming co-op. I'm not sure why this was chosen for the name of Azusa and Mikado's school.

Do not attempt complex figure skating maneuvers without proper training. I need y'all to understand how many places Akane's skates could have ended up just now after Ranma slipped. This maneuver was way too complex for him.

Okay but felt though. When I was her age, I was exactly this sore of a winner. I hate that this character speaks to me as much as she does.

(Sharp blades hovering over very dangerous places right now.)

Seriously though. Fuck her personally but she is so goddamn cool.

How can you not wish you were this cool? But, y'know, with better taste in partners. And... also better lifestyle choices. This is why people adore villains. Because villains have style.

RANMA

RANMA THERE ARE KNIVES ON YOUR FEET

YOU CAN END THIS RIGHT NOW

RANMA

RANMA

Mikado does this so often in competitions that it's considered a signature move for him. I hate that. I hate him. Ranma, stab him with your footsy knives.

See, what Mikado doesn't know about Akane is that she is basically Furinkan's #1 expert on guarding yourself from pests like him. For her, this is Tuesday.

(Should have put a little more force on it. Ice skates have blades but they aren't ultra-sharp. It takes pressure to cut. Don't worry, Akane, we all make mistakes.)

I love how even Azusa gets in on the karmic steamroll that Mikado's earned for himself.

These two are way too invested in breaking up couples.

Narratively, the purpose this serves is a pretty on-the-nose test of Ranma and Akane's budding relationship. Writers do this with canonships all the time. "Once you swallow this pill you will die a gruesome death unless your feelings for your designated love interest are TRUE!"

This certainly explains Mikado having a signature kissing move.

But it's crazy that these two, whose relationship with each other seems entirely platonic, have made it a point of pride to destroy other people's relationships.

Azusa has shown zero interest in Ranma up to this point. Her thing is losing her cool about cute things. She and Ranma have barely said two words to one another.

But then she's like, "Oh, we're doing a Matchbreak? I'm on it!"

Like. It's not enough for Mikado to be a sex pest and for Azusa to be a cutesy kleptomaniac. They have a vendetta against romance. These two are My Little Pony villains. Who hurt you both?

An interesting detail of the Goodbye Whirl is that Azusa's connection to Ranma is the bond that breaks.

It would have been easy to set up Mikado and Azusa as a high-skill but low-chemistry partnership for Ranma and Akane to overcome through superior trust in one another. But Mikado and Azusa click very well. They both reflect one another's flaws and they have a fantastic level of teamwork, experience, and cooperation.

They didn't become masters of a cooperative sport by being islands.

So it isn't Ranma and Akane's connection that breaks, despite that being the intent of the Goodbye Whirl.

And it also isn't Mikado and Azusa's connection that breaks, because their bond is just as strong if not stronger than Ranma and Akane's.

It's the connection between the two pairs. Ranma and Akane are an iron-forged bond, and Mikado and Azusa are an iron-forged bond, but never the two shall meet.

Ranma and Akane don't outlast Mikado and Azusa. But they do implicitly outlast every couple that the pair have matchbroken in the past. The impulsive and self-indulgent Azusa getting tired, ceasing to care about this, and letting go is the weak point of this technique. But it's a weak point nobody's ever held on long enough to discover before.

There are a lot of words in Japanese that can be translated to the English catch-all "monster". The one here is け化け物 bakemono, which is a shapeshifting occult spirit that impersonates people or objects. It literally translates to "Thing that Changes Shapes".

So, literally, this line translates. Azusa is saying that no human would have survived that, and only a bakemono impersonating human form could still be alive now. "Only a monster would survive that."

But. In context, knowing Japanese, I need y'all to understand how funny this is. Azusa claims that only a bakemono could have survived that, and then Ranma wakes up.

Ranma is a person, not a bakemono. But. I mean... He and P-chan kinda are. They are Shapeshifting Things, which impersonate other kinds of being.

That's not why he survived. He survived because he's been doing Anime Warrior Training for his whole life. But she's not wrong.

And then Akane got unceremoniously ejected from the Couples Duel. Now that her role as Primary Love Interest has been firmly reinforced, she is of no further value to this fight scene. It's time for the boys to take over. Great.

Oh well. At least she got to do that cool flip-kick.

This is not a fakeout, either. Much like when Ranma stole her match with Kodachi from her, Akane will no longer be directly participating in this fight from this point forward.

That cool flip-kick was Akane's one and only contribution to this entire confrontation. Other than that, she's been tossed around by Ranma a couple times, survived the Goodbye Whirl because Ranma wouldn't let go even though she wanted to, and now she's fired so we can have more Ranma and Ryoga shenanigans.

It was the one flip-kick and that's it. That's all she gets. She defended herself from the predator like she said she could last episode, and now she's done. She has no further value that she can add to this fight.

Like, they even made a big fuss over how injured Ranma is. Ranma is so badly hurt that it... inexplicably warrants benching Akane? She has to leave because of his injuries.

Ranma wants to keep Akane from dueling with Ryoga and Akane wants Ranma benched because he's injured, so the compromise they come up with is that the injured Ranma will duel with Ryoga.

Like. I get that Ranma and Akane can't go out there together like this because heteronormativity, gotta have a M/F partnership, all that jazz. But if Ranma's injuries aren't going to be a problem then they can just excuse themselves for a moment, hot water Ranma in the back room, and get back to Ranma and Akane dueling.

I mean. Hell, they could probably get away with doing it right out here. Azusa's already pegged Ryoga as Charlotte and requires no explanation for how that's possible.

She doesn't even know about Jusenkyo curses and she accepts this without question.

There is absolutely no reason why Akane would need to retire from the rink right now and I'm kinda mad about it, especially right after the Kodachi thing.

This is why people think she's boring. This is what makes her the most divisive character in the series, with a fandom either loving or hating her with no middle ground. Akane is an interesting and relatable character, but she isn't allowed to do things. Even when it makes absolutely no sense to suddenly banish her from her own storyline like this.

I honestly think Takahashi just couldn't think of a good way for Ranma and Akane to win this fight. The match has thoroughly been established to be too heavily skewed against them for them to prevail. Last episode/chapters established that they'd take this in a street fight, no contest. But this episode/chapters establishes that their skills just aren't enough to overcome the disadvantage of the ice rink.

So... bye, Akane, I guess. Enter Ryoga and the Ryoga-esque complications that will form the answer to this unwinnable fight. Now we get the absolute shenanigans of this episode's back half, as well as the arc's final chapters that will form the next episode. For which Akane will be nearby cheering for her boys.

[moe-broey]

It is extremely difficult to design modern outfits for Alfonse though idk what it is. Sharena will look good in anything from flannel docs lesbian outfit to cute overalls to something sporty to high femme dresses (tbh I still wanna draw her in one of my fave old dresses ..) but Alfonse. There are def a few routes you can take keeping his character/personality in mind and I think they look good/are super cute and make sense but like... esp for me personally, thinking of the v specific way I draw/stylize him...

AH. MAYBE. MAYBE I FIGURED IT OUT BC I HAVE NO PROBLEM DESIGNING OUTFITS FOR HIM IN FEH CONTEXT...... it's cause that bitch is always wearing tights and long shirts that (esp depending on how you draw it) border on being dress-like to straight up robes/skirt-like garments WHICH makes sense for him in universe bc that's p standard wear for men in Askr, in the Order of Heroes specifically. Like

Seliph's resplendent stands out to me as a huge example of this, and you can kinda see it in Corrin's too! Though I do think resplendents often take a lot from the chara's base outfit (both standard and resplendent Seliph having tunics, both Corrins having leggings ect). But speaking of Corrin, espp the lengthening of that bit of fabric at Corrin's hip, looks a lot like Gustav's garments!

Who may be a better measure for men's dress in Askr (normal attire, for a king anyway, and a cultural festival outfit). But I do also think you can glean some details off of resplendent designs too!

Also actually.

This Day of the Life comic that acknowledged Sharena's absence from the DoD banner (BITE BITE KILL KILL SO MUCH HATRED IN THE WORLD‼️‼️‼️) implies that their outfits may have been identical, just in their respective signature colors (blue and pink). And even looking at Alfonse and Sharena's base art, they have a lot in common!

And looking at Seliph and Corrin again, the puffy sleeves seen on Sharena and Henriette aren't necessarily gendered traits. ACTUALLY.... GUSTAV HAS THEM TOO! Alfonse's outfit is an outlier sleeve design wise!

Which is to say, there aren't actually a lot of strict gender differences in attire here. A lot of the clothing looks/feels androgynous esp when viewed through a modern lense (like I'm sure there's a lot of real-world historical inspo that goes into the designs, I just know fuck all about that LMFAO 😅). And esppp the way I've come to draw Alfonse a lot, I do emphasize what reads as femme -- giving him longer shirts, simplifying the strappy armor on his thighs into. Over the knee socks. Over the leggings/tights. 🫣 And that's not even getting into the knee high boots and heels!!!!

WHICH IS. Actually SO FUCKING DIFFICULT. To translate into modern fashion esp typical standard men's fashion, in a way that still feels true to him as well... bc I do believe in femme/androgynous Alfonse supremacy 😤 But he is ALSO. SO IMPORTANTLY. He is VERY MUCH just some guy who is heavily defined by the role he's been put in. Which is also kind of difficult to sort out, what Would he wear, if the standards were completely different and also if he was choosing for himself?

SINCE. I'M CERTAIN idk if I wanna dig for it but -- I'm CERTAIN all his outfits have been picked For him to some degree. The Order of Heroes outfit is a uniform, the bunny outfit is implied/stated to be picked by Sharena. The yukatas in their duo are 1) Hoshidan and 2) I think Anna was the one who picked them? Might be wrong on that, but I do feel like there's a castle dialogue about it. And of course, the DoD outfits are implied to be cultural Askran wear, and going back to that comic -- it seems neither Alfonse OR Sharena have much of a say in what it looks like (her being uncomfortable "showing that much leg" -- that, if given a choice, she may have wanted something more modest).

So like. There is. So much going on here actually.

[lampmanliveblogs]

We cut to Luz grabbing her Good Witch Azura figurine, and while I did see a few seconds further, I had to go back and pause here because I noticed something.

What’s that on your arm? It’s red like a wound, but that can’t be it, this is the peaceful future. Tattoo?

Luz is packing. I spy with my little eye in this box… at least three books, with the top one being the first The Good Witch Azura, Eda’s old jacket that Luz inherited, the Grom queen crown from Enchanting Grom Fright, the tamagotchi-looking thing Luz and Amity used to communicate, and a scroll of some kind. It might be something from a previous episode, but I can’t place it.

Lots of stuff in this one shot. We’ve got a cute little L+A heart carved into the desk.

On the wall we have a letter saying ACCEPTED! It doesn’t say accepted to where, but the symbol does look like a a Titan’s skull, so that document probably originates from the Demon Realm. Right next to it, we have a note talking about a dorm room and move-in date, meaning Luz is headed off to college or university. When accounting for the backwards way americans write their dates, I can decipher that said move-in date is the 21:st of August. If this takes place four years in the future like I think it then that means this takes place in 2026 and the 21:st of August is a Friday. In case I overshot it, and this actually takes place in 2025, then the 21/08 is a Thursday. This is the kind of riveting analysis you will only find here at Lampman Liveblogs.

Right next to the dorm room note we have a shopping list. Listed are a new laptop, bedsheets, a laundry bin, and an umbrella. All are crossed off, so everything’s take care off. Good to know Luz is on top of things.

On the cork board*, we have a photograph labeled GRADUATION! from Luz’ graduation. I spot Vee there with her. Depending on if they somehow managed to convince the authorities that Vee is actually a real person and a citizen who did not appear from nowhere, then she might’ve graduated at the same time.

(*WHAT DO YOU MEAN ”corkboard” IS NOT A SINGLE WORD!!?!?!!?)

Next to the graduation photograph, we have some kind of diploma. It is just barely visible, but I can spot the word ”scholarship,” so it’s safe to say Luz managed to get her grades up. Also, I’m terrible at reading cursive, but does that signature look like it says ”Dana Terrace” to you? Cute.

We pan up to find more stuff! Turns out Luz and Vee did graduate at the same time, how lovely. My second brother and first sister graduated on the same day as well, which was convenient because that meant we only had to have one party for the both of them. Next up is my second sister, but she hasn’t even started high school yet.

There’s a flag for the Gravesfield Ghouls, which I assume to be some sort of local sports team. Unless the rumors about Gravesfielf being haunted turned out to be true, and this is actually some kind of union flag for the undead population of Gravesfield.

There appears to be some kind of essay or perhaps a short story consisting of several papers which impressed the teacher. I spot a ticket to a comic convention of some kind and a ticket to a movie adaptation of The Good Witch Azura.

We also get a better look at the scholarship, which turns out to be in writing, meaning Luz has been flexing those creative brain muscles of hers. Man, I wish that was me.

Hey, guess what. This is the two-hundredth screenshot! Wowsers! Not as dramatic as the 100:th, but I feel this is appropriate for the 200:th. A look back at happy memories.

Also, we got an even better shot of the scholarship, and I am now convinced that the signature does read Dana Terrace.

We’ve got a couple of photographs I recognize from before. There’s the one of Eda, Luz, and King from Enchanting Grom Fright, there’s the group picture the Emerald Entrails took during Any Sport in a Storm, and there’s Luz and Amity watching a falling star on The Owl House’s roof. I’m pretty sure that one isn’t from ay episode, but I think I’ve seen the picture before… maybe in Willow’s scrapbook in Thanks to Them?

(Future Lampman here: it is from Thanks to Them, but it was used in the little Lumity movie montage Luz made for Camila.)

There’s a bunch of new ones though. In the top left we have… I think I’ve seen that character before, was she the employe at the cafe Vee visited in Yesterday’s Lie? The one that had the sentient rats in the alley? It looks like she came to feed the birds,, but Luz and Amity brought Hooty along to the Human Realm. Funnily enough, Amity looks entertained while Luz looks worried.

(Future Lampman here: It might be the same employee from Robin’s Roast, as she looks nigh-identical, aside from one small detail: her hair color. In Yesterday’s Lie, she’s blonde, but she looks like a brunette in this photo. Though I suppose she could have dyed it.)

It appears that Vee, Luz, and Camila managed to make peace with the giraffes and even got to take a selfie with two of them. Very brave of them.

(hmmm… now I kinda wanna include a scene in the Vee fic I’m working on where she goes to ask the giraffe about the strange things happening in Gravesfield… probably won’t include it, but it would be funny.)

We’ve got Eda introducing Camila to her favorite alcoholic beverage. My headcanon that witches actually have a pretty low alcohol tolerance, and thus appleblood is relatively weak by human standards makes this image even funnier.

There’s a picture of Eda, Hooty, and King playing baseball. Based on the blue skies, this took place in the Human Realm, which is interesting.

I saved the best for last, we’ve got a picture from the another Grom. Look at Hunter. Look at him! Dear heavens boy, did Darius really let you dress like that??? I mean, Willow seems charmed, so no harm done I suppose. And are those glasses I spot, Augustus? Welcome to the club buddy. And of course, let’s not forget my snake daughter Vee. She’s so cute!

[taiblogcomics]

The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Hey there, carrot juice. You know, Thanksgiving should be a more interesting holiday. My schedule means it always intersects with my update day, while stuff like Halloween and Crimbus only come up, like, one in seven years. But, like, while I am in favour of eating and being thankful, there's only so much you can write about those as a comic book plot. As such, despite being a major holiday where I live, there's little to do to celebrate it for this blog. And furthermore, ponies don't even have an equivalent like Nightmare Night or Hearth's Warming~

Anyway, here's the cover:

Okay, despite my Thanksgiving spiel, this cover does feature baking. And golly, those cookies do look good. And cute! But do they have specific cookie cutters for all the Mane Six? Maybe Rainbow Dash and Applejack's could be doubled up, but everypony else is unique in shape and too uniform to be individually cut. …Izzy. Izzy, get your hoof off the cookie, it's going to smudge. I appreciate you bringing the Rarity cookie into frame because we otherwise couldn't see it, but put your damn dirty hooves on the floor, please. I guess that's what Zipp and Pipp are doing in the background, making more icing to fix all the Pinkie cookies you've ruined.

So you remember last issue was a true crime podcast centering around a bake-off. This one continues into the actual bake-off, which is now open to non-earth ponies for the first time this year. So naturally, all the friends in the Mane 5 have teamed up as a single team. And of course, Sunny establishes right away that she's just happy to bake with her friends, no matter the results of the competition. Oh good, so that won't be the completely obvious lesson at the end, right? Coz if this was on the show, you know that's what it'd boil down to.

Apparently, the bake-off is more than just a free-for-all competition. There's, like, a whole theme and such they have to follow, like Iron Chef or something. So the fact that Pansy won four years in a row with her signature cupcakes is even more impressive. Anyways, after being introduced to our judges (which one's going to be the snobby Simon Cowell expy, I wonder?), they reveal the theme for this year: baked with love. Oh boy, one of those nebulous themes instead of something concrete like "fruit filling" or "concrete".

Izzy, Sunny, and Pipp all voluntee that they have an idea, and they opt to hear Sunny's first, since she knows the competition best. She tells a cute anecdote about some jam-filled cookies her dad used to make. Man, we don't hear enough about Sunny's dad, I really like exploring that part of her life. Hitch remembers those, noting how they always made him feel welcome when he'd follow the smell to Sunny's house and drop by for a bite. Big trouble, though: they didn't actually bring any jam with them. Maybe they should bake with ingredients they actually have.

To that end, Pipp whispers an idea to Zipp, who lights up in delight. So they have a parental anecdote to share as well. True to her nature as an online influencer, Pipp prefaces her recipe with a long personal story about her mother and how they used to make cloud beignets together. While they were baking, they'd play charades and other games together. And while she's telling the exact measurements of how they were made and sprinkled delicately, Zipp wisely rushes her to the end, since they are on a timer and everything~

Speaking of that timer, though, that puts a bit of a kink in the whole beignets plan. There's not enough time to chill the dough. So that one's out as well. Now it falls to Izzy, who does not have a heartwarming tale of a parental figure. Instead, hers is told more like a Frankenstein movie, with herself as the mad doctor. And the unholy act she performs is a batch of brownies she bakes with a dragon pepper inside. I have had Tabasco chocolate before, so it could work. …If Izzy had remembered to bring her emergency pepper, which she hasn't. Of course.

When Pipp questions whether those would even have been good in the first place, Izzy replies that despite what you might think, the differing flavours manage to balance each other. In that way, it's kind of like their friendship. And thus Sunny is struck by a sudden inspiration. They'll make some basic-ass cookies, but each of them will add a favourite ingredient. This will represent them, and make an all-new recipe representing their friendship and unity. They'll call 'em "friendship cookies" or something. The name's not important, it's enough they have an idea.

And this could be a potential for disaster. But somehow, everybody makes sensible choices for things to add, even Izzy. She's picked sprinkles, Hitch added oats, Zipp and Pipp supplied peanut butter and chocolate (respectively), and Sunny chose violence. I mean, raisins. Basically the same thing. It's kinda like Trail Mix: The Cookie. Sunny explains all this to the judges as she presents them. The harshest comment she gets is "this is too many flavours", which is pretty good as far as baking show judges go. The second tells her there's a start, but it could do with tweaking. And the third just straight-up likes them. I guess that's not bad!

So none of the judges were wowed. That's all right, because the five of them all sure do. And that's what really matters. In the end, Dahlia wins the competition for the second year in a row. Check out last week's review if you've forgotten her whole deal! And so the comic ends with the five friends taking the remaining cookies to have a picnic on the beach. In fact, the last page is completely wordless, just a full splash page of them enjoying their cookies together, along with all the ones they didn't get to bake during the competition. Imagine bringing four baked goods on a picnic and nothing else. That's some heckin' prep time~

This is actually kind of an interesting follow-up to the previous issue. Rather than being a direct sequel, it kind of sets up an element in passing, then explores that same element in a different way. Both stories revolve around the Maretime Bay Bake-Off, but one is a missing persons case and one is a cooking competition. Kind of a neat way to keep continuity while both are stand-alone stories. Works really well here! Anyways, I think this was a very nice issue. And while not deliberately a Thanksgiving issue (this was published back in June), it does speak to family, working together, and baked goods. Seems pretty fitting to the holiday to me~

[obey-me-rot]

You're Mine

A/N: I guess as a writing blog I should be doing some writing right? Honestly this has just been the biggest headcanon I've had in a while since I started playing Obey Me of the brothers just...like Devildom culture must be so different! And then the whole pact thing with human masters must be so different as well! I just view them as big animals just wanting to get your attention u wu. Warnings: Jealous boys, public shows of dominance and a lot of biting.

It's almost painful being in the Devildom sometimes.

A cultural exchange program amped up to 100 %.

As much as you loved the brothers, you also were meeting some pretty cool demons in RAD. Surely you were the human student everyone was so excited to meet, but none of them really talked to you, you know? But there were some that were brave enough to overlook your pact marks and dive into a conversation.

Even some were bold enough to talk to you out of school!

Making so many friends was so exciting, especially since you still thought of yourself as new! Wait till the brothers see how many new demons you have met!

Problem is you forgot how weird demon culture is, especially when it has to do with a demon and their master.

"MC?"

Lucifer blinks as he notices the demon approaching the two of you, pausing your daily walk with him as confusion turns to familiarity and you run up to greet your friend.

The first thing he notices is how they are a low ranking demon, so there’s no need to be hyper aware of any sort of threat. In this instance he doesn’t need to look to make sure his pact mark is visible to the demon.

