#thESE SWEET BOYS JUST LOOKING OUT FOR EACH OTHER ;A;

[buckiverse]

Lessons

☆--- paring: zayne x reader

☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?

☆--- word count: 9.9k

☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)

↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed. 

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further. 

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together. 

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment. 

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore. 

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping. 

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out. 

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly. 

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them. 

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants. 

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours. 

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you. 

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side. 

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. 

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you. 

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.  

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing. 

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join. 

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response. 

“...yeah.” 

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn. 

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle. 

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees. 

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you. 

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it. 

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” 

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.” 

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat. 

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand. 

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed. 

Zayne: 

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out. 

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes. 

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye. 

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat. 

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy. 

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips. 

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows. 

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this. 

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb. 

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

 “Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing. 

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t. 

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne. 

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer. 

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter. 

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin. 

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured. 

Zayne exhaled through his nose,  running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared. 

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch. 

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips. 

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you. 

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips. 

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help. 

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow. 

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation. 

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt. 

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness. 

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin. 

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.” 

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him. 

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace. 

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples. 

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple. 

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other. 

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin. 

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips. 

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of. 

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most. 

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips. 

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream. 

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading. 

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already. 

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats. 

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling. 

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom. 

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it. 

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin. 

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair. 

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream. 

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs. 

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you. 

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself. 

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair. 

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips. 

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you. 

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss. 

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door. 

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you. 

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom. 

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs. 

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head. 

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him. 

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further. 

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up. 

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you. 

“...Please” you breathed. 

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face. 

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent. 

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly. 

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

[rafedarling]

can you do the puppy interview with drew starkey x actress reader plss

𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader ft rustyn starkey

summary: you and drew, and your son rustyn participate in a puppy interview, creating heartwarming chaos on set.

warning(s): english is not my native language. none, fluff and family fun.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

You start with a smile at the camera.

“I’m Drew Starkey,”

Drew adds, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a playful corgi tugs at his shoelace.

“And I’m Rustyn Starkey!”

Rustyn proudly chimes in, his little voice filling the room.

The way he says it, with a mixture of excitement and confidence, makes the crew chuckle.

“And we’re here for…”

“A puppy interview!” you and Drew announce together while Rustyn claps his hands, his energy infectious.

Rustyn immediately gets distracted by a wiggly golden retriever puppy climbing into his lap.

“Hi, puppy!” he says, giggling as the pup licks his cheek.

Drew picks up the first card, holding it in front of him dramatically.

“Alright, first question… Who is the biggest dog lover? Drew or Y/N?”

He pauses for a second before answering with a grin.

“I’ll say both because we all love puppies!”

You nod, laughing as a dachshund pup curls up by your side.

“Okay, fair answer. But Rustyn might be the biggest dog lover here.”

Rustyn looks up from petting his puppy.

“I love them sooooo much!” he declares, making everyone on set melt.

The next card is passed to you, and you read aloud,

“What would you name this puppy if you could take it home?”

You hold up a fluffy Bernese mountain dog sitting near Rustyn.

“This one feels like a Charlie to me, big and sweet.”

Rustyn thinks for a moment before pointing to the golden retriever still snuggled in his lap.

“I’d name mine Buddy, ‘cause he’s my buddy now!”

Drew laughs, ruffling Rustyn’s hair.

“Buddy’s a solid name. I’d name this little guy Rufus,” he says, gesturing to a dachshund sniffing around his lap.

“He looks like he’s up to something.”

“Dada, can we take them all home?” Rustyn asks, his big eyes looking up at Drew.

You and Drew exchange a knowing glance, both trying not to laugh.

“We’ll see, buddy,” Drew says, grinning.

“But let’s finish the interview first, okay?”

The next question is read by Drew.

“Who’s more likely to sneak the puppy treats?”

“Dada,” Rustyn answers immediately, giggling.

Drew raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, guilty. But you’d sneak them, too, wouldn’t you, Rusty?”

Rustyn looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, but only if the puppies are really good.”

“That’s my boy,” Drew says, laughing as a corgi puppy climbs onto his lap.

The crew brings out more puppies, creating a delightful chaos as they run around the set. One pup grabs a squeaky toy, making Rustyn laugh so hard he falls back onto the couch.

“Alright, next question!” you say, trying to regain focus.

“Who’s more likely to cry if the puppy gets hurt or sick?”

You, Drew, and Rustyn all point at each other simultaneously, which sends everyone into fits of laughter.

“No way, it’s Dada,” Rustyn insists, his tiny finger pointing directly at Drew.

“You cried when we saw the movie about the dog!”

Drew laughs, trying to defend himself.

“It was an emotional movie! And don’t act like you didn’t cry too, bud.”

Rustyn shrugs, giggling. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Let’s just agree that we’d all be emotional wrecks if anything happened to these little guys.”

The final question comes up, and you hand the card to Drew. He reads it aloud.

“What’s one quality in each other that would make you amazing dog parents?”

Drew pauses, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“You’re so patient and loving. You make everything, whether it’s taking care of Rustyn, the dogs, or me, feel effortless. And I know you’d raise the most well-behaved dogs in the world… somehow.”

You feel your heart swell but quickly focus on him.

“And you’re the most hands-on dad and partner I’ve ever seen. You’d be out there training the dogs, playing with them, and making sure they’re spoiled with love. They’d be the happiest pups ever.”

Rustyn looks between the two of you.

“And I’d give them hugs and kisses every day!”

“We know you would,” you say, pulling him close for a quick kiss on the head.

As the interview wraps up, Rustyn is lying on the floor with three puppies cuddling around him, his giggles filling the set. You and Drew watch, smiling at each other.

“Mommy, Dada can we take Buddy home, please?” Rustyn pleads, his eyes shining with hope.

Drew looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think, Mama?”

You laugh, knowing the answer was already decided the moment Rustyn named the puppy.

“Alright, Buddy can come home with us.”

Rustyn cheers, throwing his arms around the golden retriever.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Drew leans over to kiss your cheek, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re the best.”

As the scene fades, Rustyn’s voice rings out

“This is the best day ever!”

[tommygotwrittenoff]

bobby says to eddie one shift where buck is home sick with chris. going home to see your boys? eddie smiles and says. yeah. and your boys just Sticks in eddies brain and when he gets home he sees chris and buck curled up on the couch asleep and the sight makes him pause cuz. yeah. those are his boys

[aemsgirl]

In Spite of Us.

Modern Aemond x Reader.

Summary: Raised in an orphanage before being adopted by the same family, you and Aemond have always been bound by something deeper than childhood friendship. Darkness. Obsession. The kind of things that burrow into your minds and refuse to leave. In a world that couldn’t care less about either of you, the harsh truth remains: you’re all each other has—whether you like it or not.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Incest, drug and substance abuse, mention of graphic violence, mention of murder, mention of parental abuse, smut, degradation, possessive behavior, dub-consent.

In a world this fucked, it's no wonder it spits out people just as broken. Twisted up, chipped, and ready to snap. Minds that don't play by the so-called normal rules. You’re a glitch in the system, the full stop shoved into the middle of the sentence. A ticking bomb of chemical chaos, or maybe just the gnawing hunger that’s been chewing you from the inside out since day one. You knew it. Aemond knew it. Always did. You didn't fit, never would. For a while, that shit felt like a curse—like a weight tied around your neck. But then it became second nature, like breathing in poison and calling it air. You stopped fighting it, stopped letting it tear you apart. You didn't just wear it; you owned it. Hell, maybe you even died for it.

Aemond sometimes wondered where it all started. Maybe it was that hellhole of an orphanage, where they threw you both like trash. Not a home—just another cruel joke. A meat grinder, with its hunger pangs, freezing walls, and the constant line-up for scraps that were never enough. You were quiet, too fucking quiet, and that made people look at you sideways. But then there was him. The shadow that stood between you and the bigger boys who thought pain was a game. You didn't know why he gave a damn. Maybe it was that time you woke up in the dead of night and saw him sitting on the floor, staring at you like some ghost that couldn't rest. The dark didn't bother him, and his silver hair sure as hell didn't make him harder to spot.

He was there. Always was. And you? You were his shadow, just as much as he was yours. Years didn't change a damn thing. Then that joke of a family came along, slapped the word adoption on you both like it meant something. A better life? Bullshit. Things didn’t get better—they just shifted into another shade of misery.

Mum? She spent her days with a bottle of cheap wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other, blowing out clouds that reeked of fake watermelon. She used to say the sweet ones were best, even if they tasted like shit. And Dad? Oh, he loved Aemond’s silver hair. Loved it so much that when he was about to lose his temper, he'd hold onto him like some sick lifeline. But that didn't stop the scars. Those stayed, etched into his skin, courtesy of the belts and threads Dad liked to use.

Crying? Aemond didn't cry. He didn't have to. The silence screamed loud enough.

Years dragged on, and one day you weren't some helpless kid anymore. But the bullshit didn't stop—if anything, it cranked up a notch. You remember the screaming. How could you not? Dad’s twisted little excuses, his shitty jokes that got uglier every time, all just another way to go at you or Aemond. And Mum? She was barely even there—when she was, all she did was scream too. The sound of her begging still rattles in your head. “Stop. It hurts.” Over and over, bouncing off the walls like it could break something in him. It never did.

So, you did what you always did. Slid under the covers next to Aemond, the only refuge you had. Not that he reacted much. He’d just lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, cold as death. It was like lying next to a corpse. But it was better than being alone. At least, that's the lie you kept feeding yourself.

It was during one of these times that you felt him react for the first time. His fingers slid down your thighs under the covers, gripping them firmly. They traveled up to your waist and disappeared under your shirt. His cold fingertips mapped your spine as if they were counting the bones there, his breath blowing at the back of your neck, and he leaned closer to bite your neck, hard enough to leave a mark on your jaw. You felt every sensation, as if the devil himself was licking your skin raw and bathing it in his saliva. When his hand found your breast and rolled your nipple between his fingers, you arched your hips back, and as you wiggled them, you found his member already hard under his loose shorts.

After that, it was like two beasts were being released from their cages at the exact same time.

Aemond turned his body and spread your legs, not even bothering to take off your shorts or yours panties, just pushing them aside. Pulling down his shorts revealed his cock, almost throbbing your name. At least that's what it seemed like, since he was calling for you. Grabbing your thighs, he parted them even more and thrust into you in one swift motion, until your groins slammed together. Over and over, growing in your ear, while using one hand to cover your lips, muffling the desperate cries of pain and ecstasy that escaped. His cock became a mess with your scent and the blood from your first experience, going deeper and deeper.

It was too much, for both your body and your mind. Your nails scratched into him as if you were ready to disintegrate him, the screams that had tormented your nights before vanished. Sweat clung to your bodies and the clothes you still wore, your walls squeezing him, pulling him even deeper. You felt whole, so fucking whole that your eyes rolled back. That was when you reached the first true orgasm of your life, before feeling Aemond pull out and spill over your belly, staining you in more ways than one. It was almost peaceful.

The peace shattered when the bastard stormed into the room. It didn’t feel real—more like some fucked-up fever dream. He yanked Aemond off you and threw him to the floor like trash. You tried to get up, but he was on you in an instant, his fist smashing into your face so hard it sent you sprawling back onto the bed. Your nose was leaking blood, your vision blurry as hell, but through half-closed eyes, you saw it all.

He mounted Aemond, his fists raining down in a storm of violence. But this time? This time wasn’t like the others. Something snapped. Aemond's thighs locked around the old bastard’s torso, flipping him over with a strength you didn’t even know he had.

That was it. That fucking line—the one that should never have been crossed—was gone.

Aemond let loose. His fists came down again and again, each punch sinking into the man’s face, his nose collapsing under the blows. Blood sprayed everywhere, pooling on the ground like a sick offering. Aemond’s knuckles turned black and blue, the flesh split and soaked in crimson, but he didn’t give a shit. He grabbed the bastard by the hair, slamming his head into the floor over and over, screaming like a man possessed.

The crack of his skull splitting open echoed through the room. Blood spread out like a dark halo around his head, but Aemond didn’t stop. No, stopping wasn’t in the plan. He wanted to tear the son of a bitch apart, piece by piece, rip him open from crown to toe, exposing every festering, rotting bit of ugliness for the world to see.

You saw it—the exact moment that piece of shit raised his hand and jammed his thumb into Aemond’s eye. That was it. No more waiting, no more thinking. You shot up from the bed, your hands grabbing the first thing in reach—a pen from your desk.

Your heart was hammering like a war drum as you moved in, the sharp tip aimed and ready. One step, and the pen sank deep into his left eye. You didn’t stop. Not until his face was a grotesque, unrecognisable mess, blood and pulp dripping down like something out of a nightmare.

When he finally stopped moving, you looked over at Aemond. His face was the same cold, detached mask he always wore, but his raw, trembling hands betrayed him. His silence was deafening.

You thought about saying something—hell, anything—but the scream cut through the room like a blade. Your head whipped to the side, and there she was. Your mother. Sliding to the floor, hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. She was still naked, her body a wreck from whatever that bastard had been doing to her before he’d turned his attention to you both.

There wasn’t time to think—fuck, thinking wasn’t even an option. You were on autopilot. Aemond was the first to move, landing a punch on Mum that sent her sprawling to the floor, her scream cutting off like a bad record. You didn’t even flinch. You were already moving, grabbing a backpack and shoving in whatever the hell you could find, yanking on the closest clothes without a second thought.

When you were done, you looked back at the scene—Mum on the ground, Aemond standing over her, the room still reeking of blood and chaos. You knew it then, as clear as the blood on your hands: you were fucked. This wasn’t something you could crawl back from. So Aemond found their stash of cash, shoved it into your bag, and bolted. No goodbyes, no second guesses. Just running.

Every moment after that was soaked in fear. The shitty motels you both crashed in, the greasy diners where you shoved down food that tasted like cardboard, the endless paranoia that came with every passing police car. Red and blue lights haunted the back of your eyelids, flashing like some kind of sick countdown. Every night, you stared at your fingers, half-expecting handcuffs to snap around them. But they never came.

The anxiety started to dull, forced out by exhaustion and the silence that hung between you two like a heavy fog. You never figured out why no one came looking. Maybe no one gave a damn about that bastard. Maybe the world had just decided to let you off the hook for once. Whatever the reason, the answers didn't come, and you weren't about to go digging for them.

Aemond was the practical one, the one with the plan—or at least the one who acted like he had one. He decided your next moves, no questions asked. He wasn’t afraid to dive headfirst into the filth, mixing with the worst kinds of people. And why the hell not? Everyone was scared of him. They didn’t see a guy—they saw a rabid animal, barely tethered. That suited him just fine. It suited you just fine. Fear opened doors, and Aemond kicked them wide open.

By working the right angles and talking to the right scumbags, you both found some good shit to sell, and before long, a shitty little hole to call home followed. He was always making extra stops, running his own little side deals with people who made your skin crawl. You didn’t ask questions, though. You knew better. Some of it was personal—his own brand of chaos that you didn’t dare get involved in.

And when things went sideways? When his preferences left a trail of wreckage behind? It always came down to you to clean up the mess. Blood, lies, broken promises—you were knee-deep in it, scrubbing his mistakes off the floor and praying no one noticed. That’s just how it worked.

So when you came home that morning, boots in hand, tiptoeing in like you were trying not to wake a sleeping beast, what you walked into didn’t shock you. Not really. You were past being surprised by shit like this. The living room floor was painted in scarlet, the blood so fresh it looked like it might still be warm.

And her? She was sprawled there in the middle of it all, like some fucked-up display. You couldn’t even tell what colour her hair was, not with how soaked it was in blood. Her throat—well, there wasn’t much of it left. Torn open, barely held together. Her face still stuck in this frozen mask of terror. Clothes? Forget it. She didn’t have a shred on her, just skin bruised all over like someone had been working her over for hours.

You took another step, then another, and there he was—Aemond. Lounging on the couch like it was just another Tuesday. Legs spread wide, head tipped back, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Blood covered him—his chest, arms, hands. It was everywhere, dripping down him like some grotesque masterpiece. The only thing untouched? His sweatpants, the one clean piece of fabric on him.

He didn’t even look at you. Just sat there, exhaling a long drag of smoke, like he’d just come back from a jog instead of whatever the hell this was.

"Where the fuck have you been?" His voice cut through the suffocating silence, sharp and loaded with accusation. You could have laughed—really could’ve—at the irony of him asking the questions when the room looked like this.

But you didn’t laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because when you looked at him properly, you saw that he wasn’t in the mood for your shit. His eyes were hard, jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding into that cigarette like it had personally offended him. The black hair he’d been dyeing since everything went to hell was sticking to his pale, blood-slick skin, smoke curling around him like he was burning alive from the inside out.

He was pissed. You didn’t need to ask why.

“I went out for drinks,” you said flatly, like it wasn’t even worth a conversation, leaning down to drop your heavy boots onto the floor with a thud. That’s when it hit you—the ache in your thighs, sharp and unforgiving after hours spent dancing, grinding all that tension out of your body. You straightened up slowly, your muscles protesting, your gaze flicking back to him like you were daring him to say something about it.

"All night?" His voice was low, almost too soft. It was ridiculous, really—how the hell could he sound like a goddamn feather when everything about him screamed destruction? It was like he was about to rip you to shreds, but still, the tone came out smooth and menacing. "Are you sure?" The second question came, quieter, sharper.

You squinted at him, head tilting slightly, trying to piece together what game he was playing this time. Every time you left, it was the same damn thing. Coming back to that look in his eyes—something primal, dangerous, like he could rip through you without a second thought. Like he wanted to hunt you down, drag you back into the house, and break you apart, just like he did with the girl on the floor.

And goddamn it, you knew. You knew the thought had crossed his mind more than once. Every time you pulled some shit like this, he probably imagined slicing you open, testing how much you'd bleed. You didn’t even have to ask. You could see it in his eyes.

"Yes, all night," you answered, your voice sharp with irritation. He wasn’t the one who should be asking questions—not after the bloodbath he’d left on your favorite rug.

Aemond exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. Slowly, deliberately, he stood up. His bare feet made no noise as he walked toward you, stepping over the body like it was just another object in his way. You met his movement with your usual defiance, head held high and chin up, not showing an ounce of weakness. But that only seemed to make things worse.

He closed the distance, stopping just inches away, his hot breath hitting your face. He tilted his head down, leaning in closer, nose brushing against your skin as he took a deep sniff, his eyes narrowing as he examined you for something he didn’t want to see. The smell of blood, alcohol, and sweat mixed in the air, the tension thick enough to cut.

"You let someone fuck you?" he murmured, his voice dark and low. He exhaled slowly, searching your scent for any trace of another man’s presence.