His mark was embedded right in your iris, so anyone could see whose protection you were under.

He smiles politely as you turn around to introduce them, the demon waving at him shyly as if remembering that, yes, this human made a pact with Lucifer and therefore should not be messed with in any way. Yet there was no sort of violent tendencies coming from this demon, which put him at somewhat of an ease.

That is, until the demon takes a hold of your hand.

It’s a simple touch, one that a human would mistaken for a sign of friendship and camaraderie. The demon was speaking excitedly about a new flower they had seen over at the Botanical gardens and how much they wanted to show it off to you.They tighten their hold and Lucifer has to dig his fingernails into his palm from ripping their hand off.

You had no idea what it meant and the action would most likely scare you.

And Lucifer wanted you to trust him as much as possible.

“Would it be okay if Lucifer comes along?”

“...y--yeah! I don’t mind!”

Hesitation mixed with fake happiness, this demon really thought that he would get some time alone with you, didn’t they? They probably planned this whole thing out and whatever excitement they were showing you was just a front to hide their true intentions. Besides, look how they are hanging off of you, they want to make a pact with you so badly it’s almost disgusting.

Might as well get rid of the pest now.

“Come on MC, I want to show you the huge petals--!”

“OW!”

You and the demon look back to see Lucifer biting down on one of your fingers, your ring finger to be exact, while making eye contact with the pest. His teeth are not necessarily breaking skin but the pain of the bite made all your attention go back on him, turning around to tug your finger away and cradle it close. “Lucifer what the hell!”

He smiles and tells you not to worry about it, your retort falling on deaf ears as Lucifer’s eyes fall on the demon one more time. Their eyes are wide and they have immediately taken two steps back, their back as straight as a needle as Lucifer sends them one last look that lets them know of his intentions.

Leave now or I will gut you in front of my human.

You turn to apologize to your friend for putting them in such a weird situation but the demon is already long gone, no sign of them ever being in your presence as you look around aimlessly.

“They left...” you frown and look at Lucifer, “Next time at least warn me.”

“If I did then you would have probably forbidden me from doing so.”

The Avatar of Pride smiles as he takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours as you kept talking about how you would apologize the next day. But Lucifer wasn’t listening, he just kept staring at you as you talked, happy that his master wasn’t particularly mad.

That demon would have to learn to get his own, this human was already his.

He had finally gotten you all to himself.

Mammon had a photoshoot today, making you tag along so he could finally show off his modeling skills. And it would help him out as well. The product they were trying to sell did not appeal to him one bit and he just really needed you as inspiration.

And inspiration did you give.

“Oh gorgeous Mammon gorgeous! Lean back and close your eyes.”

The cameraman was giving him compliment after compliment, excellent after excellent, it was as if all eyes were on him at that exact moment. He smiled as he thought about how you must be looking at him. His shirt was open, letting the cloth hang off the side of the couch as the camera focused primarily on the low riding jeans that showed off the boxers he was promoting.

“Perfect! Perfect!! Now turn around and stare into the camera!”

His eyes opened and his head turned expertly, Mammon smiling as he tried to make eye contact with you--

Only to see that you were gone.

Camera flashes stop as he bolts up, turning to look for you before his eyes focused on your form.

There you were...talking with someone else.

“Mammon?”

He doesn’t stare at the cameraman, only gets up and stalks towards you and the demon currently holding up the lights. Both of you turn to face him, a voice speaking loudly about a five minute break as Mammon stands behind you and hugs you from behind, placing his chin right on your shoulder as he looks at the interloper.

“Are you taking a break?”

Mammon smiles as he buries his face in your shoulder, hugging you tight as the demon tells him he did a wonderful job. Without raising his head, Mammon speaks up.

“MC, who is this?”

“Oh right! Haven’t introduced you. He is a friend from RAD! We sit together in Pactology 101.”

“Well we used to sit together...”

“We talked way too much in class, didn’t we?”

It’s like nails on a chalkboard when he laughs, Mammon feeling glad that he was closer to you so he could hear the sound of your laughter instead of the ugly screeching of the intruder taking up your attention. Did this guy think he was stupid? That he couldn’t notice all the goddamn pheromones he was releasing? Mammon shakes his head back and forth, breathing in your scent heavily as he tries to leave his own behind.

This guy was embarrassing himself with how badly he wanted to form a pact with you.

“MC.”

“Oh oh, remember when the teacher caught us texting in class?”

“I think he might want to just put us back together cause we are still causing trouble!”

The Avatar of Greed frowns, did you not hear him?

“MC…”

“Well the teacher knows we are a good match, doesn’t he?”

“A match made in hell, I would say.”

Why was this guy still talking? Why were you still listening to him?

“MC….”

“Hey after this...would you want to go get some coffee, MC? If you’re not busy.”

“Nah, I only have this toda---FUCK!”

A pair of teeth tug at your earlobe, Mammon growling in your ear as he makes eye contact with the annoyance in front of him. He should be counting his lucky stars that you were still in the room, if Mammon found him anywhere else this demon would be nothing more than a meal for his familiars.

“MC, you have to stare at me or else I’m going to take longer.”

You rub at your ear as Mammon lets go of you, breaking eye contact with the other demon as he gives you his signature pout. He didn’t want you to see him be all scary, Mammon wanted you to see him like the number one demon he always tried to be for you.

“And you had to bite me because of that!?”

“Because you weren’t paying attention! You have to keep your eyes on me or else I’m not going to sell this stupid product. In fact--”

He drags you back to the couch, yelling at the cameraman that he would be posing with you so he could actually get through this photoshoot instead of doing a solo shoot. The man sighs but calls makeup to get you ready, Mammon smiling as he sits down right next to you.

The farther you were from that guy the better, all of his master’s attention needed to be on him after all.

Of course something like this would happen. Bad luck seemed to follow Leviathan wherever he went.

"Did you see the finale of it live?"

"I did!!! My movie theatre put it on the big screen and everything!"

Levi was glad that you were a nerd just like him. It was refreshing and probably one of the biggest reasons he had decided to make a pact with you.

Well, he had tried to kill you first and then make a pact with you but it was still a special story! Who would have thought that he would land himself a human master with his own interests!

Though he guessed that was a bad thing now.

He couldn't keep his thoughts in check as the clerk of the comic store kept talking to you, Levi annoyed that he couldn't keep up with the conversation you two had. It was about some comic cinematic universe that had been adapted in the human world and he honestly didn’t want to put anymore thought into it because of how close the clerk was getting.

Dammit he should have bought the new manga volume in Akuzon...but you had been so cute irl asking him to get the manga in this comic store you found,and if his master was begging him so cutely then what else could he do?

“I actually got the limited edition of this one movie--”

Nobody cared.

“It was up for a lot in Akuzon but I’m glad I got my hands on it--”

Stop talking!

“And I have a pretty cool viewing set up in the back--!”

Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking to MC!

Levi frowns as you gush about the movie some more, glaring down at you for letting your attention stray from him. But why should he be surprised, of course your attention would stray. Him being the yucky otaku that he is, of course you would go with the demon who took his interest and actually turned it into a profit--

No.

No! It wasn’t your fault! It wasn’t even his fault! It was this demon’s fault!

Thinking they looked so cool with their most basic of interests. If Levi could expose them for the fraud that they were, MC would be able to see the absolute fool that this demon was making themselves out to be. Smiling a lot more, inching closer as they talked, even offering to take you to the back of the store--!

People may say what they want about Levi but at least he wasn’t this desperate to get on the good side of a human...at least the first time he met you.

His eyes fall on the back of your neck, hair conveniently placed out of the way as he remembered something Lucifer had discussed with him and Mammon after they had made their pact.

You will not think rationally when you are with them, make sure to monitor your actions so you don’t embarrass yourself.

That’s what he said but…

Surely Levi wasn’t going to embarrass himself more than this demon already has.

“This is the one with the symbiote creature, right? And you got the bonus deleted scenes! Honestly I would be so down with watching it right--EEP!”

Levi made sure to let his tongue lick the back of your neck first before biting down, wanting to make the bite as painless as possible. Although he guessed that not making you feel pain was out of the question as he felt you tense up, his tongue swiping against your nape one last time as he pulled back and tugged on the back of your shirt.

“MC let’s go. They don’t have it.”

You turn to look at Levi, hand on the back of your neck as you tell him that he could have gotten your attention in any other way, but he knew for a fact that he had made his point across with the demon in front of him.

Summoning Lotan in his own home was one thing, summoning Lotan in a store would probably cost a lot…

Even if he knew brothers wouldn’t blame him with how nauseatingly this demon was trying to approach their master.

“MC, here.”

Satan breaks his pencil, but it seems the two other people don’t seem to notice.

“And it's the first edition too, but I took it out just for you.”

You smile and mention about how you didn’t need anything fancy for the assignment, just a simple book that talked about Devildom history. Which Satan agreed, this bug was acting like he owned the entire Royal Library. A pass to get a first edition title wasn’t that rare of a fucking find--if he wanted, Satan could call up any of his connections and get about 16 copies of different first edition titles that spoke not just about the Devildom history but about whatever the hell topic he could get his hands on.

This guy wasn’t that special yet he was acting like he had just given you the world on a silver platter.

The demon sat down at the table you and Satan were studying at, looking at you the entire time he explained how to open the book and how to make sure it stays in its pristine condition.

Which made Satan break another pencil.

From what you had mentioned, this guy was just someone you knew from RAD. You labeled him as the ‘smartest person in the class’. Which was a bit of an insult on his part but he guessed that as long as he wasn’t the one in your class it didn’t count as an insult towards his person.

He, of course, being the smartest demon you know.

But Satan didn’t have to be the smartest demon in RAD to know what this nuisance was doing.

If he were to read you any book on Devildom demonology, certain demons needed a human master. This insect in front of you would count as one of them. Lower demons usually tend to be without guidance and need a soul to feed from. In comes a human master, being able to fulfill that need with a pure soul of their own. The demon feeds and in return, develops a sort of ‘affection’ towards their master since they are now the hand that feeds them.

The same couldn’t be applied to Satan or his brothers, however. As the seven demon lords, they are able to gain the sustenance they need from the feed of other lower demons under the sin they were made in.

They are free to form pacts, but it’s not like they need it.

A good metaphor would be that they are essentially ‘picking off the plate’ of the lower demons, making the lower demons only cause minimal casualties up in the human world as they feed and keeping the seven lords from going feral with hunger.

Of course, things were different now. Satan had you now, a human all of his own.

Essentially, someone was trying to ‘take a bite’ of his favourite food, and Satan hated sharing.

Friends be damned, politeness be damned, he needed to show this demon his place.

“Isn’t it fascinating? The cover was made with a demon’s skin.”

“....really?”

“Yes. I believe it was from recently dead demon’s during the first Celestial War. Do you want to feel?”

You nod, curious about the black and shiny cover as the demon holds out his hand for you to take--

Only for you to yelp as Satan takes it first, dragging your hand back so it would be close to his lips as the Avatar of Wrath’s teeth bite at the skin near your wrist. You hiss in pain at the sudden sharpness, quickly pulling your hand back and staring at your demon as he gives the annoyance one last pointed stare.

“That is how demons started their pacts before we arrived in the Devildom, wasn’t it?”

The demon nodded slowly, his eyes darting to the mark on your wrist and then back at Satan. He opened his mouth to try and speak up but seemed to decide better against it, giving you one last smile as he stood up. “...I’ll...I’ll go get you the second volume. That one might include more accurate and updated information on pact markings.”

Satan smiles and nods as he scoots his chair close to you, looking back at you tracing the mark on your wrist with a frown before putting all your attention back on him.

“Did demons really used to form pact marks like this?”

The Avatar of Wrath shrugs.

“I was only guessing, he was the one who left thinking it was the truth. Here, let’s go look for a book on our own.”

Asmo would like to think that he had perfected the fake smile to the point he could keep it up for an indeterminate amount of time.

“MC! Try this!”

Yet the corners of his mouth twitched as he watched one of your friends, who happened to be a store clerk at Majolish, open the door to your dressing room to hand you another outfit they had picked out. And it wasn’t a bad outfit--!

Just...did they have to keep opening the door every single time?

Granted, he shouldn’t be in your dressing room in the first place but he insisted he would stay since you were only trying some shirts on! It wasn’t like he was seeing anything inappropriate and your pants were staying on the entire time.

This sight was okay for him because he was your demon and you were his master.

So it wasn’t right that some random nobody kept coming in to hand you shirts that they thought looked cute on you! That’s what you had Asmo for!

Yet here he was, secluded to sit down on the little chairs that someone would usually toss the unwanted clothes they wouldn’t buy. Which was already doing horrible things for his self-esteem.

“I learned a couple of things by working here. See? The color really matches your hair.”

The Avatar of Lust scoffs when he hears that. What exactly did the demon learn? How to match colors? Oh look, someone learned the basics of the color wheel, someone give them a medal.

“And since you are wearing something long at the bottom, it’s only fair that you go with something short on top.”

This demon is going to win an award for making basic observations, Asmo could already see it. What a future they had ahead of them.

“These colors are summery too so...it goes great with the weather!”

Oh he wants to gag, Asmo’s heard enough.

“You don’t think it’s too revealing? I do like the color though…”

Before the demon can answer, Asmo grabs your shoulders and pulls you back to him with a smile as he makes you look in the mirror.

“I think it’s revealing enough for the summer look you are going for...except can you maybe get it in a light pastel? Any color would do it just needs to be a pastel color if we want it to go with the light color of your bottoms.”

The demon deflates at the sudden lack of contact with you but nods as they step out, waving goodbye and stating once again how ‘gorgeous’ you looked. Which Asmo guessed was the only compliment they had in their arsenal.

Gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe you.

“I did like this color, Asmo. Does it not look good?”

“No it looks perfect on you! But--”

He tugs on the floral print top and smiles as he wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“Floral prints are extremely last season and I want you to be on a more neutral type of clothing. Just simple colors. This way we can add some jewelry--some of my own creation of course.”

Asmo smiles when you giggle, fixing your top and looking at yourself in the mirror a couple more times as you mumble to yourself about how Devildom summers seem rather temperate compared to the ones you were used to and how you wouldn’t need anything sleeveless.

Damn the Devildom summers, if they could even be called that at all.

His ears twitch as he hears the pest start to make their way back, Asmo’s smile dropping slowly as he looks down at your neck. This was the spot they kept staring at, wasn’t it? Shame it wasn’t decorated--

But he could fix that~ “I found some other colors that would go well with you MC, do you want to--”

“OW OW OW!”

Asmo’s teeth are right on your neck, turning to look back at the clerk with a smile and a little wave as he hums at the way you clench and unclench your fingers while looking at him through the mirror, wanting to ask just why he was doing this but the pain keeping you quiet. It was cute how much you were hurting but how you were doing absolutely nothing to stop him. This could technically mean that you approved of what he was doing, correct?

He lets go as the clerk immediately closes the door, you calling out for your friend but Asmo brings you back and makes you look at the mirror one more time.

“There we go. That’s a pretty mark, right MC? An Asmodeus Limited Edition item, just for you~”

If this kept happening, Beel was going to eat this demon.

“You need to try some Devildom food, MC! I promise it's good!”

Beel stomach growls again as you laugh, ignoring the parfait in front of you. He gives you a tap on the shoulder and your attention is right back to him. “Oh sorry, Beel. Here!” You scoop up the delicious frozen treat and feed it to him, Beel smiling as he takes another two bites of his hamburger and watches you and your friend talk. He actually had no idea that you had any friends in RAD and was happy to see that at least some demons were treating you nicely, compared to theo ones who had teased you when you first arrived.

Well he said teased, more like threatened to eat you.

He figured you would make friends fast though, you were nice and all the demons here were already attracted to human souls so it was bound to happen that one of them would have the courage to talk to you.

Yet this one seemed rather...eager.

“How about this. Hell’s Kitchen serves good food but I know this awesome corner in the wall place we can get some grilled bat sandwiches. Guts and everything.”

His stomach growls again, he knew of the place this demon was talking about and would most likely want to take you there himself if you ever asked.

Beel takes another two bites before waiting for you to feed him the parfait.

Nothing.

He frowns and stares at you again, the demon keeping your attention all to himself as you spoke about how you didn’t necessarily want to eat anything with guts in it. His eyes went to the parfait, watching some of the perfectly placed scoops slowly melt and droop down on the plate.

MC, pay attention to him!

This was his time with you! He didn’t mind if someone else stepped in and he was glad you were making friends but this demon was interrupting his mealtime!

He ate his burger, you fed him ice-cream, this is how it had always worked!

People could say what they wanted but Beel was a creature of habit, and he was in the habit of having you feed him.

Not just that, he was in the habit of having your attention all on him when it was his time to hang out with you.

Wasn’t this demon just being a bother? Didn’t you also want them gone?

They kept talking about all the stuff that clearly grossed you out, seemingly delighted with your reactions as they kept trying to egg you on to say yes to an outing. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were smiling the entire time, Beel would have already made the move to unhinging his jaw and--

“I promise I’ll treat you to the best ghost pepper pizza you’ve ever had. You’re free after this, right?”

Beel’s stomach growls, whether in hunger or anger Beel wouldn’t be able to say. All he knows is that this demon is bad news for both him and you.

So what would be the quickest way to make him back off?

“I’m not but I can take a raincheck--!”

You drop the spoon you were holding as Beel bites your cheek, throwing the demon one quick glimpse before letting out a few sounds that seemed to make up your name. The demon stares at you and Beel as the Avatar of Gluttony pulls away from you, licking his lips as you slowly put a hand on your cheek and turn to look at him.

“The parfait is gonna melt. I want another bite.”

“Beel…”

Eyes turn to the demon once again, Beel frowning as he takes a hold of your hand underneath the table.

“Please leave. If MC is going to eat Devildom food then they’ll eat it with me. The only thing you are going to do is gross them out.”

“So what did you want to talk about?”

Belphie frowned as your fingers gently played with his hair. That is not what he had asked for when he asked to lay on your lap. Belphegor wanted the usual way you would comb through his hair, both of you gently whispering to each other as the planetarium ambience lulled him to sleep.

“Well...uhm...I wanted to ask something important.”

And who the hell was this person? He peeked up to look at you smiling at the screen, frowning that you still didn’t seem to notice you were doing a shit job at giving him the attention he needed. Whoever this was had been on the line with you for a good solid ten minutes, talking about useless subjects such as their day and what they had for lunch. If anything, Belphegor had no idea how this thing was taking your attention. You were doing most of the talking anyway, they should just hang up and leave you alone to pay attention to your demon.

“We’ve known each other for a while.”

Belphegor most likely knew MC for longer...maybe.

“And honestly I haven’t met a human like you before. You just...I just expected humans to be something and you aren’t that so it threw me off.”

The Avatar of Sloth yawns as he buries his head in your lap, smiling at the darkness he found in the small crook of your thighs. He yawns again and closes his eyes to try and fall asleep but the grating voice of the demon on the phone was sending nothing but warning signals to his brain.

“So I wanted to ask something I didn’t think I would ask a human before.”

He really wanted to yell ‘get to the point’ or ‘hang up the phone’ but he knew that you would most likely shush him and tell him to be patient, which would then result in you gently pushing him away so you could talk somewhere more private. And he wasn’t ready to lose his favourite pillow just yet.

So he continued listening, tracing random shapes on your thighs as he felt his eyelids start to droop.

“I know you have seven pacts already…”

Damn straight.

“But would an eight be too much for you?”

That wakes Belphegor right up, eyes wide open and head turned to face up at you to see your reaction. Of course you would be surprised, this demon really had the guts to ask the current master of the Seven deadliest demons in the Devildom for a pact?

You better be grateful that Belphegor found comfort in your lap and would prefer to stay here, rather than go break the neck of the demon insolent enough to try to take his master away.

So go ahead, reject him.

“A pact? With me?”

What were you doing?

Don’t give him such a hopeful answer! Belphegor had to share you with six other demons constantly and those demons were his siblings! He was okay sharing with Beel but he drew the line at anyone else! Adding an eighth demon to that would be like asking for a bloodbath, a bloodbath with only one target.

Belphegor frowned as the demon started talking again, stuttering and jumping over his words like he was a dog who asked to eat their masters table. Which essentially he was, not like there was room for him anyway.

“I know I’m not like those brothers--”

Damn straight.

“But making a pact with you would make me really happy...is what I am trying to say.”

He wants to gag.

A part of him couldn’t blame the demon, you were perhaps the best master a demon could ask for, but you were already t a k e n.

And you were to blame too, you know?

You weren’t rejecting him like you should. The face you were making was far too surprised and flattered at the proposition given to you. Were you that greedy? Had Mammon rubbed off on you? You had seven of the most powerful demons under your command, what more could you possibly want?

As a master, you were doing a bad job at rejecting this insect and an even more horrible job at not paying attention to the actual demon you were tied to.

He turns his head back to the darkness of your thighs, feeling you shift as you also struggle to find an answer. This was becoming too much, if Belphegor didn’t act fast you were most likely going to say yes, just because you didn’t know any better!

Fuck it, you could try to push him off but Belphegor would hold on tightly, he had to save you from your mistake.

“Uhm. Well that is honestly really flattering. And eight pacts wouldn’t be so bad--”

You slap a hand over your mouth, your teeth biting into your tongue as you look down at the demon nipping at the inside of your thigh. Belphie looks up innocently, batting his eyelashes at you as he bites down a little harder--

“I’ll-try-to-have-an-answer-for-you-later-got-to-go-bye!”

Fingers hurry to end the call as Belphegor quickly lets go, smiling as you gape down at him.