Your fists tighten, nails digging into your palms as the sharp, metallic smell of blood mixes with something unmistakably Aemond—anger, frustration, and that volatile edge of his temper that never seems to stay contained. You should be used to it by now, the question always hanging in the air, the same shit over and over. The way he digs into it like a damn animal, hoping to find something he can’t.

"No." The word slips out, tight and clipped, your jaw clenching as you force the response. You see it in his eyes—the search, that desperate need to find an excuse, something to justify whatever the hell this is.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, shoulders dropping momentarily before he tilts his head back, the movement slow and deliberate. You watch the way his throat works with the motion, the sight making your own lips dry. Then, without warning, his hand is in your hair, fingers curling tightly around the strands and yanking back hard. The pain is sharp, like a dagger to your scalp, and you’re quick to grab his forearm, trying to pull him away, but it’s useless. His grip is ironclad.

"Fuck off!" you gasp, the sting radiating through your scalp, but instead of backing off, he tightens his hold, the pull sending a hot rush of tears to your eyes as your skin stretches, every nerve alight.

Without any kindness, he begins to drag you across the room until he reaches where the girl's corpse now lay cold. Kicking the back of your knees, he brings you down to the floor on them, holding tightly to your hair. He positions himself behind you, pressing your cheek against his, using his grip to angle your face better towards the scene.

"Are you lying to me now, you fucking bitch?" his words are poured directly into your ear, the tone so deep it seemed to vibrate from his chest.

"I already said no!” you answer through gritted teeth, the unbearable pain in your head made worse by the amount you drank the night before.

With a grunt, he forces your face to the ground, pressing your cheek into the blood that was there, his open palm on your other cheek. He takes a moment to observe you in that position, so fucking at his mercy. He could break your jaw right now if he wanted to. He could mix your blood with that of the filthy whore on the ground. He could; it would be so damn easy, and you knew it.

"Yeah? You know what's gonna happen if you keep this up, don't you, little dove?" He smirks, grinding your face into the blood, the scent overwhelming your senses as he presses his body against your hunched, aching back. "Come on, scream it out, you fucking know." His voice, though low, slices through the air like a command.

"Fuck you!" you spit back, defiance burning in your eyes, refusing to yield even as the pressure on your jaw intensifies, like he's contemplating grinding you into the damn floor.

His hand snakes up under your dress, yanking it up until it's bunched around your waist like a cheap trophy. You squirm, but he just smashes your face harder against the floor, a silent fucking threat. His fingers creep between your thighs, hunting for any trace of dried cum, like he's some kind of detective in this sick game. His thumb brushes over your panties, feeling the dampness—not the old kind, no. You're getting wet for him right now, aren't you? Pathetic as fuck. He shoves the thin fabric aside, prying your flesh open with his fingers, delving deep, his lips curling in a sneer even as he bites down on them, craving to dive in, to sink his teeth into you, to chew up that whole defiant attitude of yours.

"Look at the fucking mess you've caused," he spits out, his voice as thick and hoarse as yours. He yanks your face up, his hand clamping around your jaw like a vice, forcing you to see the body sprawled out in front of you like some fucked-up centerpiece. "This is your goddamn fault, it was supposed to be you." His whisper slices through your ear, loaded with venom.

And he fucking means every word. It was supposed to be you bearing the brunt of his rage, dealing with his insanity when you pull your disappearing acts, when you don't give a shit about how worried he gets, how out of his mind he goes imagining what you're up to out there. How many more times does he have to spill blood, just to stop himself from snapping that pretty neck of yours, to punish you instead of some random street whore who looks like you just to vent his frustration?

"Yeah?" you manage to retort, attempting a smirk but his grip on your face makes it a twisted effort. You push through, showing him how much you mean it. "Then do it now." You're practically daring him, knowing damn well you'd go through with it.

Silence hangs thick and suffocating. You watch his fingers stretch out, then curl back into fists, like he's psyching himself up to finally break you. You almost embrace it, judging by the calm breath that escapes. You're ready for it, but then he lets you go, suddenly, and if it weren't for your hands catching you, your face would've kissed the floor. Your eyes track him as he strides over, hoists the girl's body onto his shoulders like she's nothing but a useless sack of bones.

"Clean this shit up," he orders, his voice cutting through the air, and your glare deepens.

You watch him walk off, heading to the garage with the girl's body swaying like some macabre metronome. The moment he's out of sight, you're left alone with the blood pool, aching knees, a pounding headache, your dress still rucked up, and your panties askew. And the worst part? You're dripping wet, throbbing, feeling hollow inside. Maybe that's his real punishment. Fuck him.

The hours blended together in a haze of endless scrubbing. The floor was an unforgiving mess, and no matter how hard you worked, it seemed like it would never be clean again. He hadn’t come back. You could only imagine where he was, dealing with the aftermath of everything he’d left behind. The carpet was ruined beyond repair, and everything you'd used—the cloths, the sponges—was burned, destroyed to erase any trace.

It was second nature by now. The motions, the repetition, the burning sense of inevitability. You'd done this so many times, it was like your fingers had become one with the sponge, hardened by the constant, futile effort to make it all disappear.

When it was all over, you were drenched in sweat, and the shower stretched on longer than you'd meant it to. You scrubbed your hair, your skin, trying to wash away all the filth from the night's ordeal. Your muscles screamed from lack of sleep and a day spent scrubbing, the water initially running dark with the grime. But damn, it felt good, so fucking good. Stepping out, you towel-dried yourself, slipping into a pair of panties and a blouse that might've been black once; you couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't yours—it was his.

As you headed out, you knew you'd run into him, and right on cue, there he was. He'd just arrived, helmet still in hand. His clothes were different, suggesting he'd cleaned up somewhere—likely at one of the crew's places, probably asked for help to deal with the "problem," and as always, he managed it. He carried a bag, full from what you could see at this distance.

He takes a moment, his gaze lingering on you drying your hair in the hallway before he advances, his steps deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches you, his face is that unreadable mask, giving nothing away. You couldn't tell if he was still pissed, if he felt any satisfaction or relief, or if he was just numb. With him, you never could.

His fingers dive into the bag, emerging with a Twix bar, the golden wrapper catching the light in his eyes. A small smile plays on your lips, and he returns it with his own subtle smirk, just a slight curve, no teeth. He unwraps the chocolate slowly, and once it's free, he brings it to your lips, tapping gently against your bottom lip. You open up, taking a small bite, and from the look in his eyes, he's completely captivated by the sight. It's like he's back at the orphanage, remembering how you'd pester him incessantly for these, how your eyes would light up brighter than anyone else's. No wonder there are several of these stashed in the fridge now. Idiot.

You take the candy from his grasp, holding it yourself, but his fingers don't retreat; instead, they rise to your cheek, where there's a hint of red that might bruise. His doing, no doubt. His thumb gently strokes the tender spot as you take another bite, the slight pain from the bruise barely registering. Your eyes lock with his as he steps closer, his head dipping to plant a kiss on your jaw. His lips feel like ice against your skin.

You feel him take a deep breath, as if to confirm your presence. His mood seems to have lifted, even if slightly. His lips trace a path down your jaw, along your face, while his hand moves to the side of your neck. Another small smile graces his lips, sending shivers down your spine.

"You stink," you mutter, though there's no real venom in your words. True as they are, the potent scent of sweat and dirt from him is overwhelming.

He inhales deeply, grunts, and uses the hand that was on your neck to push your face aside, not gently but not with the force he could muster if he really wanted to hurt you. That wasn't his intent right then. Without another word, he snatches the towel you were using and vanishes into the bathroom, the door shutting you out, leaving you to chuckle quietly. The dessert? You polish it off in one more bite, savoring the taste.

Back in the room you share, the window is always open, blue lights casting a glow on your skin, mingling with the smoke you exhale. On the table in front of you lies a near-perfect line of white powder, like winter snow but with the harsh burn of the summer sun. You lean over, one nostril pinched by your index finger, and take a sharp inhale, making the yayo vanish. The bitter taste hits your tongue, stars pulsing behind your closed eyes. Your heart races, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple.

At the door, Aemond stands, observing silently. But soon enough, you catch his presence, tilting your head to see him. He's clad only in loose black shorts and white high-top socks, his black hair wet and dripping, his shoulders still marked with black, suggesting he's just finished dying it. The drops of water on him tell a story of their own. His pupils, dilated, nearly obscure the icy blue of his eyes, and his shoulders are relaxed, hinting the bath had been beneficial. Whether that's a good sign or not remains to be seen.

"Didn't you wait for me to start?" His voice carries that familiar low tone as he nods his chin toward the remaining coke on the table.

A mischievous smile curls your lips, and with a nonchalant shrug, you acknowledge his comment. It's not like the supply is dwindling; you have more than enough, stockpiling for both use and sale, probably more than you should use. Either way, he won't go without.

"Not very nice of you, sis." His tone could almost be called playful if it weren't Aemond speaking, and humor was the last attribute you'd attribute to him.

With deliberate, slow steps, as if he intends for every part of the room to sense his presence, Aemond approaches, and there's this glint in his eyes that you've never been able to fully describe. From childhood to now, it's been there—those dilated pupils, intense, his gaze almost vacant, like he's not fully there. It can seem manic, sending a chill through you under certain lights. It's a trait of his that has barely changed.

He stops at the edge of your chair, pausing for a moment. His thumb delicately brushes your nostril, wiping away the residual powder with an unexpected tenderness that seems foreign to him. Then, with an even slower pace, he kneels before you, between your legs. His hands glide down your sides, gripping your hips firmly, pulling you forward with a force that brings you to the chair's edge, compelling you to grab the backrest to keep from falling off completely.