“I was in the middle of a call!”

“I know.”

“Then what was that about!?”

The Avatar of Sloth shrugs as he closes his eyes.

“You weren’t paying attention to me. It made me mad.”

You sigh and lean back, Belphegor waiting for a few moments before smiling as he feels your fingers combing through his hair.

“Next time,just talk to me, Belphegor.”

He would have answered, but that would make him promise something he most likely was not going to do.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 79 Review

i said i would and i will. i did like this issue! not as striking and attention grabbing as 78, but i think this issue was meant to be a foundation one, laying out the groundwork for the future. overall, pretty good. also there wasn't enough bitewing. as promised, overly extensive metaphors and me reading too much into things under the cut

i know i've talked about this cover before, but this particular thing is oddly important to me, so i'll talk about it again

this is me, once again screaming about how artists put nightwing in traditionally feminine poses and how every time i see it i just get whiplash. i mean, true, the main reason why is because nightwing is a so often sexualized character, and putting him in these poses just increases the objectification, which is a goal that dc producers have. but there are very few popular male characters that do this. the only one i can think of off the top of my head is deadpool, but that was so obviously a critique and a way to make fun of the media industry. when they draw dick like this, they’re being serious. they’re putting him in appealing poses meant to show him off, and that’s something that’s traditionally only been done to women.

it's a very direct and very loud breaking of traditional gender roles in media, especially for a character as high-profile and historic as dick grayson. colour also plays a factor in this. the entire background is pink. i was absolutely shocked when i first saw it, when the teaser came out, because i cannot think of any comic book covers of male comic heroes this high-profile where pink is even just prevalent in the cover, let alone the majority of the cover. the pink does look beautiful: it offsets and highlights the black and blue of dick's suit gorgeously, but does it with more finesse than orange or red. but the fact that the stylistic choice was made to accent and draw this cover with aesthetic and beauty in mind, completely ignoring traditional hard-set gender rules in art, was a conscious choice and one i wholeheartedly support.

just another example of the sexualization i was talking about. i remember seeing harley quinn in this exact pose in suicide squad.

so far, taylor's been pretty dead-set on bringing alfred to the forefront of importance in this series. he wants people to know how much he loves alfred's character, and how much the butler meant to dick growing up. he was dick's father too. but what i adore is how taylor managed to stress alfred's importance in a way that didn't insult or belittle bruce.

this is one of the best bruce and dick interactions i've seen, and it's done in one simple interaction. in this, bruce is tough and harsh. he knocked dick down hard, but then he reached a hand down and helped pull dick back up. let me analyze their dialogue for a minute

on your feet: this is bruce telling dick to get up. he's trained dick, he knows what the younger boy is capable of, he knows his limits, and he knows what dick can do. this is bruce telling dick i know you're strong enough to get up, so get up and prove me right

are you just going to knock me down again?: surface-level, it looks like dick's complaining. he doesn't like bruce's rough training, and he's tired of bruce knocking him down. but look at his face in this. he's smiling up at bruce, knowledgeable and a little hopeful. he knows that bruce is doing this to help dick better himself, he's completely on board with the rough training, because they both know the rewards are incredible. also, he's teasing. he's bantering with bruce. there's an ease in that joking statement, one that belies affection and intimacy. they've only known each other for a little bit, but they're already slipping into a close familial relationship.

it depends on how fast you learn: this is bruce bantering back. this is bruce not being a stoic, unfeeling asshole. instead, he's shown with the dry humor that a good batman writer knows is a staple of the character. he's teasing dick, telling him he'll basically whoop his ass if dick doesn't learn fast enough. it's incentive for dick to train harder, while also being lighthearted enough to tell dick that believes in dick and doesn't want him to push himself too hard.

gosh i love the titans. also it looks like wally's staring at dick's ass.

this was cute. a prod at dick's silly and playful sense of humor, while not dumbing him down for the sake of a laugh. instead, he's joking about food, which is stuff everyone jokes about. this is the kind of stuff that'll actually make me laugh, instead of just making me vaguely uncomfortable.

bludhaven's almost always portrayed as a cesspool of a city. and to be honest, it really is. but this panel gives the city a meaningful history, while also giving us a reason for why dick moved there.

it talks of a time when people still thought they could beat the monsters. that if they fought hard enough, they could win the fight. it was a tentative hope that you could always overcome hardship.

dick's little "i like that it's still standing" shows how he still believes that, despite what the rest of the world thinks. despite everything that he's been through, dick is still tentatively an optimist, and believes he can fight the monsters of the world and win. it's a beautiful testament to his character, and i'm like that they added his signature element of hope back in. it used to be what he symbolized as robin, and despite his growth and character arc from robin to nightwing, this is one aspect of robin that i'm glad nightwing still has.

remember when i said "things that make me vaguely uncomfortable??" yeahhhh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Shooketh Dick: A Sequel

(the expressions in this series are just,,,,on point)

this was an incredibly sweet and kindhearted thing for dick to do, but i found it kind of,,,,,,,,desperate? maybe that's just me, but let me explain.

dick's suddenly a billionaire, and he has entirely too much money that he knows what to do with. it's also alfred's money, what the man left to him, so dick forever links it with alfred. in addition to that, he's back and bludhaven and looking at it with "fresh" eyes. (at least, from a different point of view since he got shot in the head. then mind controlled.) he's desperate to do something with the money and he's desperate to help the people around him that so obviously needs up, so he comes up with an on-the-fly solution that's a little impractical and a little crazy, but it still helps and still does some good.

to me, dick seems a little lost. he hasn't completely found his balance yet, and he's trying to do things that will. he tries charity, because that's what bruce did and it's what he knows, even though he admitted that he always thought bruce could have done more as bruce wayne than batman.

they have a family group chat guys yall were right.

also, do i think that dick would ever actually get his wallet stolen?? no way in hell, he’d notice someone getting ready to pickpocket him a mile away. but i suppose it’s important to the Plot. 

okay this is getting interesting. first blockbuster, now maroni (+ the weird heart stealer guy). i can officially say that i am intruiged

this particular artistic quirk is shown a lot in this issue, and from this art team in general, but i feel like this panel is one of the best examples of it. it was stunning enough to take up a full page, and it’s well deserved.

the way they show dick moving is absolutely brilliant. as a reader, i like seeing these smaller versions of dick getting clearer and in more detail as they come closer to the screen. not only do they show depth in the picture beyond what a simple 3 dimensional piece of art does, it also shows the passage of time.

in addition, it showcases dick’s skill. dick spots these mobsters running after a group of petty thieves. he then, and follow me here, leaps off the roof of one building feet first, springboards backwards off the side of the adjacent building with his feet, gracefully continues his backflip, rights himself, shoots a line with perfect timing: just in time to soften his landing but not slow him down, execute said landing on top of a moving bus, keep running on the moving bus without missing a beat, shoot his grapple, use the grapple to swing, use the swing to build up momentum, then use the momentum to deliver a powerful blow to the mobsters. and he did all that fast enough to catch up with the mobsters, even though he was a ROOFTOP OVER. 

d a m n  s o n

this panel, the very first in the issue, is also another example of that art style, but a little more distinctive. i love the way they showed dick’s different costumes through the ages, along with him simply growing up. it’s a little heartbreaking, but a lot uplifting to see how far he’s come. thank god he got rid of the red. now all we need is the fingerstripes, and we’ll be golden

discowing my beloved. also i can’t clearly see discowing’s hair but it definitely looks like it’s pulled back. it looks like he put it in a ponytail. guys. guys. dick had a ponytail omg. 

he’s having a Hero Moment

are you talking about the city, dick, or are you talking about you? the kgbeast, the court, the joker. dick fell to each one of them, no matter how hard he fought. he won in the end, eventually and with his family’s help. but i think he’s feeling a little low, a little defeated right now. it’s almost like he needs a win, he needs to feel victorious, he needs to feel like he helped someone (hence the food and the hotel room), just because he needs to remember what it feels like.

these lines were supposed to resonate with you, and goddamn they did.

i looked at it from two ways. first, it’s the girl asking, begging nightwing not to hurt them. bludhaven doesn’t know dick the way gotham does, they’re still a little frightened of him. this child was brave enough to step in front of all of the other hurt and homeless kids and ask, to a strange man in a mask, if he was going to hurt them like the other men had. it’s heartbreaking, but commendable, and an echo of the city itself that dick’s decided to protect. they’re bloody and broken and terrified, but still gritty and brave enough to stare what they fear in the eye and ask it not to hurt them.

second, it’s dick seeing the question reflected in himself. recently, he got shot in the head and lost all his memories. while i think that the way ric reacted was a perfectly valid and human response to the situation, i think dick still regrets how callously and rudely he treated his family. then, he was manipulated by the court of owls, then he was brainwashed with a magic crystal by the joker. dick does have a guilt complex. it’s not a big as bruce’s, but it’s there. and right now, with this girl begging her not to hurt them, dick is probably thinking about all the times he hurt people, in control of his own actions or not, bc he “didn’t have a heart.” 

little ambitious don’t you think, dick?

also just look at the sunset colours loOK at the they could not make this any more obvious oh my godddddddddddddddddddddddd

in conclusion, i need more of her

[trueshellz]

@regs09

I hope this is okay! I tried to show her as helpful as possible but a little sparky too. They're not all the same length but I tried to use different scenarios too.

Kuroo

The first time he saw you, you were surrounded by 2nd years pestering you for your phone number and he truly felt sorry for those guys. You couldn’t have had a bigger ‘fuck off’ face even if you tried. As he walked over, he was getting ready to set them straight when he overheard you.

“If you don’t get away from me in the next 10 seconds, I will rearrange your face.”

He’d never seen boys run away apologising so fast in his life, his signature laugh being heard by everyone, even Kenma gave him a WTF look as they walked together down the corridor.

“Oya? You seemed to have put them right in their place.”

Still annoyed at the situation, you whirled around and glared at him, hands placed on your hips. You knew Kuroo Tetsuro, everyone knew Kuroo Tetsuro. Third year, Nekoma volleyball captain, signature smile and absolute flirt.

“You wanna go as well, pretty boy?” You huffed as he held his hands up in mock surrender, grin wide across his face.

“Woah there, sparky. I was coming over to help you.”

Hiking your bag up your shoulder, you purposely walked between him and Kenma. “I didn’t need your help.”

The second time he saw you, he was grabbing a book from the library and he saw you sat with one of the 1st year girls. Exam week was around the corner so the library was busier than usual, he could see some of his teammates in the back too, knowing full well if they failed exams they could be pulled from the upcoming games.

He could see the girl was stressed out from the way she was flailing her arms, her face red as she pointed at her books. He saw you smile as you leaned over, pointing to something before taking out a mini whiteboard and pen from you bag. You giggled as she held her arms up in the air, she must have got the answer right. He was momentarily stunned by your change in demeanor and he could feel himself smile as you clapped for your student.

When you were dating, Kuroo was more than aware of how people perceived you. He had the same issue to some extent, being perceived as a harsh captain with a scheming personality meant some students were often scared to approach him. But when you were alone, you would often curl up to him on the sofa and often acted cute in front of him especially when he came home after a game to help cheer him up. Packing bento boxes for his lunches with cute cut out fruit and animal shaped onigiri and leaving cute notes in his bags and books.

You would always come near the end of Nekoma practice matches with drinks or healthy snacks for his team, who loved you for this reason. Yamamoto more so than the rest, a huge flirt who tried to hug attack you every time only to get yelled at by your boyfriend and given clean up duties as punishment.

"Tetsu, he just wants a hug."

He mock pouted as he looked at you, his lip stuck out almost comically. "Those hugs are mine, he can't have any."

The manager and you got along well too, you would help them by sweeping up after the boys or tidying away the equipment. A few times you helped Lev out when he tore his uniform falling over or tripping on his long legs as he got used to playing volleyball. He would feel so bad too, looking at you like a lost puppy as you sewed up his hem or patched a hole he had in his shorts or t shirt. The one time he managed to rip the stitching of his t shirt up to his arm pit when he skidded across the floor trying to save the ball. Needless to say, it didn't end well and you were glad you had taken to carrying a sewing kit with you when you went to watch them practice.

"I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Lev. Don't worry about it."

Kuroo knew the saying: Don't judge a book by it's cover, but he didn't realise how true it was until he met you. He could have missed out on one of the best people in his life.

Bokuto

Bokuto was known for having a cheery outlook on life, yes he had his emo moments but it took a lot to get him down generally. But you always baffled him, whenever he saw you it seemed as though you were angry or annoyed. In class, no matter the task or who you worked with, you looked fed up. After school when you were walking home, you seemed frustrated. At lunchtime, you sat with friends but you seemed like you'd had enough. You were a conundrum to him.

After school one day, he was walking towards the local shop to grab some snacks and he saw you crouching on the ground, your face was a mixture of awe and sadness as you looked at a box on the ground. As he neared you, he could hear small whines and the scratching against the box and when he peered over your shoulder he could see some puppies in the box.

"Someone left them here alone?"

You jumped as you heard his voice, looking up to see him standing over you, he had his bag slung on his shoulder and was still dressed in his volleyball gear. You'd seen him around school, he sat on the opposite side of the classroom to you so you never worked together. You knew he was the captain of the school's volleyball team but didn't know much else about him.

"Yeah, it's so cruel. They're only babies too."

And that was how you two became started friends and eventually dating, bonding over your love for animals and disdain for the situation. He accompanied you to the local animal shelter where you dropped the puppies off, not being able to take them home. He was enthralled by your change in demeanor, you would always smile at him and act a lot more animated. You would help Akaashi get him out of his funk when he had a bad day or one of his moves didn't go to plan. He had taken to buying you the famous octopus plushie too and would use it to gauge your mood, you found it hilarious. If you were sad or angry, he would come bearing snacks or gifts and if you were happy, he knew he was able to hug attack you and smother you in kisses.

Attending every game, you would always dress in his team number and cheer the loudest for him. After school, you would help him unwind, either spending time giving him a massage or just cuddling on the sofa together. You would lay on him, arms and legs intertwined as you watched television or playing with hair as his head was in your lap. Even going as far to sometimes climb into the front of his hoodie so you would be skin to skin with him. You loved the feel of his heartbeat against your ears and his breathing would calm you. You spent more time in his lap, head buried in his neck than sat alone as you lived feeling his body heat against you. Thankfully, Koutaro didn't mind, he loved the attention and having you close to him.

Who knew such a angry little bean would become such a cute little sloth?

Osamu

Every weekend like clockwork at lunchtime, you would walk in and order 2 meals. One to eat at the time and one to pick up at the end of your meal and take away. You always sat in the corner by yourself, flicking through your phone. You weren't rude or anything, but you had an aura of 'leave me alone' or else which usually kept people away from you. As Osamu watched, he couldn't help but wonder about you and your background.

He tried talking to you first, but apart from polite conversation you didn't seem to want to talk to him. He tried broaching lots of subjects but you just gave minimal answers. He was quite frustrated to say the least, Atsumu didn't help with his idea either. They just seemed to be annoying or potentially harassing, neither a great choice.

It was the end of the day when he was packing away, you had just left the restaurant and Osamu was packing all the left over food in boxes to give to the homeless people around the restaurant. He didn't like wasting food, not being one to be ungrateful and decided early on to donate it to those who were less fortunate. Carrying the snack packs, he started his usual journey down the roads and handing his packages out to anyone who was in need.

As he rounded the corner, he saw you leaning down speaking to an elderly lady who had a small child. She looked tired, her cheeks red from exhaustion and cold, the child looking equally cold in this weather too. They had been selling fruit from what he could see and he stared in fascination as you not only bought their remaining stock but gave them the second meal you bought that day.

"No, no. You always do this. It's not fair, we'll exchange. You give me food for my fruit."

"Auntie, no. You know very well that I don't expect payment for this. Its a gift. Take the food, go home and eat. Use the money for your daughter."

Nearing to you, he bowed quickly before leaning down and handing the child some onigiri. She smiled up at him, all toothy and he felt his heart warm up seeing her munch away at the rice ball. Looking at you, he could see the broad smile on your face as you bantered with the woman, seeing you like this was such a contrast to your usual stoic attitude.

This routine continued for a few weeks, eventually you would help Osamu out with his packing. Carrying some of the lighter packages to hand out to everyone, your conversation becoming more and more in depth the more you spoke to one another. You had more in common than you thought, including your selflessness you both had similar taste in music and movies.

One thing led to another and soon you found yourself dating, Osamu didn't realise how cute you were in real life until you moved in together. He remembered how shocked he was when you bought matching Pikachu onesies to wear and would take lots of selfies with him. His phone was full of cute pictures that he got during the day with little messages and lovey dovey quotes. The apartment was full of couple things like matching slippers and the progression of your relationship through little mementos strewn across the wall.

You would spend any spare time you had at his shop helping him, or trying to as you seemed to get distracted by how pretty your boyfriend was. Or you would come behind him and attach yourself in a backhug, Osamu wouldn't be able to get much done with a limpet attached so you compromised on a only doing that when he had a break.

What started as a fascination ended up being one of the biggest surprises of his life and he couldn't imagine his life without you in it.

[let-them-read-fics]

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think. 

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics. 

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features. 

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.” 

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face. 

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible. 

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that. 

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you. 

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least. 

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug. 

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again. 

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned. 

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer. 

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her. 

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.  

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.  

That had to be some sort of symbolism. 

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement. 

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is. 

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon. 

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents. 

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.  

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you. 

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on. 

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.” 

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence. 

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly. 

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you. 

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her. 

A short time later, you begin. 

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so. 

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life. 

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for. 

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you. 

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing. 

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades. 

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?” 

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you. 

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[rosepetalmark]

can we kiss forever?

↬ Mark Lee x Reader ↬1.9k Words ↬ Genre: Pure Fluff / kinda smut?? (just two people making out and feeling each other up) ↬Warnings: None

“You’re making me nervous.” He giggles. His plump, round cheeks turning crimson red the moment he finished speaking. 

“I literally just kissed your neck,  Mark.”

“I know but like, we haven’t really done this before so it’s kinda weird.” He continues to laugh, this time curling himself up into a ball and situating his head in the crevice of your neck, wrapping his arm around your torso and holding you tight. 

Pouting your lips, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at how adorable he was being. You’ve only been officially dating for a month, and he wanted to take things slow, which was completely fine with you, as you wanted to make sure both you and Mark were ready for whatever future intimacy your relationship has to offer.

But despite the purity that came with your gradual exploration of one another, you were not sure on how to go about his laughter when it came to kissing. 

“So your first instinct is to laugh?” You question, running your fingers through his short black hair, a gesture you grew quite fond of once you two began dating. 

Looking up into your eyes, he removes himself from his tight hold from your body and gives you his signature Mark Lee stare, the one where he looks at you eyes wide and yearning for information. The rays of the setting sun hitting just in the right spot, prompting them to glimmer and appear even more soft and loving, your chest and cheeks growing warm at the angelic sight of him. 

“It’s not my fault your lips are ticklish! God, this is so embarrassing.” He whines, his face in his hands hiding his body even further into your side.

“Baby there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Pleading with him, you wanted him to know it was okay that he didn’t want to delve into this right now.

Mark told you straight from the beginning that the most he’s ever done is hold hands with a girl, and the occasional peck on the lips and cheek, but that was it. Intimacy and relationships were all new to him, so it would take a while for him to understand and process what was happening, along with what he likes and dislikes.

“I can’t even make out with my girlfriend without laughing! How is that nothing to be embarrassed about?” Sighing, he unwraps his arm from your waist, sitting upright on his bed, dropping his head and staring straight into his hands on his lap.

“It’s not that I don’t want this or I’m not ready, I uh- like don’t know how? I guess? Yeah, I’m just nervous and um I really like you and want to kiss you a lot, like a lot, but i guess i’m just scared I’m going to suck and you won’t want to kiss me or even be with me anymore.”

Making out and exploring each other’s bodies was supposed to be intimate and fun, and the fact that Mark was stressed about the entire situation made your heart shatter. You were with him because of his big heart and goofy personality, not because you thought he’d be amazing in bed down the line in your relationship. 

Placing a hand on his cheek, you couldn’t help but melt at how distraught he looks.

“Mark Lee, I have been friends with you since we were teenagers and even though we haven’t been dating long. there is nothing you could do that would drive me away at this point. I like you way too much to ever let you go.”

Which was true. You remember meeting Mark way back in high school, when he still had braces and stayed to himself, always reading a new comic or novel at lunch while your group of friends gossiped or made plans for the weekend. Despite being shy and hardly speaking to you the first year of knowing you, there was always something about him that intrigued you and made you get butterflies in your stomach whenever you saw him. 

“Besides.” You say, getting back up from your comfortable position to mirror Mark’s cross legged stature. “If you suck at kissing now it just means there’s room for more kissing so you can get better.” 

“Thank you.” He whispered, bringing his body towards yours and engulfing you in a tight hug, his head once again finding its way to perfectly fit in your neck.

Your bring it upon yourself to kiss Mark on his forehead, it being an action of yours that calms him down whenever his mind is operating at a speed beyond comprehension. 

You've discovered that cuddling into your side is his favourite place to be whenever you are together. Mark would always hold on to you tightly, while delicately placing his head above your collarbone, his soft breath fanning your neck always providing you with the slightest bit of comfort.

Reaching for his neck, you move your body to signal that you wanted him to look at you, to let him understand that no matter what, he will always be the boy that makes your heart flutter, no matter the circumstance. “I just want us to always be on the same page, no matter the concern. Okay?”