"If you step out of line," he murmured, his gaze lifting to meet yours. One of his hands maneuvered your thigh onto his shoulder, positioning himself closer to your core. "You know I'm going to kill you, right?" The words were sweet, calm, but their sincerity was unmistakable. He would do it, and he could do it so effortlessly.

You nod, swallowing hard, not out of fear—oh, you wished it was fear—but it was heat, excitement, adrenaline, like sugar melting directly into your veins, ready to roll your eyes back in ecstasy.

"Yeah, you know," he whispered again, his breath hot against your panty-covered intimacy. "That's a good girl." His hands then traced down your thighs, exploring every inch of skin and hair as if they were part of a map he was memorizing.

You watch him intently, the cocaine still racing through your veins, making your heart pound and every nerve tingle. He reaches for the table, picking up the small pin with the remaining coke, and brings it close. With precision, he drops some on your inner thigh, using his pinky to form a line that leads directly to your pussy. He's always so calculated, so infuriatingly in control, it makes you want to tear your hair out.

Leaning in, he covers one nostril, then inhales, sliding forward until he's taken the coke from one end to the other, his lips meeting your panty-covered intimacy at the end. His pulse quickens with the drug's effect. The bitterness of the cocaine mixes with the sweet seepage of your arousal through the fabric. His lips, eager to claim ownership, find your taste more intoxicating than any drug. He swears your pussy is the ultimate narcotic, the only one that can truly bring him down, flowing through his veins smoother than heroin. It's a fucking god.

His tongue slides over your intimacy, and your hands grip the chair and table tightly. You know not to touch his hair; if you did, all hell would break loose. So you cling to the furniture, seeking some semblance of control. His lips savor you like you're the ripest, sweetest fruit, his tongue swirling, gathering saliva which then drips down your panties, blending with your own arousal. He makes you clench and clench, craving more without pause.

"Fuck," you moan, head thrown back, the fabric around your waist now feeling like an intolerable barrier. "You are so good, so good." The words spill out, not so much thought as they are a direct translation of the sensations coursing through you. In that moment, he felt so good.

His teeth graze your skin lightly, perhaps in response. His grip on your thighs tightens, leaving marks that would soon purple, claiming you as his. Again, and again. His hands travel up, fingers hooking into your panties, dragging them down your thighs, discarding the now-soaked fabric. When his gaze returns, it's to the sight of your pulsing, glistening flesh, the taste of you already imprinted on his tongue. It's the part of you he adores most, the most exquisite fuck he could never tire of. He feels like if his lips were bound, he'd chew through the ropes just to taste and devour you completely.

"You're so fucking beautiful." His thumb traces through your folds, finding your clit, the soft sound you make in response making him bite his lip hard enough to nearly break skin.

Leaning in, he first presses his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent like it's something sacred. He slides down, breathing you in. His tongue, slick with saliva, extends, slowly tracing from your entrance up to your clit, his eyes lifting to lock with yours, watching your reaction unfold. Your lips part in ecstasy, your eyes locked on his, painting a scene of paradise right before him. The warmth spreading through his body feels like floating on clouds.

"Such a good pussy." His voice is muffled by your heat, the vibrations echoing inside you like he's already within.

His lips work with such intensity that it sends a sharp ache through your core. He explores every inch, tongue rolling over every detail, collecting your taste, swallowing eagerly. His nose glides along, then his chin rubs against you, moving his head side to side, letting your arousal paint even his cheeks. He devours your pussy, and with every gush of your wetness, a moan escapes him. Your hands clutch the chair, almost breaking the wood in your grip, the pleasure coursing through you, as slick as your insides now feel.

Pulling away from your heat, he rises to your lips, sharing your taste. His hands find the back of your knees, lifting you effortlessly from the chair, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You feel his hardness through his shorts, throbbing against you. With quick steps, he moves to the bed, sitting and pulling you onto his lap. Your tongues dance in a deep, wet kiss, the sounds unrestrained.

As he lies back, you follow, his hands urgently gripping your hips, pulling your thighs, trying to coax you higher, towards his face. He needs this, craves it more than air itself.

"Ride my fucking face," he demands, his breath heavy against your lips, breaking the kiss only to speak.

Encouraged, you move up the bed until your knees straddle his face. His hands swiftly guide you down, his face fully enveloped by your heat. His tongue plunges deep, while your hips begin to rock in rhythm. The heat is overwhelming; you yank off your shirt, revealing your breasts, nipples hard and waiting. His eyes catch the sight, his brows knitting together, a needy sound muffled by your pussy.

His hands travel up your stomach, fingertips tracing your ribs, causing your body to shiver, before reaching your nipples. He pinches them between his fingers, making you grind down onto his face with more force. Your hands cover his, urging him to tighten his grip, and he complies. He momentarily pauses to bring his fingers to your lips, allowing you to lick them one by one, then returns them, now wet, to your nipples, teasing and pinching the hardened peaks.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum, Em," you gasp, arching back, your hips grinding with a desperate speed, your nails digging into his forearms as he flicks his thumb over your nipples, mirroring the delicious torment on your clit.

He nods, his chin tilting to drive his tongue deeper. Your walls clamp around him, your movements faltering as your thighs weaken. You look down just in time to see him suck on your clit with renewed vigor, his teeth grazing it, pushing you over the edge. A raw scream tears from your throat, and you clutch the headboard to keep from collapsing forward. And he licks you, thoroughly, consuming every drop of your release.

Your body, now pliable and exhausted, allowed him to easily slide out from under you, lifting you just enough for his head to escape. You collapse back into a sitting position, your back still trembling, mouth open in a silent moan. Then, your ankles are seized, pulling you across the sheets until you're lying flat on your stomach, your thighs shaking and weak.

"You're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" His voice comes from behind, his hand tracing down your soaked inner thighs. "Such a good little slut." The words are punctuated by a sharp slap on your ass, the impact nearly twisting your body.

He observes the quivering form you've become, the fingerprints on your skin already starting to mark you. You look so beautiful, post-orgasm, with your essence still dripping from you, ready for him to drive you into oblivion. His hand dips into his shorts, freeing his throbbing cock. Looking down, he spits on it, using his fingers to spread the saliva along its length.

"Are you going to scream for me, sis?" he murmurs with a hint of malevolence. He steps forward, spreading your legs and teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, watching you writhe. "Scream on my dick, scream. Do it for me, hm?" He bites his lip, savoring how your entrance clenches around his tip.

He thrusts just the head in again, watching you squirm before pulling back, using one fist to brace himself on the bed and the other to hold his cock steady. He teases you, inserting only the tip, making you moan and arch back, trying to take more, but he keeps it shallow. His eyes are glazed with desire as he watches you clench around him, your body begging for more.

"Please what, little dove?" he nearly spits out, pushing in a bit more before withdrawing again, leaving you empty, tight, and craving more.

Your hips sway side to side, arching off the bed in pursuit of him. You feel him enter you once more, his soft moans barely audible, just for you, and damn, how that makes you even wetter, soaking the sheet that's all too familiar with your scent and taste.

"Please fuck me," you whisper, turning to look over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his in what feels like a challenge.

It was like you'd just slapped him across the face with your words. Without a moment's hesitation, Aemond thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt, the hair at his pelvis meeting your ass. His hands dig into your flesh, gripping tight as he begins to pound into you, each thrust deeper and harder, his balls smacking against your drenched clit with every impact. His gaze drops to watch his cock disappear into you over and over, your arousal glistening on him, spreading to his lower abdomen. Your screams fill the room as your body rocks with each movement. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelmingly good, he feels like he wants to drive his cock right through you, straight into your skull.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, seizing your hair with one hand, pulling it back to whisper close to your ear as he leans over you. "You can barely take me, can you? I'm going to draw blood from that tight little cunt of yours, like always." With that, he thrusts even deeper, eliciting a choked scream from you.

Your body shakes under his relentless thrusts. Your eyes are half-closed, tears at the corners; your feet lift, toes curling, saliva escaping from the corners of your mouth onto the pillow. The deep penetration is overwhelming. His gaze confirms the mix of blood with your arousal around his cock, spurring him to thrust in completely, grinding deep inside you, feeling your walls contract around him with fierce intensity.

"You look so pathetic like this, just a hole to use." He releases your hair abruptly, his hands returning to your hips, nails digging in.

With his last ounce of strength, he pulls your hips back, lifting them, positioning you on your knees. You attempt to prop yourself up with your hands, but there's no strength left, so you remain with your cheek pressed to the mattress. From this new angle, he can penetrate even deeper, turning your screams into whimpers of excruciating pleasure mixed with pain, your arousal now dripping down both your thighs.

"No, no..." you whisper, barely audible amidst your whimpers. "Fuck..." Your voice fades as your mouth hangs open, drooling onto the pillow, your fingers clutching the sheets.

"Yeah, I know, I know," Aemond replies, a small, genuine smile curling the corners of his lips. "Cum for me, cum nice and sweet for me." His hand comes down, delivering a sharp slap directly onto your clit.

Your hips instinctively try to escape, but he secures you with an arm around your waist, keeping you still, taking all he gives like the good girl he knows you are. He spits into his free hand, then returns it to your heat, circling and stimulating your clit, squeezing and flicking it, feeling it pulse under his harsh touch. Your walls constrict around him, signaling how close you are.