Nodding his head, you bring your face closer to his, examining his soft features and bouncing your gaze between his eyes and lips.

Noticing he was now doing the same, you took the opportunity to bring your lips to his, slowly pressing soft pecks to his before you started to kiss him slowly, making your mouth stay on his a few seconds longer each time after you pulled away.

Mark seemed to get the hang of it, being more forceful and messy with his kisses, not as hesitant as he was a few seconds prior.

He starts to lean more into your body, prompting you to lie on the bed with him situated in between your legs, one hand on your thigh, the other around your waist.

“Fuck this is so hot.” He whispers in between kisses, moving away from your lips and bringing kisses towards your cheeks.

“Is it uh okay if I go lower?”

“Anything you want Mark, I’m all yours.”

Slowly moving his lips down your face, he brings them towards your neck, peppering kisses along your collarbone, sucking slightly on the spot he delicately rests his head when cuddling, soft to the touch but aggressive enough to leave a mark for the next few days. You cant wait for the day when Mark gets bold enough to mark you up with different coloured hues and bites that cover your entire body. 

Licking the soft marks he just made upon your clavicle and neck, he makes his way up just below your ear, sucking on a sweet spot, causing a moan to escape your mouth. 

“God, are you sure you’ve never done this before?” You whine, tugging more roughly at his hair, wanting him to feel the pleasure you were receiving from his lips alone. 

Laughing lowly into your neck, he fans his hot breath above your ear, gently grazing it, feeling a smirk form on his lips. “I guess I’m a quick learner.”

Bringing your hands back to his face, pulling him back up to your lips, you start aggressively pressing kisses to his lips now, wanting to show some dominance and explore Mark further. 

Maneuvering out of his hold, you roll out from under his body, swinging your leg over his thighs, straddling his lap.

Now lying on top of him, you slowly grind down onto his crotch with each kiss you plant onto his lips, prompting a deep moan to emerge from his swollen mouth, vibrating onto yours. 

Smirking into his mouth, it made you proud that you could get Mark this riled up. It wasn’t every day where you two were able to have long, intimate moments with one another. 

His glossy eyes became fondly attached to yours, admiring the look of desire and compassion your face was exhibiting. 

Blushing, you mold your lips together again as one, slowly grazing his bottom lip with your tongue, letting him know that you want to explore his mouth a little bit differently that what you have been doing the past few minutes. 

Widening his eyes, Mark slightly moves his lips away from yours, worry washing over his face. “Um, is that normal?” 

“Is what normal?” You retort, scanning his face to see if there’s any hesitation in his eyes. 

“The tongue thing. You know, is that a normal thing to do when making out?”

Pouting, you couldn’t help but note how cute Mark was. This was all so new for him, and the simplest questions made you want to hug him and explore more of the physical sides of the relationship together. 

“Yes, baby. If you don’t like it we can just go back to regular kissing. I don’t want to pressure you in-”

“No-no.” He cuts off, placing his face right back in front of yours.  “I liked it, I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Just go with it, this isn’t some science. Whatever feels good just keep doing it. Follow your instincts, okay?”

He presses his lips back to yours, a little harsher this time and slower in pecking. Mark’s now the one to run his tongue along your bottom lip, mimicking what you just did to him before breaking out into concern. 

You open your mouth in the slightest, allowing his tongue to follow suit with yours. It was clearly evident that Mark wasn’t too familiar with this act kissing, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that it was a bit too fast and that Mark kept moving his tongue all around your mouth rather than slowly maneuvering it against yours. 

You were both exploring one another and learning, becoming more vulnerable and attached and that is what is making the entire moment so special. 

Grabbing his hands, you slowly inch them towards your chest, eager to have him explore more of your body. Mark clearly took your hint, softly squeezing each breast in between the kisses he was placing on your swollen, plump lips. 

The soft moans escaping your mouth swiftly caught his attention, making it clear that you liked what he was doing. Correction, loved. Every kiss and grunt and touch coming from his body made you feel fireworks, and all of this is happening while you’re both clothed- you can’t even imagine how amazing it would feel the moment you both decided to go even further than this. 

Separating your mouths, you stare into Mark’s dilated pupils and can’t help but think about how much you really like this boy, and all the awkwardness and love that comes from him. 

“God, that was amazing.” Rubbing his nose against yours, bringing your faces as close to one another as they were a mere ten seconds ago. 

“You are amazing.” You retort, wrapping your arms around his torso as you continue to stare into his love shot eyes. “I could kiss you forever if I could.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Hugging your waist tighter, you couldn’t help but feel the elevation in Mark’s heart race, beating exponentially faster than you’ve ever felt before. 

“I’d like that. I want to kiss you forever too.”

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil. 

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon. 

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter. 

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana. 

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods. 

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers. 

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment. 

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear. 

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her. 

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte. 

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. 

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice. 

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.” 

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise. 

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out. 

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school. 

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest. 

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends. 

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience. 

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad. 

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words. 

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that. 

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled. 

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it. 

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming. 

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment. 

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality. 

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.” 

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’. 

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut. 

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity. 

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk. 

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach. 

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence. 

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he���s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue. 

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out. 

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s. 

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet. 

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”

[voidofwords]

hopelessly devoted

here’s a short wlw story i wrote! ngl i came up with everything, including the characters, as i went, but i ended up pretty happy with it!

Her grin is so bright when she looks at me. “Syd,” she says, beaming. “You won’t believe it!”

He said yes. I smile at her and tell the sinking feeling in my stomach to fuck off. “What?” I ask, with as much excitement as I can muster. 

Jasmine turns her phone screen towards me so I can see the messages between her and Brandon, but she’s waving the phone around excitedly and it’s impossible to even get a glimpse of what the messages say. Fortunately for me, and I would like my sarcasm here to be noted, she is kind enough to also tell me the news herself:

“He said yes!” She squeals, grabbing me by the arm and shaking my whole body. “Brandon said yes to go on a date with me! I’m going on a date with Brandon.”

For a moment, my brain is so fixated on the fact that Jasmine is touching my arm, it forgets how to do anything else. But I manage to kick it back into action and plaster on my most convincing I’m-so-happy-for-you-and-not-at-all-screaming-inside smile. “Jas, that’s great! That’s amazing!”

She nods eagerly, her deep brown eyes looking into mine. “You have to help me prepare for the date. I don’t even know what to wear!”

That actually makes me grin for real. “Come on, Jas, we both know you have way better style than me.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Shut up, I love your whole, like, tomboy thing. Your style is amazing. But I just meant I want you there for emotional support.”

“Oh. Right.” Did Jasmine just tell me she loves my style? I am fighting so fucking hard to keep my brain from going into overdrive. I try to smile, but I think it’s more of a grimace. “Of course I’ll be there,” I tell her. “That’s what friends are for.” 

-

I don’t want to move. I don't want to get up. The alarm on my phone went off five minutes ago to let me know it was time to go to Jasmine’s house, but I think I might just lie here forever. What’s the point? She probably won’t even care if I come. She’ll be too fixated on her date with Brandon later to even notice if I’m there or not. 

Brandon is popular and has abs and is apparently super hot and charming - I don’t get it, but sure - and I’m just Syd, the tragic gay idiot, in love with my best friend. If this was a movie, Jasmine would be the main character. Of course she would. And I’d be the edgy queer-coded friend who’s mostly there for comic relief and emotional support. My life is a fucking joke. 

Because I might as well give the merciless gods watching my tragedy unfold something to laugh about, and because I’d be an asshole if I stood up my best friend right before her big date, I get up. There’s no point wallowing in my self-pity any more than necessary. 

Jasmine’s arms are around me the second she opens the door. It’s a signature Jasmine hug, tight and squeezy and enthusiastic, the kind that leaves me out of breath for more than one reason. 

“Syd! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.” She takes a step back and looks at me with her puppy-like eyes and I ask myself how the hell I’m going to get through today.

I shoot her what I hope looks like an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But I’m here!” I take in her worn-in sweatpants and oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt. She still looks fucking amazing - this girl could literally wear anything and still look like a goddess - but I highly doubt this is what she’s planning on wearing for her date with Brandon. 

“I take it you haven’t found out what to wear yet,” I say. “Or is the date more of a Disney-themed pyjama party?” 

That makes her laugh. “No you silly goose! Brandon is taking me to dinner, and then to see a movie.” She takes my hand, and I freeze up as she pulls me inside the house and toward her room. “I need your input on what to wear.”

“You’d probably be better off without it, you know.” I smile as I imagine Brandon’s face if Jasmine showed up to their date in my battered jeans and too-big flannel. But I quickly chase the image away, because the thought of Jasmine wearing my clothes is too much to handle right now. 

Jasmine picks up two dresses from her bed and holds them both out to me. “Which one do you like the best?”

I have seen her in both of them before, but they’re usually what she wears around her older conservative family members, not when she is out having fun. Both of them are very modest, while still being pretty. 

“What happened to the other ones?” I ask, because I know her favourite dress is either the sleeveless floral one or the cute flowy one. 

Jasmine shrugs and smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Brandon texted me saying he doesn’t want me wearing anything too revealing, since we’ll be out in public.” 

What the fuck. “Brandon is telling you what to wear?” 

“No. He’s just giving me some pointers on what not to wear!”

I stare at Jasmine, who is still smiling like she actually thinks this is fine. “Jasmine, that’s still shitty behavior. He doesn’t have the right to do that!” 

She shrugs again. “It’s fine. I don’t mind! It narrows down my choices, and you know it’s hard for me to decide what to wear. Besides, I like these dresses too!” 

“Jas.” I sigh. “Are you sure you wanna go out with this guy?”

Jasmine laughs, as if in disbelief. “What? Of course I do! It’s Brandon.” 

“I just…” I’m definitely overstepping here, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t get what you see in him.” 

“Oh, well, you know. He’s handsome and funny and… popular and…” She trails off for a second before looking up at me. For once she isn’t smiling. “I just like him, okay? I’m sorry your standards are so impossibly high. I’ve never even seen you express interest in a guy!” 

Is she kidding me right now? “I don’t…” Now it’s my turn to be speechless. 

Jasmine sighs, like she is giving up on me, and picks up one of the dresses again. “I’ll just go with this one.”

I’m worried she will change in front of me like we did when we were younger, but she goes to the bathroom to change. Thank fuck; there’s only so much I can handle in one day. 

When she comes back out, her brilliant smile is back. Her eyes look a little red, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s because she has been crying. I open my mouth to say something but before I can, she spins around to show off her dress. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s nice.” It is nice, of course it is, that’s not the problem. The problem is, it isn’t the kind of thing I know Jasmine likes to wear. But this time, I don’t say anything.

She grabs a box of her nicest makeup stuff and sits on the bed. “Will you help me with my makeup?”

“You want my help with your makeup?” I let out a laugh. “Jas.” I know how to do makeup decently, but I never wear it, so I don’t have anything close to the kind of practice she has. 

“Syd.” She laughs too. “It’ll be fun! Just like old times!”

That is true. When we were kids, Jasmine used to “borrow” her mom’s makeup, and we would take turns making each other look “beautiful”. It was a disaster, but the best kind. 

“Alright,” I say. “But I hope Brandon won’t be upset when you show up to the date with lipstick smeared across your face like a clown.” 

I sit down on the bed with her and help her pick out what I think would look good with her dress. 

It goes smoothly, until I have to do her eyeliner.

“This is a bit tricky,” I say, moving closer. “Please don’t be mad if I do a bad job.”

“I’m sure you’re doing a great job, Syd.” She smiles with her eyes still closed. 

“Stop talking, I’m trying to concentrate.” 

By some miracle, I manage to make it look good and symmetrical. I’m actually kind of proud of myself. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

But I’m not prepared for when she actually does, and I realize how little space there suddenly is between us. 

Our faces are so close I can smell her minty breath. Her eyes are locked with mine, and I have officially forgotten how to breathe. I think time might have stopped, just for us. And then, she fucking looks at my lips. There’s no mistaking it. She is looking right at my lips, with her own slightly parted. 

And that’s when I make the stupid, idiotic, wonderful mistake of kissing her. Fucking hell, it may be a mistake but it’s the best one I’ve ever made. Her lips are so, so soft. Holy shit. Is this how I die? Am I actually going to die kissing Jasmine? I think I’m okay with that. I think that is how I want to go. 

But before I even have time to register what a bad idea this is, she breaks the kiss and moves away from me on the bed. She is staring at me with a mix of shock and betrayal. Well, shit. She reaches up to touch her lips, like she can’t quite believe they were actually touching mine just a moment before. “Why would you do that?” she whispers, her brown eyes as puppy-like as ever. Though this time, it’s more like a puppy that has been kicked by its owner. 

“I… I don’t know,” I choke out. “Fuck. Jasmine-”

She shakes her head and stands up abruptly. “I have to go.” Her voice is shaky. “My date is waiting.” 

-

Fuck this shit. Fuck the universe and fuck Brandon and most of all, fuck me and my lack of impulse control.

I have successfully ruined everything. Yay. Not only have i completely screwed up my relationship with my only real friend, I have also probably ruined her date with the guy she likes.

At this point, all I can do about it is go outside and touch some grass. There is an old park in our neighborhood that no one visits anymore, and it’s the perfect place if you want to be alone with your misery and self-loathing. I guess you could say I come here often. 

I sit down against the trunk of a tree and look up at the sky. It’s cloudy, but the kind of cloudy where the clouds look like bunnies and hearts and shit. I guess looking at clouds is a better use of my time than replaying the events of today over and over and hating myself more with every passing second. 

I don’t even know how much time passes but suddenly, I feel another person close to me. I start, convinced I’m about to be murdered or kidnapped, but when I turn, I see Jasmine. 

She sits down next to me and offers me a shaky smile. This time she definitely has been crying. She kinda still is. 

I don’t know whether I should say something, so I just sit there and look at her. She looks down at her own hands, and doesn’t speak for a long time. I’m about to open my own cursed mouth, when she finally speaks. 

“I’m so sorry, Syd.”

I stare at her, my brain not computing. “You’re sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was a total… a total dingus earlier!” If I didn’t feel so fucked right now, I would have smiled at Jasmine’s adorable inability to swear, maybe even gently teased her about it. But I don’t. I sit quietly as she continues: “I have been for years, haven’t I? Completely clueless.”

“What?” I don’t know what she is on about, but if she means clueless about my embarrassing crush on her, then yes, she has been. I can’t blame her, though. I mean, I did try to hide it, and for good reason. 

“I left the date with Brandon early.”

I feel like an ass for it, but I’m happy to hear that. Not because I’m naive enough to think it means anything for me, but because Brandon is such a punchable fucking idiot, and definitely not good enough for Jasmine. “Oh,” is what I say. “Did you not have a good time?”

She finally looks at me. “I left because of you, Syd.” 

Fuck. “Jasmine, I’m so fucking sorry. I never should’ve-”

“Stop,” she says, and I do. “I left because I realized you were right. I don’t like Brandon.” She lets out a shaky laugh. Her eyes are brimming with tears. “It probably shouldn’t have taken you kissing me to realize it, but… Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.”

My heart and brain seem to have made a collective decision to stop functioning. I stare at her, not sure if any of this is really happening. Maybe I’m misinterpreting what she is saying. Yeah, that seems like the only logical-

My half-panicked thoughts are cut off by Jasmine leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. She is still teary-eyed, but she is also smiling softly as she moves close enough that our shoulders are touching. “I don’t think I even like guys at all,” she whispers. “And… well. I’m pretty sure I like you. A lot.”

She is looking at me expectantly, but I am stunned into silence. My brain short-circuited long ago and left me useless and unable to do anything other than stare at her in disbelief. 

“Syd.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Please say something, I am freaking out over here!”

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head, slowly kicking myself back into action. “I like you a lot too. But I probably made that pretty obvious earlier, didn’t I?” I chuckle nervously, meeting her eyes. My heart is still going haywire, has been since she fucking kissed me. I don’t think I’ve fully processed that yet. “Sorry, this is… a lot.”

Jasmine grins. “Yeah, tell me about it. Twelve hours ago I thought I was the straightest person ever and that I liked Brandon? And now it turns out I’ve been a lesbian the whole time! God, that feels weird to say, but… Also like such a relief? Like part of me has known for way longer.” 

I almost don’t have the courage to do it, but I reach out and take her hand. Our fingers interlock. When she puts her head on my shoulder, I almost start to tense up, out of habit I guess, but I tell myself to relax. 

The moment feels so precious, so uniquely ours, that I’m afraid I’ll ruin it if I speak. So I close my eyes and savour the way Jasmine’s soft body is pressed against mine, and I pray that this moment never ends. 

[smoochkooks]

—it’s december (and i still want you) | m.

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon/reader

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff (the holy trinity)

⇢ word count: 16.7k

⇢ warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe kids!), dirty talk, just good, ol’ emotional sex

⇢ summary: as the final farewell to your soon-to-be-ex husband namjoon, you spend with him one last christmas in your parents’ cottage far away from the city, reflecting on your life together before you will part your ways for good.

a/n: omg guys!! i’m so excited to post this, you have no idea:( i’ve been working on writing this for a whole month but i had this particular fic in mind since last year so i can’t believe i actually managed to finish this before christmas like i had planned. i hope you will like this. i’m sending you lots of love for the new year! xx, julia.

For how long you could remember, you’ve always adored Christmas.

There’s something discreetly magical in this time of the year, no matter if it’s an unique aura or the fact you’re the family type of person, Christmas used to hold a special place in your heart, spread a distinctive kind of warmth in your body that made you feel calm and loved. 

This year though, it's different. Not because the weather doesn’t suit the occasion and instead of snowing, the sky is cloudy. The very reason is on your kitchen table, next to the big cardboard box you’ve scribbled ‘xmas decorations' on in black ink. There lay neatly folded in manila folder documents, untouched for about a week since postman delivered them. Your future is inside, just above your signature. You know those papers are not going to be read through anytime soon, that the blank space next to your name will be crystal white until the very New Year.  

You know he won’t say a word about it unless it’s necessary. He won’t plead, beg, ask for delay. He’s accepted it. Deep down you wish he put up some fight, resisted, fell to his knees in front of you and counted all his mistakes promising it won’t happen again. But it’s your decision. And he has never denied your choice. 

You’ve always loved Christmas. Family gatherings by the table, the smell of cinnamon in your mum's famous rolls, the colourful lights on the Christmas tree your dad never stops complaining about when he’s assigned to put them on. 

This year however, Christmas is nothing but an unceremonious reminder that it’s going to be your last celebration spend with your soon-to-be-ex husband, Namjoon.

Statistically, the younger you get married, there’s a higher possibility of having a divorce with your significant other. The shorter the period between engagement and wedding is, you’re most likely going to survive approximately three years as a married person. You feel like you’ve never fitted into any statistics and algorithms better than now.

You were twenty one when you first met Kim Namjoon. The only thing you knew about him before seeing in person was the size of his family's wealth. Your mother told you he’s a good man, same age as you, majoring in business and economy tall, blonde fella. You, on the other hand, were just a girl in red pristine dress and uncomfortable high heels, with dreams to trivial for her parents liking.  

The place you first met him was beautiful. A big ballroom in downtown with gleaming chandeliers, filled to the brim with people you wholeheartedly despised sipping on their Dom Perignons, a clique whose money combined together could easily build a few hospitals in Africa. You remember your mum patting you on the back, hissing to your ear to straighten, but you knew it was more an encouraging act of hers than a real reprimand. You remember your dad, laughing at something with mister Kim and from the volume and tone of his voice you knew it wasn’t genuine.  

You also remember Namjoon, good-looking and smart and so sophisticated in his manners and words he could put into shame any college jocks or obnoxious fratboys you’d met so far during your studies. Namjoon with his exquisite demeanor and handsome face that drew attention from every young lady in the ballroom. You felt small standing next to him and it wasn’t just because he towered over you with his height. For the first time in your life you were in front of someone who was absolutely out of your league.

When your parents decided to leave you two alone for a while, Namjoon let out a long sigh, like some weight was lifted off his shoulders and he finally could breathe properly. He smiled at you, two cute dimples adoring his cheeks and said, ‘’Fuck, I thought they would never leave.” gulping the rest of his champagne smoothly.  

You remember how your eyes widened after hearing him speak informally like that, to the point it probably must have looked comical because he chuckled as soon as he saw your puzzled expression. 

“Want to get away from here for a while? I know some place upstairs where we can talk without being watched by all those tight wads.” Namjoon asked you then.

This time, no matter how shocked you were, you manage to keep your true emotions at bay. You smiled at him, nodding. “Lead the way.”  

Namjoon seemed to know this place by heart, easily navigating through long corridors until he found what he was looking for: a large balcony with a view to the whole city. He motioned for you to come closer where he stood, leaning to the rail and fishing out of his jacket's pocket a pack of cigarettes. With one between his plush lips, he extended the rest towards you. 

“I don’t smoke.” you said curtly, probably too abrupt but he didn’t notice, or simply didn’t care. 

“Well, I do,” he murmured, lighting up his cigarette and taking the first drag languidly. “Dad's a heavy smoker. He’s been telling me my whole teenage years not to be like him but here I am,” He smirked almost cynically, fuming the poison. “Like father, like son.”  

You didn’t exactly know how to react to that, choosing to stare at the city covered in darkness from a distance instead. The summer was in full bloom, night almost stuffy it made you feel hot. Your feet hurt from the uncomfortable shoes you wore and you wondered for a moment how would Namjoon react if you decided to take them off.

It was still annoyingly mute, you started thinking that maybe he was waiting for you to continue conversation somehow. Why did he even want to bother spending time with you here? Why did he want you to keep him company when you couldn’t hold a proper conversation? God, you were awful at smalltalks. 

Luckily for you, Namjoon always knew what to say. 

“So, Y/N,” he began, your head turning to the side to have a look at him. He was beautiful like this, you had to admit to yourself, dressed in black suit with a cigarette caught between his slender fingers and suddenly a vision of marrying him wasn’t that surreal anymore like you thought at the beginning. “I know what your family business is, I know you’re the same age as me and you don’t smoke,” he listed, gesturing with his occupied hand for emphasis, “but I still don’t know what you’re studying.”  

Apparently you weren’t only bad at communicating. You were also terrible at holding eye contact but Namjoon from the very start of your acquaintance didn’t want to let you go that easily, keeping his gaze fixated on you the whole time. It made your cheeks blush and you prayed he didn’t see that in dim lighting. 

“I am majoring in fashion design and marketing. I want to start my own brand in the future.” you replied. Namjoon hummed, flicking his cigarette with his thumb and ring finger. “My parents don’t really like this idea. They probably wish I worked as an accountant in their firm or something,” You laughed and to your surprise, there was a smile dancing on Namjoon's lips as well, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I am destined to work for my father from the moment my mother found out she was pregnant with a boy,” he said, voice laced with strange kind of melancholy you hadn’t heard from him since you two met. “I will take over his business after his death and work there until I die.”  

“What about your other siblings then?” you asked.”

“I’m the only child.”  

“Oh.” 

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah. ‘Oh' it’s a good word to describe it.” He took one last drag off his cigarette and discarded it carelessly somewhere on the floor. For a moment you thought he was reaching to his pocket for another one, but he faltered. 

It was quiet for a few long bits of time, until Namjoon broke the silence again.

“It looks like they want us to get married, Y/N,” he said suddenly and you nearly jumped in place hearing his deep ramble. “What do you think about that?” You turned to look at him, only to find his eyes already trained on you, expression smug. 

You shrugged. “I don’t have much say in this.” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed like he was genuinely surprised with your answer. “Why is that? Aren’t you the daughter who disobeys her parents by pursuing the career they don’t want for her?” he asked almost mockingly, taking a step towards you. “You can say no. You can dump me and find some guy who would be much better husband than me, or maybe you have someone like that already, don’t you?”  

“I don’t.” You didn’t even know why you needed to clarify this so fast, you could have played along and fool him, yet here you were. 

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” he concluded.  

You shook your head. “No.” 

“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend either.” 

You sighed. Was this out of relief or because he was now much closer than you considered appropriate for your personal space? Still staring at you with observant eyes, gaze vibrating, plush lips opening to say, “It’s kind of weird for me that you don’t date anyone.” 

You scoffed. “I could say the same about you.”  

“Not exactly, darling,” he disagreed, leaning his body to the railing so he's back was facing the city, head turned to the side to have a look at you. Your cheeks heated at the term of endearment he used, yet you rolled your eyes anyway. “I don’t do relationships. I was never in one, in fact. But you,” he trailed off, licking his lips, “you look like someone who has dozen of guys lined up to be your boyfriend.”  

You were laughing. An authentic, breathy laugh that made Namjoon smile like fool and he didn’t have anything in his diffence because you were just really pretty in your red dress, standing on the balcony and giggling. He wanted to tell you this the whole night, no matter how lame he probably sounded. 

“God, that was so cheesy,” you groaned. “Thank you for your subtle compliment. You aren’t so bad yourself.”  

Maybe Namjoon was actually content too in this moment, that you didn’t have anyone to come home to as well. Back then he thought it was good because it didn’t complicate things more than that already were. Truth to be told, it was just a disguised excuse. 

He didn’t expect you to ask next question, yet your lips somehow formed words on their own. “If you don’t do relationships, why are you okay with marrying me?” 

He was so close you could count his eyelashes, you could see that little mole on his chin. You could reach and touch the sharpness of his jaw, smooth the crease between his brows that had formed after hearing what you had said. 

“I just have a feeling it might work.” he answered simply. “Will you try making this work with me?”  

You smiled. The thought about being wedded to someone like him at the ripe age of twenty one wasn’t that scary anymore. There was a long way before you two but you were in for a ride. Because it could have been anyone, and it was just Namjoon. Just him and above all him. 

“Only if you promise me you will quit smoking.” you said.

Namjoon reached to his suit jacket's pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and dropped it to the floor. “Your wish is my command.”  

He didn’t laugh it out, didn’t make some snarky comment about you already wife-ing him up. 

Because Kim Namjoon has never disrespected your decision.

Few months later, you got engaged. Officially, on family gathering with your closest relatives, as a symbolic agreement made between two wealths. But in reality, you and Namjoon were never the so called ‘traditional’ type of couple. He proposed to you a week earlier, after taking you out on a bike ride by the river. There was no caviar, fine wine and crème brûlée when you both sat together on a bench, inhaling autumn air. There was no hushed whispers and clears of throats from the family, no glass clicking to get attention because he had something important to say. No practiced speech with Shakespeare’s quotes (love is a smoke made with a fume of sighs, actually a very accurate one).

It was you, no make up and grey sweatpants and him, favourite khaki jacket and stuttered words when he took out of his pocket a pink, plastic ring, like those ones they add to candies. Just you and Namjoon, the whole world, reasons, what ifs and doubts disappeared. 

He wanted to tell you how much he had fallen for you these past months. That he didn’t believe in love from the first sight and God, yet Lord only knows how he had been a goner from the moment he laid his eyes on you in that stupid ballroom full of materialists. He wished to say he would do anything in his power to make it right, to have you call him your husband proudly while standing hand in hand in front of his future business partners, friends and family. 

He did none of that. You didn’t let him to.  

Your lips were on his and the words will you marry– died on his tongue when yours touched his bottom lip. You were kissing him, deep and intoxicating and he wanted this brief moment of sweet halcyon to never end. Because he was young, foolish and so in love that he could for once be egoistic enough to say the world was at his feet while you were in his arms smiling into the kiss and mumbling those stupid three-letters-long word. 

And you said it again and again. Repeated it when you were home, pinned by his body to the wall of his old apartment while his cold fingers danced on your sides underneath a sweater. You chanted it when he stripped you bare and fuck you silly, no making it even to the bedroom because you were young, impatient and in love. 

The wedding was in Spring. You got married when cherries started to blossom in whites and pinks. On the wall in front of you there’s still hanging your favourite photo from that day. Your sister took it with her phone, not some photographer Namjoon's mum had hired to photoshop your faces afterwards. It’s black and white, a little blurry and you’re laughing at something Namjoon had told you seconds before Soojin tapped the button on her phone.  

You wonder what will happen with this picture and many others after everything will be done. 

Sighing, you open the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You still have a tree to carry upstairs from your basement but you don’t think about it now. Normally, Namjoon would do it. But you know he will be back by the time you will be already at your sister’s home, eating dinner. 

You hear door lock rattling and instantly annoyance flashes through your whole body. If that’s your mother, asking you to come home today and nag you to change your mind again, you swear you’re going to snap real hard this time.  

But it’s not your mother. She doesn’t have keys to your apartment. She doesn’t own a briefcase and that’s certainly a noise of it being thrown on the floor next to the shoe case. And she for sure doesn’t sound like your own husband, greeting you during lunch hours on Christmas Day. 

‘’God, I was held up in a traffic for an hour. If that’s how’s it going to be for the next days, then I’m not leaving the house,” Namjoon says, walking past you. He pours warm coffee you had made earlier into his favourite Captain America cup right away, and sighs deeply. 

You haven’t seen him in the morning. He had already left to work when you opened your eyes, which is not anything new recently. It feels like he’s avoiding you purposely after receiving divorce papers. Almost as if he’s been growing distant to give you even more reasons to end things with him for good.  

His eyes trail from the kitchen counter to you, still holding a golden Christmas tree chain in your hands. He hums, gulping another sip of his coffee. ‘’Oh, you brought decorations. Remind me to go for the tree to the basement later.”  

You’re irritated. You don’t even know why. Probably because he’s so normal and casual about this. He’s still doing all this domestic shit, keeps up appearances and acts like everything’s totally fine. Except one thing: the lack of intimacy. He stopped calling you baby, giving you good morning kisses and goodbye hugs. He doesn’t touch you anymore, barely talks about anything that isn’t some topic he’d heard in news. He’s become now the stereotypical version of husband every woman wouldn’t want to have. It’s frustrating. 

“Why are you home so soon?” you blurt out before you could stop yourself. 

Namjoon places his cup in the dishwasher (he never does that and you have to remind him to do it every time) and crosses his arms over chest. “It’s Christmas and I’m the boss. I wanted to leave early, so I did.” 

You hate how cynical he sounds. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s not been coming home like that every day just because he can, because he’s entitled to work young economist and businessman who gives himself days off to please his wife.

“I’m not staying here for dinner.” You don’t like how formal your voice sounds. It’s the voice you use while talking with clients on the phone. Two can play this game. 

Something shifts in Namjoon's expression. He clears his throat awkwardly and still, the first words come out hoarsely. “You’re not staying home for Christmas?” 

Home. This shared apartment bought with Namjoon's money is still yours too. Until it won’t be anymore. 

“No. I’m going to Soojin's. She’s making a dinner for her boyfriend and his parents and she invited me as well.” 

You don’t know why you feel like you need to explain yourself in front of him. Namjoon nods his head sheepishly. You haven’t seen him look like that for a while. If anything, he looks disappointed. Something aches in your heart at the sight.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, irritation long gone and replaced with something you could mistake only with genuine concern. 

Namjoon cracks a smile. “No, it’s just… I thought we could eat here, alone. You know, since it’s our last Christmas together,” He's speaking more quietly now. Almost like he’s afraid of even approaching this topic aloud, choosing the words carefully yet they sound uncertain anyway. “Mom is on Maldives right now with her new guy.” he adds after a while.

“Oh.” 

Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “I guess I will spend some time alone, then.” He chuckles but you know it’s not an honest laugh. Namjoon loves Christmas just the way you do, though he will never admit it to anyone and the thought about him being in your own apartment probably even without Christmas tree because he’s too clumsy to decorate it himself, makes your insides clench uncomfortably.

You look at him now carefully for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t look like the confident, snarky businessman he aspires to be sometimes. His hair has grown longer, his skin looks paler, there are bangs underneath his eyes and you wonder if he gets any sleep. He used to cuddle you up during night hours when insomnia kicks in, because he says your body's warmth helps him relax. He doesn’t do it anymore from the day he had read the papers. He lays next you peacefully every night and even if he itches to touch you, hold you, caress you, he won’t.

Namjoon looks lost and perhaps he is, he’s been like that since his father died for lungs cancer over one year ago, leaving his business in Namjoon's hands hence he's the only heir to the empire. It was all too sudden and before you could do anything in your power to help mister Kim recover, the disease had progressed to the point of no return, taking his life away few months after he came to the hospital. 

Namjoon hadn’t smoked a cigarette since the day you asked him to quit. He broke that rule once, on his father's funeral day. You found him on the porch in front of his family’s estate, so sad and broken and with a grey smoke swirling around his features. He was crying. You had never seen him like this before. He used to say tears were the luxury he couldn’t afford.

“I’m sorry.” he said to you, voice rough and strangled because there was another wave of sobs forming in his throat. 

“It’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured, coming up to him. He gave you the half-burnt cigarette without a word and you throw it away. “It’s going to be okay, Joon.” He crashed his body into yours, straining your black dress with sadness and grief he was always so afraid to show while you were around. You held him like that, rocked him like a baby until eventually his breathing slowed down to normal.

He put his chin on your shoulder, still hugging you tightly, like he was afraid you were going to evaporate and asked, “Do you think I will be able to do it?”

You knew he wasn’t ready for that. Every twenty-something guy wouldn’t be. But you believed in him like he never did in himself. You had all your hopes in him, signed your future with his name, the name of the boy who let go of his beloved addiction just because you said so. Namjoon might have been entitled to marry you but you weren’t obligated to fall for him, yet you did.

Namjoon has always been the strong, monumental fortification that kept you safe in. And together you’ve made home.

Placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him away slightly so you could look him in the eyes. “You won’t be alone,” you urged firmly. “I am here. You’ve got your father's coworkers who put their faith in you.”

“What if I fail them? What if they don’t see me as someone responsible enough to be in charge because I’m some young shithead who had inherited this business from his father?” 

“Then you have to prove them you’re worth it.” 

“Easier said than done.” 

You shook your head, your palms coming up to cup his cheeks. “Kim Namjoon,” you began, “I’ve never given a fuck about economy but when you rant about it over dinner I find it interesting, because you can make it seem like that,” He smiled lightly and your mirrored his gesture. “And I know your views about business. It’s not some liberal shit that’s actually well disguised capitalism. You are more than that, Joon. Don’t you dare ever put yourself down.” 

And then he was kissing you. It was more a simple smooch than anything else but it felt right to do so. To stand on your toes and capture his lips in yours. When he broke off after a moment, he placed a fleeting peck on your nose. It made you smile silly and he was smiling too, despise the situation. 

“I love you.” Namjoon breathed out, leaning his forehead into yours.

In that particular moment, on a porch of his family's old manor, you were certain you were going to survive every storm when he was by your side.

“I love you too.” 

It’s been two years since that day. A lot has changed, hell, both of you have changed. But looking at Namjoon right now you start questioning yourself again, whether this storm is worth letting the ship sink without trying to at least reach the land. 

One last Christmas together, he said. Nothing more and nothing less beside two married people biding farewells before they part their ways for good. You owe him that much.

“You don’t have to stay here alone. We can go to that cottage my parents have. You know, the one where we spend my dad's birthday in January.” 

If Namjoon is surprised with your sudden statement, he hides it pretty well. His eyebrows raise with interest. “Is that okay for you? I mean, you’re already invited to your sister's and she’s probably waiting for you, she made a whole dinner and–”

“Joon,” you cut his rambling off. Joon. You haven’t called him that in a while. He smiles bashfully and you can faintly see pink tingling the apples of his cheeks. “It’s fine, really. Soojin wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it. But, uhm–” You clear you throat awkwardly. “–we have to buy some groceries if we want to actually eat something for the dinner.” 

Namjoon's brows furrow. “Do we have time to cook something for ourselves?” he asks.

You open your mouth to object but all arguments die on your tongue. He’s right. You don’t have time to do it on your own. Well, fuck, you want to say but then, an idea pops in your head. 

“I’ll take care of this.” 

You’ve always loved Christmas. Never had you thought about spending them with your soon-to-be-ex husband, though.

Namjoon has always been a convincing person.

You think this side of him comes from the field he works in. When you’re standing in the middle of Christmas market down your street, he analyzes the problem of buying a real Christmas tree like it’s another deal he has to sell to his future business partners, listing you all the pros and cons and transforming them into an excel chart in his head. 

He doesn’t even know why you’re here. One minute you were driving to your sister's house after dropping by grocery store, and the second you told him to pull over and wander with you through the numerous stalls with Christmas decorations.

“Why are you so determined to buy a real Christmas tree?” Namjoon asks astonishingly.

You sigh, sending the seller in front of you an apologetic smile. You’ve been standing there with Namjoon for a few solid minutes now and you can sense the man's impatience. You shrug simply in reponse. “Because I’ve always wanted to have one.”

“Yeah, but,” Namjoon pauses when you click your tongue in irritation. Now it’s his turn to sigh. “We are going to be in that cottage just for one night. We can take our Christmas tree from home with us and decorate it there.” 

Upon hearing that, you take his wrist and walk a few steps from the seller. That’s it, Namjoon thinks, you’re going to pull another card now. You’ve always been persistent when things you want are in the game and Namjoon is terrible at saying no to you. The evidence stands in your living room, an old Chinese vase that doesn’t suit the design of the room at all but you insisted on buying it. No matter how much he tries, Namjoon can’t help but fall for your pleading eyes every single time, like he did when you pursued him to spontaneously purchase plane tickets for the romantic weekend in Paris across the globe, when you asked him to quit smoking. Or when you stabbed his heart with paper dagger filled with words he will eventually sign because that’s what you want from him.

So he won’t protest either when you’re about to buy a real Christmas tree although there’s absolutely no need to do so.

Namjoon knows he’s been gone since the moment you attempted to puppy-eye him. Nevertheless, for the sake of hearing you trying to convince him with sweet words and maybe some PG-13 arm brushing, he tongues his cheek in faux annoyance.

“Come on, Namjoon,” You elbow him playfully instead. “Don’t be like that. We’ve never had a real Christmas tree before.” 

And after that holidays, we will never have an occasion to buy another one together again, he wants to tell you. It’s ridiculous how both of you still sound so normal and domestic when your marriage is yet to be terminated few days after New Year. Maybe it’s just an act you put up for audience.

“Please?” you try once again and yes, there it is. Your hand brushes lightly his biceps.

Namjoon exhales loudly. Then, he points his index finger at the seller. “Give me the biggest one you have here.” 

And fifteen minutes later, you’re driving to Soojin's house with a 5’6 Christmas tree on the roof of Namjoon’s crystal black SUV. 

It’s awfully quiet between you two, mostly because you’ve been wondering for the past ten minutes how to break the awkward silence and ease the tension. Looking through the window, you try to locate any familiar spot on the streets that could tell you how far from your sister’s house you are. When you pass the Japanese restaurant with big koi fish in the logo, you estimate you’re up to five minutes from Soojin's. 

“Does she know you’re not coming for Christmas dinner?” 

You’re so deep in thought you almost don’t register Namjoon's talking to you. “Huh?” you mumble dumbly. 

“I asked if you already texted Soojin you won’t be on her Christmas dinner.” 

In the corner of your eye you see the sports equipment shop. Three minutes to go. “No, I didn’t. I will explain her everything in person.” 

Namjoon nods, stopping the car at the red light. You curse in your head. One more minute longer. “Do you think she really won’t mind? Knowing your sister she’s probably going to be pissed off you’re making a fuss in her well-planned schedule.” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe he’s impatient too.

Instantly, you chuckle at his words. Namjoon’s right. Your sister is a control freak. She doesn’t like last minute changes and sudden cancellations. You’re more than aware of that. But this time, you know she won’t have anything against your sudden outburst.

“Have a little faith in her, would you? It’s Christmas.” you reply teasingly.

The light changes to orange, then to green. 

“I really want to but I can’t help but think how she almost beat the shit out of me when we both overslept that one infamous morning and you were one hour late to your branch.”

“It was a day after we got from the honeymoon. She hadn’t seen me for almost a month back then.” you point out, although not to justify her. 

Namjoon snorts. “She came to our apartment that morning and gave me a lecture when you were showering,”

“Yeah but–”

“She told me, I’m quoting: ‘You had a whole month to yourselves and you decided the morning I was supposed to have a branch with my sister is the best time to bang’.” 

You’re fully laughing now, cheeks red from embarrassment because apparently, Soojin was partially true back then. You did wake up that morning around eight to get ready for the meeting, but you were too distracted by the feeling of Namjoon's morning wood poking you from behind. And when you unintentionally moved your body so your ass rubbed against his stiff shaft, the groan you heard in response and a muscular arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest prohibited you any kind of protest. 

Your face goes hot at the memory. And by the slight blush adoring Namjoon's cheeks, you know he’s thinking about the same thing as you. 

He clears his throat. “So yeah. Your little sister scares me.” 

The car pulls in the familiar neighborhood of akin terraced houses, the one in which Soojin lives with her boyfriend standing at the end of the street. 

“Even though she’s younger than me, she’s always had in herself to protect me at all costs. She really likes you though, Namjoon. She did from the very beginning. It was just her weird way of keeping things in control.” you say and that effectively puts and end to the conversation.

Namjoon's SUV stops in front of the gate and you see him smiling in the corner of your eye. “I know,” he breathes out. “Don’t be there for too long. We still have a Christmas tree to decorate later.”

You don’t know why you’re beaming like a teenage girl when you slam the door behind yourself and walk to your sister’s house.

Soojin, as Namjoon has predicted, is displeased. But apart from everything else, she’s mostly confused, standing in front of you in yellow apron with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.

“What the hell are you doing here already, Y/N?” 

You sigh loudly, taking off your coat and stepping off your boots. You feel your younger sister’s eyes piercing through your scull yet you don’t falter. Straightening your back, you greet her, “Hello to you too, Soojin-ah.” You hear her scoff in response. 

“Hi, Y/N! What’s up?” Taehyung, Soojin's dear boyfriend shouts from the living room. He’s sitting on their couch, fumbling with Christmas tree lights and probably trying to find the faulty one among ninety-nine others working.

“Hi, Tae. Everything’s peachy.” you answer him and the man sends you his signature boxy grin in response. 

Soojin crosses her arms over chest. “Peachy? Then why are you here so early? I told you we start at seven.” 

“Yeah, about the dinner. We need to talk.” 

She narrows her eyes but cocks her head at you to follow after her to the kitchen anyway. There’s quite a mess going on here and from the smell of the pastry lying on the counter you assume she’s making your mum's cinnamon rolls.

“So,” she begins, taking off her apron. “Talk.” 

“Are those cinnamon rolls from mum's recipe?” you quip, trying to avoid her persistent stare.

“Y/N, we are not here to talk about food,” Soojin warns but when she sees you extending your hand towards the plate where warm, already made ones lay, her gaze softens. “I changed the recipe a little bit to make it vegan. For Taehyung.” The corners of her mouth lift up slightly at the mention of her boyfriend.