"Aemond, Aemond..." you try to warn, but the sensation overwhelms you before you can finish.

Your walls clamp down, a loud moan breaking free from your lips as your body convulses, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. Aemond's eyes roll back, the sensation of you gripping him so tightly driving him over the edge. A growl escapes him, more beast than man, as he wraps both arms around your waist, pressing his cheek to your back. He thrusts deep one final time, holding you there, ensuring every last drop of his release is spent inside you until you're left utterly spent. His cock pulses within you, matching the rhythm of your own spasms.

Your body collapses forward, and he follows, bracing himself so as not to crush you. He observes your closed eyes, your body sliding into what looks like a deep, heavy sleep. He loves you like this—silent, immobile, utterly vulnerable. The thought of your helplessness reignites his arousal, despite himself.

With a sigh, he withdraws from you, flopping onto the bed beside you. The room reeks of sex, mingled with the remnants of cocaine still in his nostrils and your taste, seared into his memory. You don't move, just manage to close your mouth with effort, your jaw sore. You don't anticipate tenderness or kisses; you know better than that. Silence fills the space, punctuated only by the sound of your breathing.

"What did you did with the girl?" you hear yourself asking, despite knowing better. Maybe you want to know, or maybe it's just the impulse of the moment.

"It's none of your fucking business," comes the expected, sharp reply. "Shut up and go to sleep." His tone leaves no room for further discussion. After moments like these, he's never in the mood for conversation, unwilling to soften because you've drained him with that perfect pussy.

He turns his back to you, lying on his side, and silence envelops you both. He doesn't want to talk, doesn't want interaction. He doesn't even want to hear your voice right now. Because, fuck, how much he truly craves all of that.

[ierr]

They call you pretty

lineup; s. nagi, m. reo, i. sae, i. rin, and s. baro(u)

a. n; hey guys! I don’t really have much to say, but I hope you guys enjoy the stories! but I also do have one question, if I made a discord server would ya’ll be down for that? 🤔 let me know!!

aged up!

seishiro nagi. ;

one thing that would distract him from playing that game of his was whenever you came over with your natural look wearing your glasses. he didn't know what It was about you that made him fold every time he would see you with this look, but GOD It took everything In him to not to become flustered In front of you. when you came over you seen seishiro was on his game as usual just smiling to your self sitting on his bed watching him play. you crawled to the end of his bed to where he was leaning on, throwing your legs over, placing your hands to comb through his hair. he flinched from the sudden sensation but relaxed noticing that familiar mole on your leg, he relaxed In your hands sighing. "hi baby." you mumbled, leaning over as he looked up with a lazy smile, "oh, hey." was all he said, “I missed you.” you said, leaning down to peck his lips hearing him sigh in relief feeling your lips on top of his. he missed you so much. this whole bluelock program really took a lot outta him..he had no time of sleeping in, barely anything to play video games and he couldn’t see you!! he almost died.

when he pulled away he got to see you, and boy his face went red for a second before quickly looking away. you were wearing your glasses today. you looked so pretty..when you seen how seishiro looked a little flustered you giggled scratching his scalp a little, "why you get flustered all of sudden?." you knew the answer but you wanted him to say It. seishiro shook his head, trying to focus on his game. "nothing." he mumbled but you didn't buy It, tugging against his hair a little. "shiro." you warned hearing his groan, "you look pretty.." he mumbled again with a tone that read flustered. he was embarrassed. you smiled, trailing your hands towards his chin to make him look up from his game. he had a small frown on his face with a blush covering his cheeks, "I look pretty?." looking anywhere but you, he nodded his head. "really..really pretty." he said slowly averting his eyes towards yours to stare at your e/c eyes that were covered by the frames of your glasses.

“so pretty..”

reo mikage ;

for the past hour, reo has been complaining not stop. It was driving you insane. not even a day since he got back, he’s already starting to get on nerves. though you missed this from being away from each other for awhile, you forgot how impatient he was..you guys are supposed to be going out for his first day off, but you were taking your sweet time doing your hair. "what's taking you so longgg!." he whined for the 15th time coming back to the bathroom to see you're still on the same part! Is what he thought. rolling your eyes, parting another strand of hair, "reo, I swear on my life I am going to hit you." you glared at him through the mirror who raised his hands In a defensive movement with a smirk, "It was just a little question?." he shrugged. ever since he came back from overseas with his team he’s been non stop visiting you. you assumed he was just bored, but he missed you, so much. it was cute! but he was getting on your nerves. you shook your head going back to doing your hair. he didn't walk away or say anything else, but instead leaned against the door watching you through the mirror, he took a moment to just watch you... you're as pretty as the day he met you. your e/c eyes, pretty chocolate skin, pretty lips— he felt like a lover boy all over again.

you caught noticed of this, making eye contact with him through the mirror with a raised brow. "why're you staring at me?." reo grinned once more keeping his eyes on you, "you're so pretty you know that?." he said, leaning from the wall to walk towards, sliding his hands around your waist keeping eye contact with you. "so damn pretty.." you shivered from his breath hitting your neck leaning more against him elbowing him In the chest, "shut up." he chuckled with a playful whine, "If I have to say it everyday babe, I'll remind you every. single. time." he mumbled in between pecking the side of your neck. you sighed finishing the last part of your hair, with a small smile on your face. when you were done with that final strand, you turned around to face him. "you're such a lover boy." reo shrugged taking a strand of your hair Into his hand, "I'm your lover boy though~" — "ew reo! you're so cheesy!." you shook your head playing with the back of his hairs as he chuckled, "yeah? well since you're done with your hair I can show you how cheesy I really am!." before you knew It, reo threw you over his shoulder, dangling being faced with his back wide eyed,

"chameleon boy! put me down!"

itoshi sae ;

It was currently half time. both teams going to their locker rooms to either rest for a bit or to go over a plan for the final half. while you were in the trainers room, cleaning up a bit you didn’t expect a certain pink haired to come in. when you heard foot steps and a door closing, you turned your head a little to spot sae who was holding his neck. like it was bothering him. when you asked what was wrong, he said there was a knot in his neck. so here you are, messaging the knot out. "how does that feel?." you questioned, pressing your finger on his neck hearing him groan. "good." you hummed, moving your thumb to message out the spot. you were currently in the trainers room with sae because apparently he had got a knot in his neck, and came to see you. he sat on the table as you were in between his legs, pressing your thumb into his neck, messaging it out. while you were focused on his neck, his eyes never left your face, his teal eyes boring into your e/c. you felt it. it was making you nervous feeling his eyes on you. you tried to ignore his obvious stare but your eyes couldn't help but jump to stare into his feeling his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him. "sae." you asked and he hummed still looking up at you. "something wrong?." he shook his head no, his grip slightly tightening, continuing to stare at you. you’re so pretty..the way your eyes light up with a spark, your soft smile..he felt his heart beat start to raise a little. he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

you gave him a weird stare, with a raised brow. “is there something on my face..?” beauty. he only shook his head, “you look pretty.” your eyes widen a little but felt your heart flutter. "I look pretty?." you asked, tilting your head to the side with confusion. you looked a mess!! from working with multiple players during the match because of either injury or cramps. It took a lot out of you, your hair was a bit messy, and you looked tired but that didn’t change his prospective of you. you’ve always been so pretty to him..it made his heart flutter every time he got to see you. such a beautiful women he was dating. sae nodded bringing you closer to him. this was out of nowhere. but you smiled, placing a hand on his chest. “you’re distracting me from work you know?” you squinted, and he grinned shrugging his shoulders. “like I care..” you rolled your eyes, “you better get back to your team..i’ll see you when the games over.” you leaned down a little to peck his lips who gladly accepted it.

you’re gonna be the death of him.

Itoshi rin ;

one thing about rin is, he HATES shopping. always hated it, since he was a kid, to a teen, and now in his 20’s he still hates it. he hates the time that’s being spent of walking to different kind of stores, just to either be in there to look or to take hours to decide what you want. but..when it came to you, how could he possibly say no? since it’s been awhile, since you two were together you wanted to have a date night! but the only problem was…you wanted a new dress. rin didn’t get why you wanted a new dress but he didn’t complain about it just following you into the preferred store you wanted it from. It’s been an hour. he never thought it would take a women this long to pick out what she wanted..as he sat in the same seat for the last hour he was growing more impatient. you showed a few dresses to him already, but those weren’t necessarily the ones you liked which is why it’s taking so long to decide. “okay..last dress. swear this time!” you said from the dressing room, he roller his eyes. “you said that the last time.” you can hear the sass in his tone, giggling. “well this time I swear. pinkie.” you were kind of nervous…what if he didn’t like it? you picked this dress out SPECIFICALLY for him. ugh get a grip! you bit your lip, you opened the curtain to reveal the dress you picked out.

as if everything went into slow motion, he felt his face go hot. even though the dress it self was a bit basic, you made it look good. it hugged all your curves in the right places, it made your face pop out, exposing how pretty you are.. “do you like it…?” you asked looking at him, those big e/c eyes staring at him made his heart jump. “you look pretty.” really pretty. “you think so?.” he knows so. rin nodded his head still looking at you, you’re so beautiful. when he stood up, you watched as he made his way towards to get a better look. It was perfect for you. “really beautiful..” he mumbled, making you smile placing a hand on his chest.

“I’m glad you like it.”



shoei baro(u) ;

you always loved having date night with shoei. one because, you barely see each other and second because you love to see the soft side of him. since you do watch every one of his matches, in person or on tv he acts completely different from how he acts when he’s with you. it’s like a light switch that turns on and off, with his team he’s this brutal king in the field that wants to destroy everyone vs how he’s with you. with you he’s such a gentleman and talks to you with a much softer tone than with his teammates which you found pretty funny.