Taking the first bite of the roll, you hum between chews, “Tastes good. Like the non-vegan ones.” 

“I guess I made a good job then,” Soojin laughs. “But seriously though, Y/N, don’t play coy right now. I saw Namjoon's car on the driveway. Has he signed the papers yet?” she asks.

“Nope.” you respond, emphasizing the ‘p'. 

“Is you being here has something to do with him?” 

“Kind of.” 

You look up to meet her eyes and that’s your first mistake because Soojin has something in them that makes you reveal every secret you hide right on the spot. It has always been like this between the two of you, you coming to your two years younger sister to talk instead the other way round.  You still admire it in her, the determination and persistence she has. You were the parent’s favourite child from the very beginning and Soojin knowing that, was determined to do everything they would have never wanted for her. She graduated college with degree in journalism and writes to the local newspaper, at the same time saving money to publish her own novel in the future. 

Your parents bitterly accepted it, just like your future career path, but they weren’t going to let her be that easily, arranging a meeting with possible husband-to-be a year after you got married to Namjoon. Little did they know she had been already madly in love with Kim Taehyung, the photographer who she met on an internship. And instead of going on a date with Park's youngest son, she proudly sent your parents a picture of her and Taehyung with a caption ‘sry im taken' like she was responding to some horny man on Instagram.

You never keep anything from her. She was the first person you told you were in love with Namjoon and she was the first one to know you want a divorce. 

“It is about the divorce papers, isn’t it? He doesn’t agree to split up? Is he making any difficulties?” Soojin asks question after question, and you shake your head. 

“It’s not that. He will sigh them eventually, I know this.” 

Your sister purses her lips. “Of course he will because he loves you,” she says matter-of-factly. You bite your lips so hard you might draw blood. “Do you want to know what I really think about this whole situation?” You nod hesitantly. “I think you’re making a big mistake here, sis, divorcing Namjoon. And have in mind that I am the one telling you this.” She points her index finger at herself for emphasis. “When you told me about that I was more confused than anything else because who the fuck would want to divorce someone like Namjoon. I wouldn’t.” 

“Me neither!” You hear Taehyung shouting from the living room.

“Shut up, Tae, it’s ladies talk! Don’t listen!” Soojin shouts back. Her boyfriend’s giggle echoes through the house. “Anyway, back to my point. I know it doesn’t always seem like that but I like Namjoon, despite all the banter between the two of us. He’s a good guy and I’m sure he would never hurt you. That’s why it came as a shock to me.” 

You don’t even know how to answer her. Because quite literally, you aren’t so determined about your decision anymore, as you had been just weeks ago. You feel like you’re doing the right thing yet at the same time you can’t help but question your motives. You came here for Christmas food, for fuck's sake, and now you’re having a free therapy session with your little sister.

Last months, of course, has been tough. Namjoon's firm had its first crisis since he’s become the CEO. He was spending most of his daytime at work, sometimes he was at the office even during the night hours, and at some point your shared life at home started lacking of intimacy and affection it'd had before. It felt cold to come back to an empty house and it didn’t use to be like that.

At the same time, your own business began blowing out. More and more people were buying clothes from your online shop and you started thinking for real about opening your own atelier in the city. And ironically, your biggest dream, the thing Namjoon had always supported you in, was the cause of your huge argument that lead to the situation you’re currently in.

It was two months ago. You remember your personal assistant Jisoo calling you and rambling incoherently through the phone. You were only able to make out ‘agreed to rent‘ but that was enough information for you. The developer let you make a studio in the place you had chosen, the place you knew was the best destination possible for not huge amount of money. In that moment, you were on cloud nine. 

You remember Namjoon coming home late as usual that evening. You had already prepared a celebratory dinner, bought your favourite wine, lighted up some candles to make it even more cheesy but it didn’t matter because you couldn’t even recall when was the last time you both spent your time like this. Alone, all to yourselves.

Hearing the jingle of the keys you rushed to the door, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as he closed them behind himself. He stiffened at your touch but you ignored it, hugging him tightly. Sensing his discomfort, you pulled off, looking at him with a grin plastered on your face. 

You were too lost in your own excitement to notice how sad Namjoon looked. “I did it!” you blurted out. “Namjoon, I did it! The developer said yes. I can start arranging my own atelier!”

You saw a faint smile on his lips, however it didn’t reach his eyes at all. He sighed and when he spoke after, his voice sounded weary. “Congratulations.” He wasn’t excited like you. There was no trace of a man in him who told you to go after your dreams no matter what. He’s eyes looked shallow.

Your brows furrowed. You instantly felt irritation bubbling in your throat. “That’s it? You don’t have anything more to say?” you snorted.

‘I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. You look so ecstatic,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

At that, Namjoon seemed to have lost his control as well. He bit the inside of his cheek before scoffing, “What do you want me to say, Y/N? Should I dance on the table? Open the door to balcony and shout out my immense happiness to the whole neighborhood?” 

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I just expected more support from my own, beloved husband. That’s it.”

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Listen, Y/N. I really don’t want to argue. I had a bad day at work, a whole week actually, and I just want to spend some time alone.” He stormed off the hallway, walking into your shared bedroom.

“Don’t turn your back on me right now, Kim Namjoon!” you shouted after him,  entering the room as well. “We aren’t done yet.” 

Namjoon practically threw his suitcase on the desk, turning to face you abruptly. “I am done.” 

“Everyone has bad days. Me too. You aren’t the only one struggling here, Namjoon. It doesn’t give you the right to act like that.” 

Upon hearing that, he chuckled darkly. You saw him gnawing his bottom lip, as if he was debating if he should say what he was going to. “You’re right. Everyone has shitty days. But for your information, mine was the worst since I’ve started running this fucking business. Do you know what happened?” he asked. “Our main investor retreated his shares from the project. Do you have an idea how much is that? 20 fucking percent. That’s a lot of money when there’s a crisis on the stock market and inside the firm as well. So excuse me, Y/N, but I have too much on my own mind to care about your stupid shop.” He slumped down on his chair and rubbed his temples.

You stared at him, trying to fight back the tears trying to spill from your eyes. You didn’t want to break down in front of him. This was your day. You were supposed to celebrate, not cry because your husband acted like an absolute asshole. Yet the tears started rolling down your cheeks involuntarily.

“I’m sorry.” you uttered, exiting the room.

Namjoon looked up, catching the glimpse of your expression and that was the moment he realised his mistake. He stood up and ran after you. “Y/N, wait! I didn’t mean it like that, shit!” 

You stopped in your tracks to face him. You were fully crying right now and something in Namjoon's chest tightened at the sight. “Don’t say anything, Namjoon. I get it. Your business is more important than my stupid shop. It’s fine, really.” You sniffed, wiping the smudges of mascara underneath your eyes.

Namjoon put his hand on your arm but when he saw you flinch, he withdrew. “Of course you are important, baby.” he said quietly and another fresh wave of tears streamed down your face when you heard him use his favorite term of endearment for you.

“But it doesn’t look like I am anymore, Namjoon. And that’s the problem.” you uttered brokenly. “I think we should take a break from each other. It’s not healthly for us being together now.” 

Namjoon looked anywhere but at you. “If that’s what you want.” 

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.” 

The break lasted two weeks. You spent some time at Soojin's, travelled to Japan. And when you came back you home you bitterly realised nothing really had changed. Namjoon picked you up at the airport, took you for dinner to your favourite restaurant and back home fucked you so hard and unforgiving you couldn’t remember your own name anymore. He said he missed you and counted days to your arrival. Missed your face, your voice, your pussy wrapped around his cock. You climaxed with his name on your lips and with a promise for a new tomorrow that eventually didn’t come because the reality kicked in sooner than you had expected.

“Don’t you think it was a little bit impulsive of you to file for divorce?” Soojin asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. And you hate your little sister so much because she might be right. You’re definitely far from being all-out and determined about everything. “You know I will be always by your side, Y/N. It’s only your decision to make.” she adds after a moment, reaching to squeeze your hand.

“I know,” you sigh, reciprocating the gesture. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

You take a deep breath before explaining your initial motives. “First of all, I won’t be at your Christmas dinner. Stop glaring at me like that!” you wail, seeing her expression. 

“Babe, do you know where–” Taehyung starts, entering the kitchen but he’s quickly cut off by his girlfriend.

“She won’t be at the dinner!” Soojin points her finger at you accusingly while Taehyung tries to hide his amused smile. He probably has overheard your hushed whispers even though Soojin had asked him not to.

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Because I don’t want Namjoon to spend Christmas alone since he’s mother is on Maldives.” you answer.

Taehyung hums. “Fancy.”

“So you’re spending Chrismtas with Namjoon, right?” Soojin quips, making you nod. 

“I am. And that’s why I want to ask if you might share some of your food with me?” you hesitantly wonder and Soojin raises her eyebrows. “We are going to our parents’ cottage and we don’t have time to cook for ourselves.” you explain. She eyes you carefully and you know it’s seconds till she softens. “Please?”

Taehyung nudges her side. “Come on, babe. Let them eat something delicious before they eventually fuck as a final goodbye.”

“Taehyung, that’s not funny!” Soojin protests but her boyfriend only giggles in response. There’s a small smile dancing on your lips and when she locks her eyes with you, she reciprocates it. “Okay, fine. What do you need?” 

“What do you have?” you ask.

Soojin gestures for you to come closer to the kitchen counter and opens the fridge. ‘”I've already made bulgogi for Taehyung’s parents so I can give some of it to you. I also cooked kimchi and sweet potatoes. Oh, and those vegan cinnamon rolls. I will pack you a few.” she lists, while taking out the clean food containers from the cupboard.

“Thank you so much.” you breathe out.

“No big deal,” Taehyung assures, sending you a wink. “Although I’m a little bit sad you won’t come for the dinner. Maybe you should just take Namjoon here.” he suggests.

You shake your head. “No, we should spend some time alone, talk through some things and… stuff.” you trail off.

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “And stuff,” 

“Jesus Christ,  Taehyung, let them be!” Soojin grumbles, packing the last container into a paper bag and handing it to you. “You owe me something huge for this.” she mumbles but you know she’s just bickering with you. Taehyung hugs her waist tightly from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder and you can help but coo at them.

“Once again, thank you for saving my ass. I gotta go now. Namjoon's waiting.” you say.

“I will walk you to the door,” Soojin proposes, unwrapping herself from Taehyung's arms.

“Bye, Taehyung. Merry Christmas!” You wave at him.

“Bye, Y/N, Merry Christmas! Say hi from me to Namjoon. Oh, and remember: use protect–ouch!” His words die on his tongue when he’s effectively nudged into his stomach with Soojin's elbow. 

Giggling under your breath, you shuffle into the hallway. You could sense your sister's eyes on your back while you’re putting on your coat and the moment you turn around, you find her staring at you with puzzled expression.

She sighs before saying, “Y/N, you’re my sister and you know I want the best for you and I will always support your decisions–don’t roll your eyes! I’m having an emotional speech right now,” she huffs, coming up to give you an affectionate hug. “Just please, promise me you won’t do anything reckless or stupid.” she mumbles into the material of your coat. 

You shut your eyes tightly. “I promise.” 

Soojin clears her throat and pulls away. She looks like she wants to say something more but chooses not to. You’re thankful for that. “Bye, big sis.” she says.

You smile. “Bye, kid.” 

You make your way to the car quickly, apologies already on your tongue when you shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long.” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he assures. “How did Soojin's interrogation go?” 

“Surprisingly smoothly,” you answer. Smooth is an exaggeration here. It was bumby, with a lot of twists and turns but you made it through with even more conflicted mind and a bag full of food. “She gave me bulgogi.” you add, knowing pretty well what kind of reaction would it elite in Namjoon.

“God, please don’t say things like that. We still have some time before the dinner and I’m already salivating.” 

“Let’s go then.”

It’s been quite some time since you’ve been in your parents' holiday cottage. 

You didn’t have time to visist it during summer since you were too busy with setting up your own showroom in Seoul and Namjoon… Namjoon was always too caught up in work to have a free weekend. So the last time you’ve had a chance to spend time in their cottage was almost one year ago, in January, on your dad's 52th birthday. 

The road to the cottage takes about thirty minutes from the city. It’s situated near the small lake, hidden in a valley surrounded by forests from every side. You’ve always found the place charming and beautiful, ever since you were little with Soojin, when your parents decided to buy land there and built a small house on it. 

Your parents visist the cottage regularly, checking out and looking after everything. You had your eighteenth birthday party there. And your bachelorette night was also held there. 

You’re halfway through the distance when Namjoon decides to play some music. 

He turns on the radio connected to his spotify account and puts it on shuffle. When the first tunes of the song start playing, your face instantly flushes in pink.

It’s one of the songs you both included in your ‘sexy times' playlist as you jockingly named it back then when you lived in Namjoon's old apartment with walls too thin to properly mute the sounds of your moans and whimpers of pleasure which were by any means subtle while Namjoon was having his way with you during late hours of the night.

In the corner of your eye you see that Namjoon is as flustered as you are, quickly reaching to change the song but you stop him. “Don't!” He falters. Fucking hell, why did you say it so abruptly? Your blush deepens. “Leave it, please.” So he does. 

It’s a sensual melody, one of your favorite songs in general but you’ve never actually played it for yourself since you moved out from that apartment. It brings too many memories because if anything, sex with Namjoon has never been unsatisfactory and plain vanilla. He’s never left you unsatiate and thinking about those lustful moments makes you squirm in your seat, familiar butterflies flattering in your lower stomach. 

And from the clench of Namjoon's jaw and his tight grip on a steering wheel, you know he thinks about the same things as you do.

You wonder what flashes behind his eyelids now, because for you, it’s always him hovering above you, chest sweaty and heaving with every ragged breath he takes as he fucks you deep and with purpose. He’s rough but you like him that way, when he loses himself in you. It’s his hand on your throat, on your hips, bruising as he takes you from behind; marred in red skin on your asscheeks when you haven’t been behaving good enough. 

It’s him between your thighs, lavishing your cunt with his tongue until you're writhing and begging him to stop but he never listens, bringing you to immense ecstasy until tears well in your eyes and your voice is hoarse from screaming. 

It’s his hushed whispers in your ears leaving you bothered and breathless when you’re on some public event together, flithly promises he’s going to fulfill once you're home because the waiter was too flirty and you smiled at him too courteously. 

It’s him standing above you, pulling the belt from the loops until it lands on the floor along with his pants and you on your knees, taking his cock in your mouth to please him the best you could. It’s his fingers tangled in your hair, praising words on his lips because you’re such a good girl, always so good for me.

It’s Namjoon and his hands placed securely on your waist, chest flushed to your back when he spoons your spent body after another round of love making. It’s his soothing and calming voice in your ears when you drift off to sleep with his love confessions and gentle touches on your bare skin.

It’s him and you’re scared it will always be only him. The song changes into another and you hope he doesn’t hear the shaky breath you let out. You don't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

“And here we are.”  

A thirty minutes long ride has never been more drawn-out than now. Exiting the car, you promise yourself you’re gonna do everything in your power to make this twenty-four hours bearable and not as awkward as your drive here was.  

Once the car is parked, Namjoon opens the trunk and takes out your bags from it along with the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You scurry to help him but he sends you back with a small smile. “It’s okay. Go and open the door, I’ll get this.”  

Inside the cottage you’re immediately met with chilly air so the first thing you do after putting Christmas food from Soojin on the kitchen counter is taking care of the fireplace. It’s a new addition to the living room's design, your parents new investment in biofuel energy, or something.  

Glancing through the window, you see Namjoon carrying the Christmas tree into the house and soon it’s standing right in the middle of the room in its full glory.  

Namjoon claps his hands. “Let’s do it, shall we?” he asks, reaching to the cardboard box and pulling out the first item that caught his attention: a golden, glass bauble. But before he could hang it on the tree, it slips from his hands and lands on the floor, shattered into pieces.  

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters, crunching down to pick up the mess he’s made.

“Don’t touch it, you’ll cut yourself!”  

He stops abruptly and you can clearly distinguish the redness on his cheeks. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” he says sheepishly.

“We should start with the lights,” You take them out from the box and start to untangle. “Okay?”

There’s a small smile on Namjoon lips when he nods his head and helps you put them on the tree. Half an hour later, your collaborative job on decorating the Christmas tree is almost done. The final touch is the golden star you’re trying to attach to the tip without success, until you feel a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and lifting you up.  

You let out a surprised squeak at that, putting the star quickly on it’s right place. Once your feet touch the floor, you turn around just to be met with Namjoon smiling down at you softly. “Good job,” he comments, pointing at the tree. If he sees your flustered state, he doesn’t let you feel it. “We should prepare for the dinner. It’s getting late.” he adds and before you could say anything else, he exits the room and disappears in the hallway.  

“Y/N?” Namjoon calls out, entering the kitchen. You whip your head to look at him and can’t help but stare. He’s wearing a plain, blue button-up shirt which sleeves are rolled up and revealing his forearms. He must have taken a shower because his honey blond hair still looks a little bit damp at the roots and when he comes closer to you, you feel the unmistakable musk of his cologne. It’s still the same one he uses after you bought him it some time ago.  

“Yes?”  

You’re dressed in red just like you were three years ago when you first met in that damned ballroom and it’s really ironic, he thinks. Your probably last civilised meeting being like this, a celebratory Christmas dinner made by your sister in a holiday cottage away from the town.  

Whatever he wanted to ask you dies on his tongue the moment he hears your phone buzzing on the counter, your mum's contact number popping up on the screen.  

You exhale loudly. “God have mercy,” you mutter, picking up the phone. “Yes, mom?” you say and instantly roll your eyes at the sound of your mother’s rambling from the othe side. We'll talk later, you mouth to him, leaving the kitchen.

Namjoon curses under his breath and against every fiber of his being, he takes a few step closer to where you stand in the hallway, staring out of the window, back facing him.  

“No, mom, I’m not at Soojin's,” you say to the phone. “I’m with Namjoon. We are having a Christmas dinner at your cottage.”  

You’re silent for a moment, listening to whatever your mum is telling you but Namjoon, even in the dim lighting illuminating from the living room could see you’re tense.

“On Maldives,” you answer. She has probably asked you about his mother, as he supposes. “Mom, I told you to stop asking me this. It’s not your decision to make.”  

You take a deep breath before adding, “It’s Christmas. I don’t want to talk about this right now, please.” He knows what you mean by ‘this’. He doesn’t want to think about what future is going to bring either.  

Your mother can be too much sometimes and he knows it. He’s stood up and defended you in front of her more than once. Responded cleverly and calmly to her every question about kids. And when she met him for a coffee to talk about the divorce, he simply said he didn’t plan to get you in the way, which probably wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to hear.

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Love you. Tell dad I love him too. Bye.”  

You hung up with a sigh.

Namjoon quickly shuffles to the living room, fishing out his phone and pretending he’s been scrolling through it the whole time. When you enter the room, he’s eyes look up at you.  

“How was it?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“You know how my mother is sometimes,” you trail off.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods. ‘’Too much.”  

You smile and Namjoon could actually seen in you right now the girl he’s fallen in love with three years ago. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall and say, “I think we can begin.”  

“Do the honors.” 

The dinner has gone by smoothly. You felt normal, like nothing ever happened and you start wondering if Namjoon isn’t doing all of this just for old times sake. He can’t be, another voice in your head is saying, he isn’t doing anything extraordinary for him: he’s just him, the same guy who proposed to you with plastic ring and quit his beloved addiction so you could agree to marrying him.

You’re sitting on a couch right now, your favourite Christmas movie (it’s Holiday; your love for Jude Law has never died down since you were a teenager) playing in the background. It was your silly tradition, to watch them every year like those basic couples do. You both know by heart the ‘to me you’re perfect' scene from Love Actually and it never fails to make you laugh when Namjoon recites the lines so dramatically.  

You’re sitting so close to him you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, your shoulders brushing with every breath or chuckle he lets out and you find yourself wanting to lean into him more. You wish he wrapped his arm around you, pulled you closer, kissed you on the temple and assured everything would be perfectly fine. But it isn’t.

Nicole Kidman has already landed in Los Angeles when you feel Namjoon shifting next you. He takes something out of his pants' pocket, nudging your side in process so you peek at him. You know he wants to say something but doesn’t have an idea how to start, you’ve been with him too long not to recognize the way he wets his lips and rubs his hands on his thighs as the sign of his nervousness. Which makes you jittery as well.

When he finally decides to shoot, Cameron Diaz meets drunk Jude Law for the first time.  

“Y/N?” he says to get your attention because he doesn’t know you’ve been more than aware this whole time.  

“Yes?”  

You’re breathless and you don’t even know why. It’s Namjoon, for God’s sake, your own husband, who won’t be one soon, the voice in your head adds.  

“I know we agreed on not giving gifts to each other for Christmas but this isn’t actually a gift. I mean… It was a gift once but now it kinda isn’t so technically I’m not breaking an agreement,” He's rumbling. A sight he’s definitely on edge.

Before you could stop yourself, you place your hand on his thigh. It’s a gentle manner, an affectionate touch meant to soothe his nerves. He raises his eyebrows at that, staring at your hand absentmindedly tracking patterns on his leg. You withdraw your hand awkwardly.

Your gaze lands on Namjoon's palm. He’s clutching something in his fist. With a deep exhale he opens it and then you see it: the charm you lost some time ago and haven’t found till now.  

It’s a simple, cheesy infinity sign, a gift from him to you. He decided to give it to you this when he saw the bracelet on your wrist and ask you what’s the story behind it, so you told him. Your parents gifted the piece of jewelry to you on your 18th birthday. Then they, including Soojin, bought you charms to complete it. A clover from your dad, a heart from your mum and a star from your sister. And a few days after you shared this with Namjoon, the infinity sign has found its place on the bracelet.

One day you realised the piece he gave you is missing. You searched through the whole house but you couldn’t find it. Ironically, everything seemed to crumble down from the moment you had lost it. And here it lies now, on Namjoon's open palm.

“Cleaning lady found it in my office. It was underneath my desk.”  

“I don’t know what to say,” you blurt out.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. You can wear it or not, I just wanted you to have it back.”  

He lays the charm on your palm and for a brief moment you hesitate before asking him, “Can you–?” gesturing to your wrist.  

“Sure.”  

He attaches the piece to your bracelet in it’s former, rightful place and there’s a soft smile dancing on his lips. It’s laced with melancholy, making your insides clench uncomfortably. On the screen Graham and Amanda make out and you know there’s something heavy in the air, unspoken words and conversation you should hold but don’t know how to start.

It’s Namjoon who takes the mattress into his own hands this time.

“Do you think we could be friends after all of this will be done?”  

The question surprises you. You don’t have a clever answer for that because the future is always uncertain. You don’t even know if you’re making a right decision. You just believe you do.

Maybe joking isn’t the best thing to do now but it’s your shitty defence mechanism against facing the true. You decide to play it cool. “I don’t know about us but I’m sure my dad won’t stop inviting you to play chess with him.” You chuckle.

It doesn’t seem to amuse Namjoon much, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. You clear your throat, avoiding his persistent gaze. That certainly hasn’t been a good thing to say to ease the tension.  

“Your mum insisted me for a coffee two weeks ago. To talk.” he says suddenly.

You purse your lips. “What did you talk about?”  

“About us. About the divorce,” The movie is playing in the background but you don’t pay attention to it anymore. What’s the most crucial is right here in front of you, in the person of your future ex husband. “She asked me to convince you not to do it. Said you’re irrational and mentioned something about you always making important decisions hastily.”  

You roll your eyes. This is so typical of your mother to say something like that. “And what did you say to her?” you ask, afraid of his answer.  

“That it’s only your choice to make and I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want.”  

Your breath hitches. Some part of you really wants him to put up a fight. You spent countless hours wondering why isn’t he doing that until it finally hits you like a whiplash: Namjoon has never, ever in his life disrespected your decision. He might not be on the same page as you but he will never beg you to change your mind. That’s his manifest of the love he has for you.

“Namjoon–” you begin but you don’t even know what you’re going to say to that. Fortunately, he cuts you off.

“Don’t pity me right now, Y/N. Let me talk, please.” He's never addressed the divorce directly and even if you’ve been dying these past weeks to find out what’s on his mind, right now, sitting in front of him when you’re both vulnerable, you aren’t sure of anything. “When I read that papers for the first time I thought it's some kind of a cruel joke, you know? But then the seriousness of this hit me and I was like: fuck, it’s really happening, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling bitterly to himself. “I knew it was bad but I hoped that we could figure it out together somehow and the sun will rise again as it always does after the storm. But I guess I was wrong.”  

He pauses and you looks down at his hands. They’re shaking and you fight an urge to take them into yours. “So at first, I was mad at you. I was so, so angry I couldn’t even think straight and I started blaming you for this. I bought a pack of cigarettes and lighted up one but I never finished it. I threw the whole pack into the trash can.” He lets out a long sigh. You’re feeling like the whole air has been sucked out of this room, your heart racing with anticipation of his next words.  

“A part of me wanted to pick the sword and fight. But then, one night a few days after I read the papers, I was in my office. I sat there staring at the wall and thinking through everything. And that was when I decided it’s all my fault we are in this kind of situation. You laid it all in front me and I still couldn’t fucking believe I am the problem.”  

You’re shaking your head because no, it’s not like this, it isn’t only his doing, but he doesn’t let you speak. “You’re so special, Y/N. You make the world revolve around you. I envy you,” Namjoon says, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “You’re pursuing your dreams and you managed to do all of this on your own. There was no family business you were destined to run like I am. All I do is sit in my father’s chair and try not to fuck up everything he’s built so far. And you, Y/N,” He faces you fully, staring at you with so much love and adoration you want to look away. But you can’t. “You’re so much more than this. And now I know I was just holding you back. But I love you enough to let you go.”  

You’re loss for words. Before Namjoon could register what is happening, your hands are on his cheeks and you’re kissing him.  

You’re kissing him until you lose you breath, until you both can’t think straight and you’re drinking from each other’s mouths like you’ve been thristing for it for years. Namjoon tastes like the red wine you drank earlier and something only akin to him.  

He’s surprised at first, not really comprehending it’s your mouth slotted over his, your breath mingling with his. It takes a sharp intake of air from you to him to sprang into action. He kisses you fiercely, like he’s been dying and your lips where the only cure which could heal him. He sighs into your mouth like he’s finally feeling relieved. Like you’re his savior.  

When his hands find purchase on your waist, you feel like you’re grounded after floating in the air for so long. Kissing Namjoon feels like home and you’re scared you will never going to experience this kind of halcyon ever again.  

It’s Namjoon who breaks off the kiss first. He’s breathless, panting against your swollen lips and his eyes are shimmering. “God, Y/N,” He sounds pained, like he’s holding onto the last straw of his sanity. ‘’Please, let me have you one last time. I need you so bad, baby.”  

He never begs but here he is, shaking and vulnerable, with his hands gripping you so tightly like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear the second he’ll let go. You’re nodding frantically at his words and he dives for your lips again. He doesn’t ask you to use your words like he usually does when you’re both in the mood to play. It’s raw and pure passion when he opens the seam of your mouth with his tongue, when he urges your body to lay back on the couch so he could hover over you.  

It’s been long, too long, since he’s seen you like this; keening when his teeth graze your throat and whimpering when he sucks the skin in between harshly and you know it’ll blossom rich red the next morning.  

Your hands move on their own accord, reaching to fumble with the buttons of his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin underneath your fingertips. When the garment pops open you can’t help but run your palms over smooth expanses of Namjoon's chest, digging into every ridge and deep of the flesh so you feel him tense under your touch.  

He detaches himself from your neck and takes off the shirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Sitting on his knees and straddling your waist, he looks down at you with hooded eyes. “Take of your dress,” he commands and you hurry to obey him. You missed this side of him, his deep voice that never fails to make you squirm in pleasure and anticipation of his next move.  

You get up from the couch, pulling the zipper of your dress down and letting the material fall to the floor with light thud. You don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, standing in front of Namjoon only in your linegerie. He’s seen you exposed like this many times before yet something about the way his eyes roam your body makes you bite your lip. It’s an expensive set and you’re suddenly aware he was the one who had bought you it. You wonder if he remembers that.  

He gestures for you to come closer and with an unexpected boost of confidence you step out of the dress pooled around your ankles and move to straddle his lap. His hands immadietly find purchase on your waist and you wrap yours around his neck, leaning to kiss him.

He groans when your teeth graze his bottom lip and you feel him squeezing your sides tightly. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your mouth, making the corners of your lips lift up in a smile. “Let me take care of you, baby.”  

Something swells in your lower regions at that. A sheer want and crimson desire for him to claim you as his for the one last time.

Namjoon reaches to unclasp your bra but he stops with his fingers brushing just underneath the material. “Can I?” he asks gently. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, how many times he's brought you to the brick of pleasure until you were screaming, he’s always waiting for you to grant him consent first.

“Yes.” It’s the confirmation he needs to unclasp it, letting the straps fall to your shoulders and free your breasts to his wandering hands.

One of the things you’ve learnt about Namjoon during years of sleeping with him is that he’s boobs man. So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when his palms engulf your mounds, squeezing them gently.  

Soon he’s leaning closer, taking one of your nipples into the hot crevice of his mouth and bitting down on it so you let out a small noise of content. The angle is awkward but he doesn’t seem to care, sucking the hardened bud until you’re writhing in his lap, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging slightly on the roots.  

“Namjoon, please,” you whimper, feeling his fingers brushing the waistband of your panties. You’re rubbing yourself against the bulge that has formed in his pants, needing more, always more of him because you know he’s up to please.

He pulls out from your nipple with light pop sound. “What do you want, baby?” he prompts; the chilly air in the room washes over your bare body and you shudder from the sensation, your core getting wetter with each passing second.

“Want you to touch me.”  

“Yeah? Want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”  

You nod, shutting your eyes tightly when his palms find the inside of your thighs where you need him the most, where you’re throbbing with the desire for him to touch you.  

He runs his index finger through the material of your underwear where you’re sure a wet spot has formed already. “Answer me,” Namjoon demands and his other hand squeezes your hip harder. There’s a part of you wanting to play with him a little, push his strings to the point he has no choice but put you in your place, bend carelessly over his lap and make you count till he forgives.  

But today, it’s not time for that.

You whimper. It’s actually funny how single touch of his combined with his autorative tone can make such a mess of you in span of minutes. “Joon, please,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. ‘’Touch me with your fingers.”  

Namjoon smirks in response. “Open your legs wider for me, baby.” You do as you’re told, exposing yourself to him. He hums, pulling the material of your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Is this all for me?” A part of him is disgusted for wanting you to know he’s the only one who can make you like this. It’s ugly possessiveness but he needs you to say it. Needs you to admit it.

“All for you. Always for you, Joon–please,” It’s a breathless plea on your lips that makes him dig his fingers into your wetness. He runs his long digits through your slick folds, thumb circling your clit and you mewl, biting your lip in favor to contain yourself from moaning shamelessly aloud so soon. Namjoon however doesn’t like that idea.  

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”  

His middle finger prods at your entrance and you gasp when he pushes it inside, immediately adding second to the mix and curling them up just right, making your walls clench around them. His thumb still abuses your sensitive nub and you’re whimpering incoherently as he toys with your pussy with practiced ease.  

You open your eyes to look at him but his sight is solemnly focused on the way his fingers are sinking into your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to edge until you are actually feeling the coil in your lower stomach tightening. But when you’re about to cry out in pleasure, it all stops abruptly.

Namjoon withdraws his hand from your pussy, placing a small kiss on your pouty mouth briefly, as if he’s apologizing for you denied release. You watch him bring his fingers to his pillowy lips, groaning as his tongue tastes your juices.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, baby. Wanna taste your pretty pussy.”  

Your face grows hot at his dirty words. Namjoon's filthy mouth is something that never has never failed to turn you on. He knows what to say to get you going, to make a shiver run down your spine and insides tighten.

He mannevrous your body so you’re laying back on the couch again with him hovering above you. He takes off your soiled panties and tosses it on the floor.

“Spread your legs.”  

You oblige, revealing your dripping center to his hungry eyes. You don’t even have time to shy away from his intense stare because he wastes no time and dives in, lowering himself to bury his head between your thighs. He licks the first strip up your folds and locks his clouded in lust eyes with you. You almost come right there on the spot just from the sight of his plush lips covered in your slick.

He eats you out like a man starved, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and sucking it into his mouth obscenely loud, making you moan out  in pleasure. You aren’t even holding back now, lifting your hips to chase your high but he effectively pins you down in place with his palms sprawled on your hips.  

He laps up your slit, tongue dipping briefly inside your hole and causing more of your wetness to gush out. “Fuck, I could eat you out all day. You taste so good, baby.” he groans, sinking two of his digits into you until he’s knuckle-deep, hitting your sweet spot with every scissoring movement of his fingers.  

You cry out, lacing your fingers through his locks and tugging harsher than you’ve anticipated when his tongue flicks your clit. “Joon, fuck–please, wanna cum.” He starts pounding his fingers lewdly into you faster at that, dragging it through your velvet folds until you're writhing. “Oh, God. P-please.”

“You’re so perfect, baby. Such a good girl. Let go for me.” he murmurs against your pussy, pushing you into your upcoming release.

Your vision blurr and you’re coming undone on his fingers and tongue, breathing heavily. Namjoon doesn’t stop though. He wraps his lips around your abused clit again, lapping your wetness greedily until you’re shaking from oversensitivity.

“N-namjoon–stop, I can’t,” you whine, shaking your head. Tears well in your eyes, hands fisting by your sides.

But Namjoon's doesn’t listen to your pleading cries. He’s ravenous and loves seeing you desperate like this more than anything. “Give me another one, baby. I know you can,” he breaths out. “Show me this pussy belongs to me.”

His onslaught on your cunt and crude words push you over the edge for the second time and you’re spilling all over his mouth again, screaming out his name.  

He waits for you to calm down from your high, rubbing soothing circles on your sides. When you finally open your eyes, you see him smiling down at you, lips and chin covered in your juices he messily wipes with the back of his hand. He leans to kiss you, tongue lacing with yours until you’re tasting yourself on it. He swallows your moans, reaching to fumble with his belt buckle.

Pulling back from the kiss, he stands up to discard the rest of his clothes on the floor. You can see him in his full glory now. You take him in, from his neck and collarbones, through the taunt muscles of his abdomen and prominent v line to the trimmed hairline where you see his cock, hard and leaking precum against his stomach. Your mouth salivates at the sight.

He crawls over you, pumping himself as his eyes roam your nude, pliable body. Your hand stretches to replace his with your own and he lets you do it.  Smearing his creamy release all over his length, you keep stroking him like this. Namjoon groans at that, throwing his head back.  

You sit up on your knees but before you could take him into your mouth, he stops you. “As much as I want to see you with my cock in your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you now.” Buds of sweat dribble down his forehead and you know he’s holding himself back from flipping you on your stomach and fucking you into next week.

You scoot back and lay yourself, watching as he runs the tip of his dick through your dripping slit. He hisses at the sensation, looking up at you, pupils blown out with lust. “Beg for it, Y/N,” he says, voice deepening. “I want to hear you begging for my cock.”

“Please, Joon,” you mewl, moaning when his tip taps your clit.

He doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer, biting the inside of his cheek. “Please, what?” He leans closer, until his forehead is touching yours. “Say it.” he demands.

“Please, fuck me,” Your palms cup his cheeks, breath fanning over his parted mouth. It’s pure desire mixed with desperation when you utter your next words. “Fuck me so hard I can’t think straight, make me forget all of this. Please, Namjoon.”  

He doesn’t need to hear anything more. He pushes himself inside you until he’s buried to the brim; your warm, wet walls letting him slide into you easily. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit,” Namjoon curses, closing his eyes as well. His face confronts in both pleasure in pain and you know he’s trying hard no to pound into you. He waits few bits of ragged breaths for you to adjust and starts moving. The first drag of his cock through your walls sends you into frenzy and you moan wantonly when he hits you right there when you want him the most. “You’re so tight, baby. So good, just for me, yeah?” he slurs, picking up his pace.  

You nod, lips choking out, “Just for you.” and eyes rolling back in pleasure.

He groans at your words, hands fighting purchase on either sides of your head. You feel so fucking full, his cock plunging into you faster and faster with each passing second. His eyes dip down where his body ends and yours begin, watching himself disappear into your cunt.  

“God, I’m gonna miss this so fucking much,” he blurts out before he could stop himself, in a moment of careless ecstasy he’s delivering to the both of you. It slips from his lips roughly and hits you right in the guts but you can’t let yourself dwell in this. Not now.  

Now it’s just you and him fucking you into oblivion you’re oh so much craving.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, kissing, biting and sucking every inch of skin he could find as if he’s trying to embed his mark on you forever. Like he foolishly thinks you’ll stay his and only his after all of this will be done.

Namjoon speeds up, thrusting his dick into you in what seems as an animalistic pace now, hammering into your sweet spot with every slam of his hips, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. He lift up his head to stare at your face.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, engulfing your cheek in his palm. His thumb traces your bottom lip, your eyes snapping open at his command. Your tongue laps at his finger until he pushes it inside your mouth, groaning when he feels you sucking on it. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, so hot–fuck. You take me so well.” he nothing but growls, sliding his hand from your face down your body, until it reaches the apex of your thighs.

Fingers finding your clit, he smirks when he hears you moan his name. “You like that?” he asks, voice sounding almost mocking but you’re keening, nodding frantically. “Want me to make you cum?”  

“Yes, yes! P-please, Joonie,”  

“I got you, baby. Come for me.”  

You’re orgasming the third time this night, even harder than before, clutching onto his arms like they’re your lifeline. He fucks you through this, pushing you past the uncomfortable oversensitivity. You feel his hips loosening their rhythm, thrusting into you sloppily and chasing his own high.

He drops his forehead onto yours, lips hovering inches from kissing yours. “I love you so fucking much,” he chockes out and you feel something wet staining your cheek. Looking up, you find him staring at you with the same kind of fondness he’s been giving you during these past years. It’s Namjoon, your Namjoon who’s never disrespected your choice, who always gives you the part of himself he’s afraid to show to the whole world.

Before you could register what’s happening, you’re sobbing into his mouth, “I love you too,” and kissing him to the point you’re both breathless. You feel his dick twitch and then he’s spilling inside you, coating your walls with his seed in white.

You stay like that for a while, basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You’re rubbing soothing touches on Namjoon's back till he eventually pulls out from you. His cum dribbles down your thighs and you wince when you feel him cleaning you up with your ruined panties. Then, Namjoon puts on his boxers and helps you wear his dress shirt and button it up.

He picks you up from the couch without a word and carries to the bedroom. He lays you down onto the mattress, taking his place behind you. He throws the comforter over your bare bodies, snuggling closer to your back. You feel his breath on your neck, warm and comforting.

He places a small kiss on your shoulder and exhales shakily. “You’re the best thing that have ever happened to me, Y/N,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”  

You don’t answer him because you’re afraid of what you might say. Your throat constricts and tears involuntarily spill from your eyes, coating your cheeks in wetness. Namjoon's arm tightens around you and for the first time since you’ve given him those damned papers, he’s laying next to you like this, chest pressed flush to your back.

When his breath slows down after a while, you let yourself cry to sleep. You dream about a boy smoking a cigarette on a bench in front of an old manor.

It’s the sunshine who wakes you up the next morning.

The first thing you think about his that someone has seemed to forget to shut the curtains out for the night. It’s definitely too bright for your liking so you narrow your eyes as soon as they're met with the light.  Blinking heavily, you realise where exactly are you. You don't remember you walls being wooden. It’s not your apartment. Which means you're in one of the many rooms in your parents' holiday cottage.  

Turning away from the window, you’re faced with Namjoon's bare back. He always sleeps without his shirt on, no matter how cold sometimes it can be. He’s like a human equivalent of a heater. You observe the steady rise and fall of his body and listen to his quiet snoring. It’s something comforting in this and you find yourself seeking his warmth. You shuffle closer to him but then you stop abruptly.

It all hits you like a tsunami.

The dinner, your talk about the divorce, heated confessions and whispered I love yous with tear strained cheeks. His body against yours as he fucked you hard and unforgiving. It was silly for you to let yourself indulge but you couldn’t help but grant his one last wish. His arms around you when you were drifting off to sleep, his pained voice when he was murming sweet nothings to your ears.

And now he’s right next to you, as he’s been there forever, deep in unaware slumber where the reality of your life is nonexistent. You’re wondering what he dreams about.

Suddenly you’re brought back in time to one morning three years ago when you were still newlyweds, still trying to get used to being tied together for life. It was one of your last mornings in Namjoon’s old apartment. After a round of passionate love making, both of you laid in each other's arms on the bed. Young, foolish and so in love you’ve never wanted to leave the embrace of his firm and protective hold on your body.  

“Can I ask you something?”  

Namjoon hummed hearing your voice, fingers brushing your shoulders with absentminded, affectionate manner and pressing into tight knots from time to time, easing the tension.  

You took a deep breath, your digits playing with your wedding ring underneath the sheets. “How do you think our first big argument will look like?” you asked.

You felt Namjoon's body shaking with laughter as he hide his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. “Why are you even asking me this? Do you want me to get mad at you? Do I have a reason?” There was a slight teasing lilt to his voice and you knew he was smirking.

“Namjoon,” you whined.  

“I know I have to put the dishes into the dishwasher after using them. And I swear I’m not going to use your hair conditioner ag–‘’

“Joon, I’m serious.” you huffed and he stopped because of the seriousness of your voice.

“Okay, okay. Go on, elaborate on that.”  

You sighed, scrunching your eyebrows. You didn’t even know how to vocalize your thoughts. A part of you was aware how irrational and probably ridiculous you sounded but it was Namjoon. He was the closest person to you. He would never judge you and always listen to what you wanted to say.

“You know, recently I read those statistics about people under twenty five getting married…”

“Oh, God, Y/N. I’m someone who deals with statistics on daily basis. How many times do I have to remind you they’re not always relevant?” Namjoon interrupted.  

You elbowed his side. “Let me finish!” you pouted, earning a kiss on your crown in response and muffled ‘sorry, babe’. “Basically they say the younger you get married, the possibility of having a divorce is higher.” you explained.  

“So you’re trying to say that we fit in those statistics?”  

“I didn’t mean that!” you protested. It wasn’t the case. This stupid article was just a something that made you start wondering.  “It’s just… I’m scared, Joon. Of our future, what it will bring to us. We got married so early and I know the first crisis will come to us eventually but what will we do then?” you asked, voice quivery.

Namjoon was silent for a moment, until he spoke again. “Are you asking me what would I do if we got into an argument?”  

You nodded shyly. 

Namjoon squeezed your hand as he was saying with it he was here to hold onto when you needed him. “It’s okay if you’re scared, baby. I am too. But I can assure you that no matter what happens between us, I will do everything in my power to fix that,” he said. “I love you, Y/N. Back then in that ballroom when we first met I knew you were going be my wife one day. And I promised myself that if I ever felt like I was hurting you, I would let you go and be free.”  