“we have to leave in a few minutes!.” he shouted from the kitchen, “hold on, shoei! I can’t find my heel.” from the bedroom you can practically hear him groan, only shaking his head. searching and scrambling for your lost heel, 1 minute goes by and you finally found it, sliding it in your foot. “okay! i’m ready.” the sound of heels clicked against the floor, made him perk up. you were wearing a simple black dress with black heels with red on the bottom. his eyes softened at the sight of you. you look so beautiful. he was so distracted by how pretty you looked, he didn’t hear anything you had said, until he felt a hand on his chest. “are you paying attention?” you cocked an eyebrow at him, but when he didn’t answer you shook your head, “I said, we better get going before we’re late, sho. and why’re you staring at me like that?” you questioned tilting your head to the side, he hummed. “why else would I be looking at you.” you squinted your eyes towards him, “is there makeup smeared?” shoei rolled his eyes, “no idiot.” — “then what is it?” he gave a small smile,“you look beautiful.” your heart fluttered, giving a big smile, “am I?” he nodded his head with no shame. “you want me to say it again?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and you nodded, “I would love that..” your wish was his command.

“you look beautiful sweetheart.”

[sulumuns-dootah]

hear me out(possible fic idea but also just something I need to get off my mind…) female reader on their period with the sorest breasts know to man, but thankfully we have big handed demon to the rescue for a nice lil massage 🙂‍↕️(Beleth and Mammon were the first two that came to mind, same with Morax, his hands looked HUGE in that Lucifer card.)

WHB demons w/ fem!reader who has sore breasts

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Decided to add some more boys and put it into HC format bc i rarely get to do those for the nobles ^^

Characters: Amy, Mammon, Glaysalabolas, Beleth, Ronove, Morax, Marbas

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Amy, being the good boy he is, will gladly do anything for you to make you feel better

Just give him the word and he'll be eagerly all over your chest

Silently hopes that you also get cramps bc it's a known fact that orgasms help relieve those

The thought of you forcing him to eat you out is enough to make his horn-fluid start dripping from the tips of his horns

Maybe if the massage doesn't help, he could try sucking on your tits instead?

       ༺☆༻

Mammon on the other hand...

No funny or alterior motives here

You ask for a massage and he hapily delivers

But if you also need a massage somewhere else, make sure to let him know ;)

Henestly, he's the top pick to go to

His hands are perfect for this

He's a gentle giant through and through which translates amazingly into his touches

       ༺☆༻

When you ask Glasya to massage your breasts, he'll have to think about it, btu say yes in the end

But under one condition:

You lay as still as possible... or he can give you his special kiss (H-scene reference)

But knowing him, there's no guarantee he'll keep his word

Though, I do feel like once he's done with you, your painful boobs will be the last of your concern

       ༺☆༻

Ooh just sitting in Beleth's lap while his free hand takes turns on each of your tits while the other one is busy with bringing the cigarette to his lips

And if you're smoker too, occasionally he'll let you take a drag too while you're bouncing on his lap

What? Don't look at him like that! You really thought he'd do it for free?

       ༺☆༻

Asking Ronove is potentially even more riskier than asking Glasyalabolas, but(!) this man definitelly knows what he's doing with his hands

And there's something about seeing the hands that usually rip angels apart making you feel good instead

I can imagine him whispering sweet praises or filthy remarks as he does so

       ༺☆༻

Morax is actually a little bit shy when you ask him, but he's obviously down for the job

Making others feel better is his main job description afterall

He'll even offer to take on your pain so you don't suffer that much

I think Morax is the only demon to actually make the pain fully go away

       ༺☆༻

Somewhere between Ronove and Morax

The risk of asking Marbas is great, given his constant urges, but the payout is even greater

He may not get rid of the pain fully, but instead he'll turn it into a pleasurable pain

And yes, it is really ahard for him to restrain himself from just turning you into his fleshlight

Especially when you start letting out the sweetest moans of relief

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Thank you! Okay here’s my idea. It’s kinda like a slowburn fic but tickling? So imagine it’s a Ler in a Ler mood (maybe Chan?) but is trying to hold back from acting on it cuz he doesn’t wanna make the others uncomfortable. But the members notice and decide to tease the Ler by doing little things near him but not close enough to let him participate. So like poking each other, short quick tickle, stretching and showing off weak spots but hiding them too fast. Just really making the Ler mood for him worse trying to break him but he keeps holding back until finally one of the Lees just flat out invites him to tickle them cuz you know you want to hyung. Basically a flustered shy Ler fic! I hope I explained it right. I think it’d be fun for it to be a longer fic so you can play up the flustery parts. That’s my idea! I love ur writing so I hope you like this idea and feel inspired to write it! If not, maybe one day I will post my version of it. Thank youuu!! ☀️

𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀 — 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗮’𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 3.5k

𝙖/𝙣: happy birthday to me!! i’m so happy i got to post this fic on time hehe :3 i hope you all enjoy this!!

𝒍𝒆𝒆: skz

𝙡𝙚𝙧: chan

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

Ler mood: 9/10 

Chan was this close to losing it. He felt the overwhelming guilt flood his system, like the feeling of sticky fingers after eating ice cream, that annoyingly clammy feeling that spreads through the body with no end in sight. 

Jisung’s gentle snoring filled the studio, and Channie watched, laptop forgotten and bottom lip between his teeth, as the smaller boy shifted, his shirt rising just a bit more to reveal his tiny belly button. 

The urge to stick a finger in there, to hear the high pitched squeal and chaotic, unhinged laughter that would ensue was catastrophic. Chan fidnt know how he’s still holding back. 

But he was asleep, and what if it irritated him? 

Chan felt the guilt rise again, and he nearly groaned out loud. His ler mood was killing him, and he needed one of the members right now or else he might actually explode. 

Okay…so maybe he became a bit dramatic when his mood hits. But who could blame him?

Listening to Jisung complain about how sleep deprived he had been lately, Chan knew it would be horrible to just disturb him like that. 

Ler mood: 8/10

Wandering around the dorm in search of a potential lee, a sinking feeling began to emerge in Chan’s gut. Am I too overbearing? Is this crossing the line? And worst of all, Am I…weird for doing this? 

Chan froze mid-step, vision going slightly blurry as tears welled up in his eyes. He felt absolutely horrible, hunting his members down to tickle them just because he was feeling a certain way. 

Even if Changbin’s tummy looked too sweet not to be tickled, and even if Seungmin called him old one too many times, Chan wondered if the members hated the spontaneous tickling sessions he threw at them, whether it made them nervous, or even worse, scared of the leader. 

Dinner time was a chaotic time as normal, all the members chatting as they devoured the scrumptious cooking, courtesy of Minho. Except for one. 

Chan moved around the food on his plate with his fork and spoon, feeling squeamish and uncomfortable with the prospect of eating. He felt nervous as he felt seven pairs of eyes stare him down, like a flight of hawks. 

“You haven’t eaten a thing, hyung… are you okay?” Hyunjin’s tone dripped of suspicion, like honey, sweet and sultry at the same time. 

Channie gulped. “Yes, I’m fine,” He chuckled, trying to act normal even if he knew it wouldn’t work. His thoughts were confirmed when Minho narrowed his eyes at him across the room. 

Chan excused himself, trying his hardest to ignore how the others stared holes into the back of his head as he set his plate in the sink and left. 

Ler mood: 10/10

Hearing the sound of screaming laughter, Chan shot up from his studio table, turning his head to see the rest of the members immersed in playful banter, and poor m was getting it, dozens of fingers attacking as he squealed out, face red. 

Chan fought the itch to join in, instead trying to block out the sound of the maknae’s joyful hysterics  by slamming his headphones onto his head, pressing them against his ears in a hope that they’d drown out the laughter that made him wanna cry. 

It did nothing, and Chan felt his eyes well up with tears again as he was forced to listen to the one sound that he wanted to elicit the most. 

He watched in slight sadness as Changbin showed off the progress on his muscles, pointedly looking at Chan to signify his point, and Chan felt horribly guilty for not being able to focus on anything other how exposed Changbin’s armpit was, and how easy it’s be to pin him down and tickle him silly. 

It happened later again with Minho too. His feet were in Chan’s lap while the leader massaged, and Minho kept giving him hard looks, almost as if to try and egg him on as Channie’s brain filled with thoughts on how simply he could just skim his fingers along Minho’s soles and have the younger go ballistic beneath his tickling fingers. 

Then with Jeongin too. The maknae kept poking Channie’s sides, at this point he was just asking for it, telling Chan fo get him back fast because “You know you want to, hyung.”

Chan wondered if it was all on purpose and the members knew, or if the universe was conspiring against him to make his ler mood worse. 

Ler mood: 10/10

After two grueling days of drowning in his own thoughts, Chan was dragged into the living room by Minho, and there awaited the one sight that he’d been dreading. 

All of the members were seated around the couch, eyes sad and expressions concerned. Chan felt a knot form in his throat, and he felt so bad for making them feel upset. 

“Hyung, seriously, what’s going on?” Minho asked, his tone gentle as he took both of Channie’s hands. “Did someone hurt you? Do you feel sick? You’ve been off lately, we’ve all been worried.”