You pouted. “I don’t wanna lose you, dummy. Stop saying you will hurt me!”  

He chuckled. “There are always good and bad days when you’re in love with someone. But they say the sun will rise again even after the biggest storm, right? If you love someone enough, you will overcome all those crisis you were talking about. And change the statistics. ” he said, making you chuckle at his last remark. “I can’t ask you to never leave me but promise me you will always do whatever makes you happy. Okay?”

He lifted his pinky finger and you brought yours, linking them together in a cute, silly manner. “I promise.” you murmured.

Now, laying on your back and staring at the ceiling,  you realise how wrong you were this whole time.

It’s Namjoon who’s making you happy. You can’t let your first, big crisis take him away from you because he thinks you’ll be better without him. Fuck the statistics, fuck everything honestly. You’re having the world by your feet when he’s with you, and you’re not going to give up on that so easily.  

He is your first love and you’re not letting him leave you so easily.

Standing on wobbly legs from the bed, you make your way to the kitchen. You have a plan in your head and you hopefully will manage to succeed.

You stop in your tracks by the mirror hanging on the wall, staring at your reflection. You definitely like you’ve had a rough night. There are smudges of mascara underneath your eyes because you haven’t removed your makeup before going to sleep and your hair’s a mess. There are splotches of red and violet covering the skin of your neck and cleavage and you’re more than aware now that Namjoon's shirt you’re wearing isn’t buttoned properly.

After washing your face in the bathroom, you enter the kitchen. You pull out from the fridge all the groceries you bought yesterday with Namjoon with purpose to make a breakfast the next day after Chrimstas Eve and start cooking.  

You’re going to make your husband's favourite French toast.

Both of you have never been master chefs at cooking, in most cases choosing to eat out in the city or simply order something for dinner but breakfasts have always been something you are celebrating together in your house. And you can proudly admit you’re better than making them than your dear husband.

However, stress is a factor that makes you feel paralyzed in various kinds of situations so before you could blink an eye, you’re smelling something burning. You jump in horror, dropping the teaspoon on to the floor with loud clicking sound. There it is, Namjoon's French toast laying on your pan utterly inedible.

“Fuck!” you curse, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island and burying your face in hands.

Tears well in your eyes. For once you’ve wanted to do something right and here you are, crying over burnt toast because you have no time to make another one and Namjoon's probably already up–

“Good mornin–baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”  

Namjoon's soft, a little raspy voice startles you. Your heart swells hearing the petname he's addressed you. Lifting your face up, you’re met with his worried expression.  

He looks so normal. Like in every single morning you’ve spent together. He’s wearing his favourite, blue pajama pants and a plain, white tshirt. He hasn’t even put on eye contacts yet, choosing to wear his glasses instead that have successfully made you feel weak in the knees a few times before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks. You sniffle, gesturing with your hand to the kitchen counter where still lays the burnt toast. Namjoon follows your line of sight, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”  

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm down your breathing. “I wanted to make you a b-breakfast. And I fucked up as always because I burnt your favourite French toast.” you stammer out before another fresh wave of sobs racks through your body.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Namjoon crunches down in front of you, placing his hand on your bare knee and rubbing the skin in soothing manner meant to calm your nerves. Just like you did to him last night when he tried to confess his feelings about the divorce. “It’s okay. We can make another one together.”  

“But I wanted to do that just for you!” 

Namjoon shakes his head and you could see a small smile dancing on his lips. “Silly, why were you so determined to make me a breakfast?” 

“Because that’s what you deserve,” you say firmly.

“I deserve to have a good breakfast?” he teases. 

You angrily wipe the tears off your cheeks. “You deserve everything!” you exclaim, making Namjoon raise his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re always so good to me, Joonie. This Christmas made me realise just how much you care about me. I can’t let you agree to the divorce so easily,” 

“What do you mean?” 

You stand up from the stool and he follows you, towering over your form. You feel small but in a good way. You feel safe. “There will be no divorce. I’m not going to leave you.” 

Namjoon cups your cheeks and he’s grinning like a fool but he needs you to say it. So he begs. “Please, tell me why is that.” 

Your lips are already touching his when you whisper, “Because I love you. And I don’t think I will ever find someone quite like you, Joon.” 

And then he’s kissing you. Your teeth clash but you don’t care, standing on your toes to mould your mouths together in better angle. He lifts you up from the floor with ease, swirling your bodies around. You’re laughing together and he isn’t even ashamed there is a tear or two running down his cheeks.

When he places you on the ground again, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He’s just living his dream life, with you by his side. 

“I love you too.” 

And just like that, your history together starts again.

Bonus: 

“We made up with Namjoon.” 

You hear your sister shriek on the other side. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually banged. You’re nasty, Y/N.” 

“It wasn’t like that! I’m telling you we aren’t getting a divorce and the only thing you can think about is us having sex?” 

But Soojin isn’t listening to you anymore. You hear her shouting, “Taehyung, they fucked and now they aren’t getting a divorce!” 

“Soojin-ah!” you wail.

Taehyung's faint voice reaches your eyes. “I told you they would make up. You owe me fifty!” 

“You made a bet?!” you exclaim.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Ghhh-shh. The connection is-shh-bad! I don’t hear-shhh-you! Bye!” She hangs up before you could say anything else. 

Entering the kitchen, you’re met with your husband, casually sipping on his coffee. He lifts his eyebrows when he sees you and asks, “How's your little sister? Is she planning to rip off my balls?”  

“Nope. But I’m changing my statement about her. She’s evil.” you say, sitting on a stool next to him.  

“Glad we’re on the same page, baby.”

[ichikaakiyama]

FIC: Untimely Distractions (Hawks x Female Reader; smut)

DISCLAIMERS: Usual ownership disclaimers apply. Characters that are underaged/minors in canon are automatically aged-up to young adult/adult in my work by default unless otherwise stated.

TITLE: Untimely Distractions

PAIRING: Hawks/Female Reader

RATING: Hard R/Mature

WARNINGS: Smut

- - - - -

Hawks is an incorrigible, distracting flirt. This isn’t an opinion - it’s just the truth.

The bad thing about it is that he knows it. The worst thing about it is when the charismatic bastard turns all that charm and beguiling energy on and aims it right at you for everyone in the Hero Public Safety Commission office to see. Like now, for example.

“Come on, it’s just drinks,” he says, hovering over the side of your desk with his hands planted on the tabletop, holding his weight, “I don't even drink that much, but i could take you to this ONE place, holy crap, they make this INSANE tropical sunrise cocktail. Also there's a cute bartender there who seems into some things.” The intentionally comical waggle of his bushy eyebrows elicits a tiny giggle from you that you’re unable to reign in in time.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol tonight?” you shoot back, continuing to work to try and convince him of disinterest on your part, “Or on some secret spying mission that no one else in this building is supposed to know about?”

“Well, I mean…” Hawks replies with a tiny shrug, “I’m sure I can find some time to--Wait, what do you know about my assignments?”

You can’t help but snort at his near carelessness. “Absolutely nothing, I’m sure,” you answer, feeding fresh sheets into your printer, “In any case, I’m busy tonight, as will you be. Besides,” you drop your voice a little, as if there isn’t a soul alive within hearing range who already knows that Hawks seems to like you a lot, “we’re supposed to be professionals.”

“When have you ever known me to be 100% professional at any given time?” he half-jokes, leaning in just as you sit back down. He laughs as you push him away. “Okay, fine. If not drinks, then lunch. Just a quick one. There’s an excellent yakitori place about five minutes from here, we can have a little spot all to ourselves, no extras and no distractions…”

You bat away a feather he had sent to tickle your cheek. “You’re a distraction, Hawks.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“You think so, do you?” you gently scoff as he leans in over the table and closer to you.

“You like me,” Hawks points out, his voice and tone hitting just the right lower octave to get you to finally look right at him, blushing indignantly.

You can feel how fiercely your cheeks are coloring. “I-” you stammer, “That’s not...I mean, I don’t--”

Hawks straightens up again, an almost insufferable grin of victory brightening his face. “I’ll pick you up at 11:50am,” he tells you, “Don’t work too hard now, baby bird.” The pet name and the wink he leaves with has you coughing on a slight choke of embarrassment. 

The rest of your day is spent ducking your head, keeping busy and trying to pretend that no one else around you had heard your conversation with Hawks. You become so entranced in your own efforts to hide yourself from sneaky side-eyes and barely quieted giggles from your co-workers that you don’t realize what time it is until a gentle tapping on your cubicle wall lets you know it’s time for your lunch date.

You look up to see him leaning against one edge of the wall, arms crossed in front of him, a signature smirk plastered all over his smug face. “Hawks, I am busy,” you say with an audible tsk to drive home your point.

“Psh, no one’s ever too busy for yakitori,” Hawks points out.

“I mean, true,” you concede with a little sigh, “But-”

“Come oooon,” he whines, “What’s an hour? If you get crunched because I took you out on a lunch date, I promise to help you out so you don’t have to do overtime, then I’ll take you home myself so you get there faster. Deal?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “How the hell do you even know where I live?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hawks mutters with a small shrug, “Come ooooooon, kid. Yakitoriiiiiiiii.”

And he's just so annoyingly effing cute, doing stupid things with his bushy eyebrows and little wiggles of his hips, and he looks RIDICULOUS. You know he’s not going to take no for an answer.

“Fine,” you finally agree, “but just one hour. Then you come back and help me sort all of this out.”

“I promise,” Hawks replies, crossing his heart with a finger while holding his right hand up for emphasis.

To Hawks’ credit, the yakitori place is just as close as he had said, and the food is ridiculously good. Time flies nearly as fast as he does as you enjoy an almost uncharacteristically casual conversation about each other’s nothings - how work is, how your family is doing, when was the last time you made pastries and why didn’t you save him some. The food is gone before you even really realize it, and he doesn’t even let you pull your wallet out to pay. With a grin and a wink, for you and the waitress, he pays for everything, then offers you a hand to take to help you out of your seat and walk you back to the office. You blush a little, but you take it, and his smirk is noticeably softer when you do.

You don’t get too far, however, when he pulls you in close, winks and gives you a quick warning of “hang on, kid,” before his wings suddenly flare out and flap. Suddenly you're in the air, and he's got you safe and secure in the few seconds it takes him to fly you up to the roof of a nearby apartment building.

It doesn’t take you much longer to remember that the cheeky bastard lives here, of course he lives near the HSPC, and he, most likely, has had this planned the entire time.

“Jerk,” you snort, although you’re not exactly fighting the arm he has around your waist, keeping you flush against him.

“What?” he laughs, “I still have twenty minutes, don’t I?”

And he kisses you hard as he drags you into his room from the balcony, fingers working hurriedly to divest you of your bottoms.

“Fifteen,” you correct him, a little out of breath already from the kiss alone, "I'm not going back to the office looking like i just got rammed by a truck.”

"Well, better make it count then," he chuckles, and then you're on your back on his bed, and he's pulling you by the legs to the edge so he can pull your bottoms off and push your top up.

He wastes no time, diving right in, mouth eager and hungry, like a dying man savoring the first full meal he's had in years. Your legs are over his shoulders, one hand sliding up your body to squeeze at your breast while the other snakes around your thigh to rub at your clit like he's trying to start a fire with his thumb. He's a ravenous son of a bitch, moaning loud enough for you to feel, stopping every now and then just long enough to tell you how good you taste. He tells you to watch him devour you, but it's hard when his tongue feels that good and his fingers are experts of your body by now.

"You gonna come, babe?" he teases, rising from his knees to bend over you, and you're about to whine at the loss of contact when he cuts you off with a couple of fingers deep inside you, twisting and curling and stroking and spreading. 

“If you're gonna come you better do it soon,” he teases with a laugh, “You don't want the office to know you got eaten out for lunch, do you?” And his hand is merciless with quick, deep thrusts that aim right where they need to, and you're crying out, launching a fist weakly into his shoulder, which just makes him chuckle.

He urges you to come, telling you he wants to feel you come with his fingers deep inside you, promising to lick you clean afterwards if you'll be good for him and come right fucking now.

Your back arches halfway up off the bed when you do, clutching at your own breast with one hand and digging nails into his shoulder and neck with the other, and he peppers you with little kisses, the softness of each a sharp contract to to how roughly he pushes his fingers into you as he tries to draw your orgasm out a little longer.

“You're so good for me,” he coos, kissing your lips gently as you come down from your high, “So fucking pretty, baby bird.” And you can't help but grab at his jacket and pull him in close and kiss him for real. You hate him, but you love him, but you hate him, but you love him, and he knows.

“Fuck you,” you say when you come up for air, and he just laughs a full laugh, the smug bastard, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. 

“You liked it.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You like me.”

“I love you.” 

“...But?” 

“But you're a smug dick and sometimes i don't know whether to punch you with my mouth or my fist.” 

“You're so cute when you're ticked off.”

He helps you back into your clothes, making sure to give you tiny kisses where he can, and he's always like this, always so showy with his flirting but secretive with his real affection. You kind of understand it, but not really. You've never questioned it, just accepted it as part of who he is. But you can't help but wonder about it sometimes. Not that you’d ever bring it up; you’re more likely to get hit by lightning than ever get a straight answer for that out of him.

He flies you both back to the office just in the nick of time, and you just barely managed to put yourself back together while he, of course, didn't have to do much more than straighten his clothes a bit and give his hair a little shake. You can feel eyes on you as he walks you back to your office, and although you're a little self-conscious about it, it’s times like these that you kind of can't help but be a bit smug at the fact that everyone just knows that Hawks is into you without anyone ever having to say it out loud.

Before he lets you go, he pulls you into an abandoned, unvisited corner and kisses you again, and it's a real boyfriend kiss, with small sighs and gentle touches and warmth. You can't help but love that you get to see this side of him, knowing that very few people have or will.

“Dinner?” he asks, and the only thing softer than his tone is the hand he has on your cheek.

“You're not working late?” you ask, unconscious of the way you snuggle into the warmth of his palm. 

“Not if you say yes to dinner,” he replies, the tiniest of smirks ghosting in the corner of his mouth.

“You think you're soooo cute, don't you?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” 

“...Fine. Dinner.”

 - - - - -

~ END. ~

[skullrock]

the swimsuit - Steve x Reader

Pairing: Steve x Reader

request: heeeey! so i was thinking about steve calling phoebe cates hot and him running into that cardboard of her, so, can you write something where steve is at a pool party and he sees reader coming out of the pool and walking up to him in a red bikini like in fast times and he’s totally heart eyes. so they end up making out in the bathroom next to the pool. thanks!

word count: 1.5k

warnings: steamy! and swearing

a/n: feeling HOT 

===

Steve hasn’t used his pool since Barb died Junior year. So when Dustin wants to go swimming, he takes him to the community pool.

It’s gross, and people almost certainly pee in it, but it’s something to do on a hot summer day, and there are plenty of women to look at and flirt with.

“You’re pathetic,” Dustin says beside him, lounging on a lawn chair.

“I’m pathetic?” Steve scoffs. “Why?”

“You’re trying to find a girlfriend at a public pool.”

“Yeah? Yeah, and you found a girlfriend at a camp no one has ever heard of. Shut it, pipsqueak.”

Dustin scrunches his face up in offense. “For your information, Steven, my girlfriend is –“

Steve slams his hands down on the arm rests of the chair he’s in. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates. I get it, Dustin, Jesus. But here’s the thing, buddy: there’s no girl in real life that’s hotter than Phoebe Cates. You hear me? There is no girl that is –“

You step out of the pool directly in front of Steve. You’re wearing a red bikini and your hair is slicked back on your head from the water. Steve’s breath hitches in his throat and his face turns red just at the sight of you, matching your swimsuit. You lock eyes and it’s your turn to blush now, looking down at the concrete as you hurry off to your chair for a towel. Steve watches you, doing that cliché thing where he pulls his sunglasses off as he watches you go.

“There’s no girl that’s hotter than Phoebe Cates, right?” Dustin says smugly beside Steve.

Steve can’t reply – he’s too entranced. He watches you, eyes maybe a bit too keen on your ass, as you dry yourself off. He cannot comprehend how someone as gorgeous as you is in Hawkins, Indiana. He continues to stare as you lounge in the sun, completely ignoring Dustin talking to him about who knows what. Some stupid science stuff, probably.

You make eye contact with him again and you bite your lip – why is this cute boy looking at you like that? You look away, eyes directed towards the locker rooms, and you look back at Steve. He looks towards the locker room, too, and he furrows his brows in confusion. You jerk your head towards them and stand up, walking in their direction. Steve stumbles off of his chair quickly and nearly runs towards you.

“Hey!” Dustin shouts. “Where are you going?”

“Uh,” Steve says, drawing it out as he racks his brain for an excuse. “I’m – bathroom.”

Dustin scrunches his face up again but rolls his eyes at Steve and pulls out a comic book.

Steve rushes to the locker rooms, sandals slipping slightly on water. He composes himself as he struts in, shoulders back, posture poised. He doesn’t want to seem too needy and desperate – although that’s exactly what he is. He finds you in a corner by the showers and he approaches, giving a signature lopsided grin.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he says, leaning up against the tile.

“I’m from the town over,” you explain, looking him up and down, soaking in his broad chest and toned arms. “But our town pool is closed.”

“Needed a swim that bad, huh?”

“I was feeling a little… hot.”

Steve falters at the phrase, eyes widening and knees buckling. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes fix on it. He’s cute. He’s handsome. He’s hot. He’s sexy.

“But, as it would turn out,” you sigh, “I’m still feeling pretty hot.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks lowly, licking his lips again. “And why’s that?”

Your eyes fall to his trunks, his bulge prominent under the thin fabric, and his train on your bikini top, enjoying the cleavage. You bite your lip and look up at him, locking eyes. “Because a guy like you shouldn’t be allowed to wear trunks like that.”

Steve groans and then his mouth is on yours in an instant. Your back is pushed up against the wall and you kiss back roughly, hands winding up through his hair. Steve’s hands fly to your ass and he grips it tightly, making you laugh slightly. It’s teeth and tongue, sloppy and rushed, but it’s thrilling and makes you way too hot for a summer day. Your head spins and you grip onto him tighter, pressing back firmly into the wall now, and Steve wraps one of your legs around his waist. He pushes himself against you and you both groan. You circle your hips and grind on Steve, making him gasp. His hips sputter against yours and you feel his hard-on right on your core. It makes you moan loudly, and it spurs him on – he does it again and you swear you can see stars.

You both hear someone come in and he pushes himself off of you, a hand flying down to cover his hard on up while you both stand and pretend to talk. Your eyes sparkle with mischief and Steve smirks, the tips of his ears pink.

“Do you always seduce men into locker rooms to kiss them?” he teases.

“Only the cute ones,” you reply, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You glance behind him and watch the intruder leave once again before pulling Steve to you, kissing again. His hands go back to your ass and he feels you up, making your breath catch. His lips go to your neck and your eyes roll back, a smile growing on your face.

“What’s your name?” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he sucks on a sweet spot.

“Steve,” he says into your skin. “Yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Had me fooled,” he says, kissing back up to your lips. “Thought you were Phoebe Cates for a second.”

“Oh, I’m not that hot,” you laugh.

Steve cocks a brow, challenging your assumption. He presses his hard-on against you again with a wicked smile. “I beg to differ.”

You push him backwards so that he’s sitting on a bench and you straddle him, resuming your makeout. You grind down on him, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths at the friction. Steve can’t believe his luck, truthfully – it’s been a minute since he snuck away with a girl to fool around. You can’t believe yours, either – a man as charming and as cute as this sitting beneath you, hands cupping your ass and you glide back and forth – it nearly too much to handle.

“Are you okay?” he asks suddenly, stilling your movements with his hands on your hips. “Like, this is okay, right?”

The ask of consent makes you even more turned on and you nod furiously, curling a strand of his hair. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” he replies, bucking his hips up, making you gasp. “Do you maybe – like, if you want – maybe we can – go somewhere? To… finish this?”

You giggle and nod. “Meet me here tomorrow evening – seven? And we can go somewhere to… finish.”

He nods furiously and you kiss a while more, caressing each other, you hopping off when someone would come in as Steve covered himself with cupped hands. Eventually he decides he needs to go before Dustin tells the group that he had sex in the locker room – which isn’t necessarily wrong, but it’s not true, either.

“Gotta go,” he breathes, kissing all over your face before planting one more on your lips. “I came with my friend – I mean, this kid I babysit – and I need to take him home.”

You smirk but let him up anyway, and he takes a moment to gather himself, cheeks puffed out as he smiles dorkily at you. You furrow your brows and grab his hand. “You can be a dork, you know. You’re allowed.”

He scoffs. “I’m not a –“

“Dorky guys who lean into it are really hot, Steve.”

Steve’s brows raise. “You mean it?”

You nod.

“Consider me sexy, then,” he says, and shoots finger guns. “Because I’m the dorkiest bastard alive.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow at seven.”

Steve walks back to Dustin with a spring in his step, which immediately deflates as Dustin turns to him, pupils flaring. “You were gone for forty-five minutes, man!”

Steve freezes. “I had to pee.”

“With her?” he asks, pointing towards you, packing up your things. “What, did you need her to hold your hand or something?”

“Alright!” Steve says, shaking his head. “You tell anyone, you’re dead.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you admit that there are people out there who are hotter than Phoebe Cates.”

Steve sighs heavily, glancing over at you with a faint smile. “Okay. There are definitely people out there hotter than Phoebe Cates.”

===

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