“Please,” Felix joined in. “Please just tell us. You can trust us, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Jisung added. “We know you love to tickle us, and we love to be tickled, hyung. You can do what you want when you’re in a ler mood. Don’t hold it back and don’t overthink it. You’re destroying your own happiness.”

Chan sank into the nearby couch section, and his mind felt like it was exploding, and it was unbearable. 

“I just want…to make you laugh. I want to make you all happy…” He started, sniffling as he felt many pairs of arms wrap around him. “It’s stupid…that I’m overthinking a ler mood, but I don’t want to…make you all uncomfortable.”

Jisung giggled, sinking to his knees in front of Chan, hands reaching out to cup the leader’s cheeks and jaw, wiping away the stray tears with his thumbs. “So you were watching me sleep because you wanted to tickle me?”

The leader sputtered, cheeks going red as the whole group laughed. “Well—hey!”

“So hyung’s in a ler mood. So why don’t we let him tickle us? You know you want to, hyung,”  Seungmin announced nonchalantly, although his red ears and pink cheeks told another story. 

“Mmm…how about two minutes each in whatever spot he wants?” Hyunjin joined in, teasingly poking a reddening Jeongin’s cheek. 

After some time discussing, the members all gathered on the carpet in a circle, staring up at Chan as the eldest gleefully sat in the center. 

“Everyone has to try not to move their arms a lot, so that he’ll be able to do what he wants.” Minho announced. 

“Easy for you to say, remember how many times you nearly killed hyung by slapping him while he tried to tickle you?” Jisung laughed, screaming when Minho made claws at his face. 

“First, Seungmin!” Felix screeched, and all of the members jumped into action, dragging the protesting puppy into the center of the circle, and restraining him to the floor. 

Biting his lip, Seung could feel his cheeks heat up as Chan stepped over him, then lowered to pin his hips to the floor. The leader’s slightly shy gaze was too much, and Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut, feeling flustered. 

He felt his shirt being untucked and pulled away, and he let out a helpless whine as his tummy was exposed to the cool air. 

Then, Seung felt a pair of lips attach to his belly, and his eyes shot open in horror, but far too late. 

“Oh my—GAHAHAHAHAHAA!!” Seungmin shrieked as he tried to curl in on himself to protect his tummy from the endless raspberries being peppered onto it. 

Chan smiled, albeit shyly, holding Seungmin’s sides while he blew a long one right into the boy’s navel. “NO—NOHOHOHOHOOO!! Ihihihit tihihihickles!!” Seungmin whined, unable to shield himself in any way. 

He endured more and more, feeling like he was gonna burst from how hard he was laughing. He even heard himself snort—how embarrassing. “STAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! Pleheheheheheaseee!!”

Before he even knew it, his time was up, and he was released. Panting, Seungmin ran towards Felix and dragged him to the center of the circle. 

Now, Felix was a giggling mess, pinned on his back in the middle of the living room floor. His arms were stretched above his head, held firmly by Hyunjin, whose long fingers were occasionally scribbled along Felix’s forearms to keep him squirming.

Seungmin, seeking revenge, and Jeongin, had each grabbed one of his legs, keeping them still despite Lixie’s half-hearted attempts to kick free. The boy whined and kicked, but he was unable to break free. 

Chan hovered near his waist, fingers poised hesitantly, but his expression was gleeful and joyful. 

Lixie let out a helpless wheeze, eyes fearful hesitatingly Changbin scooted to his torso, holding down his hips. “Please…Channie hyung, go easy!”

Chan grinned, confidence regained, and his fingers descended happily onto Felix’s waist. Lix’s reaction was immediate: his body arched off the floor, a burst of uncontrollable laughter spilling out of him.

“Gotcha~” Chan said smugly, his fingers moving with accuracy as he targeted Felix’s ribs.

Felix twisted and squirmed, his laughter growing louder and more desperate. “HYUHUHUHUHUNG!! THAHAHAHAHAT’S CHEEHHEHEHEATING!!” 

“How?” Chan asks, digging deeper to hear the brownie boy squeal, his body arching a little bit unable to go far. 

“Youhuhuhu knohohow that’s my wohohohOHOHORST SPOHOHOHOHOHOT!!” Felix howled, body bucking as he felt more fingers spider along his sensitive skin. 

“Times up!” Changbin called, and Chan groaned. 

“IHIHIHITS OKAHAHAHAAY!! Gohhohohoh on ihihihits fihihine!!” Felix squealed, wanting Chan to have as much time as he wanted to tickle the members until his ler mood was satisfied.

Chan smiled gently at that, continuing to tickle for about another minute with joy, loving the way his sunshine squirmed beneath him, laughing so happily at something so simple as some ticklish touches. 

Chan finally leaned back, giving Felix a moment to catch his breath. Felix panted, his voice hoarse but still tinged with residual giggles.

Hyunjin and Seungmin finally released him, and Felix immediately curled into a ball, hugging his sides protectively.

Hyunjin had been laughing way too hard during Felix’s ticklish ordeal. He’d been the first to volunteer to pin Felix’s arms, the loudest to chime in with teasing remarks, and the most smug about his role in the chaos.

So when Felix finally caught his breath, wiping away tears of laughter, he turned toward Hyunjin with a look that could only be described as pure vengeance. 

“Come here!” He shouted, grabbing Hyune’s arms and dragging him to the center, much to the others’ delight as they pinned him down. 

“No, no, NO!” Hyunjin shrieked, scrambling to his feet as Felix grabbed his arms to pin. The rest of the group erupted into cheers, their laughter filling the living room as Lixie tackled Hyunjin to the floor with surprising speed.

Hyunjin’s legs kicked wildly, but Chan was quick to sit on them, his grin smug as he held Hyunjin’s ankles down. “Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere,” Chan said, his tone playful as he grabbed at Hyunjin’s waist, motioning Lix to keep his arms steady as he dug deep into the boy’s armpits. 

Hyunjin shrieked, laughter tumbling out of him as Chan’s thumbs massaged torturous circles into his sensitive skin, even slipping under his shirt to access the bare skin. 

“NOHOHOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!” The ferret screamed dramatically, bucking up and down as Chan dug even deeper, grinning maniacally as Hyune squealed in response. 

Hyunjin’s laughter was frantic now, unable to get enough air between the bursts of giggles. His feet twitched and jerked, but no matter how much he squirmed, Felix and Seungmin kept him firmly in place.

“YOUHUHU AHAHAHAALLL SUHUHUHUHUCK!!” The laughter that spilled from Hyunjin was near non-stop, and the sound was contagious. His whole body shook with helpless giggles, making it hard for him to catch his breath as Chan’s relentless poking continued at his armpits.

Changbin raised a single arm to signify the time completed, and Chan released the red faced boy instantly, laughing as Hyune practically scrambled to hide behind a very amused Jisung. 

Hyunjin, still flushed with laughter and completely winded, shot them all a glare, though it was hard to stay mad when his grin was just as wide as everyone else’s.

Changbin had been watching the chaos unfold with a mixture of amusement and caution. Being the self-proclaimed strongest member, he was confident that he wouldn’t fall victim to the tickle onslaught that had already claimed three of the members.

But when the others turned their attention to him, his confidence started to waver.

“No! Not me!” He stumbled backwards as five of the members began to approach to help Chan—Minho, Seungmin, Jisung, Hyunjin, and Felix. 

“Careful boys,” Chan called out. “He won’t go down without a fight.” He proclaimed dramatically. 

It ended up taking all seven of them to bring a wailing Changbin to the floor. 

“NOOOOO!!” He cried out as each member sat on one of his limbs to finally pin him down, and he squeaked in fear as the leader sat triumphantly on his thighs. 

“Ready, Binnie?~” Chan cooed, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He shot his hands to Changbin’s hips, and much to the poor boy’s horror, dug in deep with his thumbs. 

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOT THE HIPS, NOTTHEHIPS—AAHAHAHAHAHA!!” 

Chan grinned in amusement as Changbin flopped around, laughing his head off as the leader targeted one of the worst spots on his body. 

“Not so strong now, huh?” Minho crooned, laughing as Changbin let out an adorable snort of laughter before devolving into frantic cackles yet again. 

“ENOUGH—EHEHEHEHENOUGHHHH!! IHIHIHU GIVE UHUHUHUHUP!!” 

The timer rang faintly in the background, so Chan gave Binnie’s hips one last squeeze before letting the boy go, relishing in how red the rapper’s face had become, combined with how teary eyed he seemed. 

Changbin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Nope,” the others said in unison, laughing as they watched their strongest member reduced to a giggling, embarrassed mess.

Jeongin had been watching from the sidelines with a mix of amusement and dread. Sure, he’d laughed along with the others as Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin were respectfully reduced to ticklish messes, but the way everyone slowly turned their attention toward him made his stomach drop.

“No. Nope. Not happening,” Jeongin said, backing up quickly, his hands raised in a defensive gesture.

“Oh, it’s definitely happening,” Chan said, his smile far too innocent to be reassuring.

“You’ve been way too smug over there,” Seungmin added, cracking his knuckles as he stepped forward. “Time to see how well you can handle it, maknae.”

Innie darted a glance around the room, trying to find an escape route, but the others had already spread out, blocking any possible exit. “Guys, come on,” He said, his voice pitching slightly as he tried to reason with them. “I’m the youngest! You can’t do this to me!”

Felix snorted. “That’s exactly why we can do this to you.”

Before Jeongin could make a break for it, Hyunjin and Changbin lunged forward, grabbing him by the arms. Innie let out a startled yelp, thrashing wildly as they dragged him toward the center of the circle.

“NOO!!” He shrieked as high pitched as he could, causing one of the members to groan loudly in the background. Innie was very quickly shut up by the feeling of feathers gliding along his neck. 

“WAHAIT!! Nohohohohobody sahahahaid toohohohohools!!” Jeongin squealed as Chan cooed, cupping the maknae’s chin with one hand and tilting his head up to expose his neck, grinning down at the youngest’s giggly expression while the others used whatever feathers they found, tracing and fluttering along his sensitive neck. 

“I know, I know,” Chan pouted down at the maknae. “But you’re too cute not to use them on~”

Innie giggled, eyes tearing up as the tickles continued without an end in sight. More feathers fluttered along the shell of his ears, and Jeongin exploded into giggles, his face scrunching up as he squirmed helplessly.

“Oh, baby, I love you so much,” Chan smiled, brushing Innie’s hair out of his face. “You’re so cute~”

The timer rang loudly, disrupting the vibe, but Jeongin was too dazed to really care. The members made sure to slow to a stop, however. 

“Look who’s so cute being tickled,” Jisung chuckled. 

“Good, because you’re next, and boy am I not gonna let you off easy~” Chan laughed, and Jisung gulped hard. 

“This is a bad idea,” Jisung said quickly, his words tumbling over each other as he was dragged to the center. “You really don’t want to do this. I’ll scream. The neighbors will call the cops.”

“Let them,” Chan replied smoothly, kneeling beside him with a devilish grin. “We’ll just explain that our dear Han Jisung couldn’t handle a little tickling.”

Chan didn’t wait for him to finish. His hands dove straight for Jisung’s ribs, digging in with a devilish intent, and the effect was immediate.

“NOOHOHOHO!! AAAAAHHH!!” Jisung shrieked, his body jerking violently as he tried to escape the relentless fingers.

“Oh, he’s loud,” Felix noted with a grin, poking at Jisung’s sides to add to the chaos.

“I CAHAHAHANT HEHEHELP IHIHIHIT!!” Sung howled as Chan scribbled deep into the crevices. 

“Reeeaallly had to go for the death spot, huh?” Minho winced as Sungie let out a particularly long scream of laughter. 

“LET ME GO LET ME GO—AHAHAHAHAGH STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Jisung screeched, a laughing, flailing mess as Chan really used the tips of his fingers to taser at the skin. 

“THEHEHEHE TIHIHIHIMERRR!!” Jisung wailed as a last resort, and the second Chan stopped, the sound of the ringing became clear. 

“Whoops…sorry Sung,” Chan grinned sheepishly as everyone released the quokka’s limbs. 

“You’re all…soho evil…” Sungie panted. 

Minho had been quietly observing the chaos from the corner of the room, his arms crossed and his face set in a neutral expression, though his sharp eyes betrayed a hint of amusement. 

He’d been smart enough to stay out of the fray while everyone else fell victim one by one, but as the group’s focus began to shift in his direction, his confidence faltered.

“What about Minho hyung?” Jeongin said suddenly, an impish grin spreading across his face as he wiped at the tears still clinging to his cheeks. “He’s been awfully quiet over there.”

Minho’s eyes darted to the grinning maknae, and he was already planning exactly where he’s wreck him until the boy was a giggling, howling mess. 

“Yes, I saved the best for last.” Chan grinned, cracking his knuckles. Minho felt a spike of nervousness spread through his system. 

He let himself be dragged to the center. What? He was already gonna be wrecked anyway, might as well save the energy fighting to actially survive the wrecking.

Minho groaned as Jisung cleared his throat. “I have a very special announcement for you, Channie hyung.” 

Minho shot his head up, pleading with his eyes to Jisung to not tell him. Don’t tell him. Please—

“Minho hyung has this really adorable habit of flapping his hand whenever he gets overwhelmed while being tickled.” Sungie blabbed joyfully. 

Screw you, Han Jisung. 

“Oh, really?” Chan smiled down at Minho, who frantically shook his head, biting his lip to seal his mouth closed as the leader directed the others to pull the dancer’s knees away from each other. 

“Such ticklish thighs, aren’t they?” 

Minho nearly screeched in response, and he’s never felt so much fear in one moment. Laughter exploded out of him the minute Chan’s hands clamped down on the firm muscle of his thighs. 

“NOHOHOHOHOHOTT THEHEHEHEHEERE!!” Minho screeched as Chan squeezed, and the leader watched as Min’s fists clenched in a desperate attempt to alleviate the ticklish sensations. And to possibly hide that flapping of his. 

Channie cooed, slipping his fingers under the capri pant leg to truly access that sensitive area right above Minho’s knee with his nails. The poor boy went absolutely ballistic, thrashing as laughter poured out of him endlessly. 

Then it happened. 

Minho’s fingers splayed free and his hands began to flap erratically in a desperate, frantic motion as he cackled in the background. 

Chan felt his heart nearly explode with how much it swelled. “Awwww…you’re so cute, Minho-yah…”

Minho kicked his legs out, a mess of laughter and adorable squeals as his hands continued to flap in tiny, fluttering motions, fingers closing and opening in frantic desperation.  

“IHIHIHIM NOHOHOHOT CUUHUHUHUHUTE!!” Minho wailed, tears spilling down his cheeks as Channie’s nails teased at his sensitive thighs, massaging circles deep into the firm skin and sending Minho into a screaming, thrashing frenzy of laughter. 

The timer rang faintly, but Chan continued going until he was satisfied at how much he had tickled the fight out of Minho. 

“That habit of yours,” Chan chuckled. “Cutest fucking thing ever.” 

Minho blushed a deep red at the ears, shoving at Chan’s arm as he panted, gasping for air. “You’re welcome I didn’t put up a fight, dipshit,” Minho melted as Chan hugged him tight. 

Ler mood: 0/10 — Satiated. 

[torrrrrra]

okay we get it. all bat-no one see without a cape-man stuff so everyone in JL have no idea why this man so mad at Bruce Wayne. Hate white rich slutty guy, well YEAH eat the rude and etc, but theirs sweet little kinda depressive Bruce Wayne? Who's actually got drunk and cry about how much his baby is adorable? No one can hate Bruce Wayne. Even Luthor adore with him. So, they just suggest that The Prince of Gotham and Gotham Knight did have a situationship.

Because every time when something starts mention with Bruce, Batman just get out of room. Or start being creepy quiet. Or start being an ass

"He's incredibly incompetent."

"No, he's not. You live in Gotham, you know how much he did for your city???"

"Not so much as he can."

And that's freaking everyone out, because what the fuck??? Stor being so mean for theirs precious boy??? Theirs literally main investor???

And, you know, they starts trying to show to Spooky that Bruce is good, he's doing his better, but it's doesn't fucking work.

So yeah, Batman and Bruce Wayne are exes.

Until they're not.

Probably it's some mission or JL start trust each other enough to shows up theirs identity and it's good, Green Arrow you're a SLUT, but Batman. He sighs and looks at everyone and then it's just.

What the fuck.

"Soo, it was a your typically self destructive self deprecating behavior or are you bipolar? Please, tell that's the second one."

"Unfortunately, that's the first, guys." says the kid from Batman's Bruce's Cape and he's so tine and adorable, but what the fuck.

Bruce's exhausted, let his kid take all social interactions, thank you.

[gabbytvclarke]

The dog and the postwoman PART TWO: The Sleepover

Part one here! ♥

• Summary: After meeting Arthur TV and filming her first pub golf, y/n heads back to the boys’ flat for a sleepover, where more sweetness with Arthur continues. • Pairing: Arthur TV x female!reader (Also friend!George Clarke, friend!ChrisMD and friend!Arthur Hill) • Slow burn fluff, newfound friends to something more? More of exchanged glances, light touches, etc. • Warnings: alcohol, swearing, innuendoes • Word count: 4,452 words Note: Arthur Hill will be either referred to by his full name or just ‘Hill’, Arthur TV will just be ‘Arthur’!

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

“Oh really?” Arthur questioned, his cheeks beginning to burn again as y/n turns to look at him. The closeness of their faces in the cramped taxi adding to the heat as they lock eyes and share giggle.

George clears his throat, feeling the rising tension. “Better than people shipping Arthur and Chris again!” He chuckles, turning to Chris, “The amount of edits of you biting Arthur is mental.” Y/n and Arthur laugh. George draws his attention to his phone, resting his head on his fist with his elbow leaning on the taxi door handle. Chris initiates more small talk with the driver.

Arthur looks out the window to try and calm his nerves, sobering up slightly and suddenly feeling a tad anxious after the boys mentioned them potentially being shipped. He wonders to himself whether the boys are teasing him because his crush is so one-sided, or whether they're teasing because y/n is into him too. Could she like him? Is she only nice out of pity because he's a bit of an oddball? He knows the only way to find that out is to speak to y/n directly, and because of that he begins to feel a weight on his shoulders. Y/n also watches the streets pass by through the window on Arthur’s side, every so often she glances to Arthur. She can see that Arthur's deep in thought, tapping his fingers on the car door and knotting his eyebrows together. She remembers seeing moments in videos where he gets into a daze, and doesn’t think too much about it. Just in case though, she breaks the silence in the back of the taxi.

“What film are we watching when we get in?” She asks.

“Hm, not sure. Chris will probably pick or else he’ll get in a strop.” George answers quietly with a smirk, waiting for Chris to retaliate but he’s still too busy talking to the driver.

“Probably something terrifying,” Arthur chimes in, louder on purpose so Chris can definitely hear, “Chris likes to make us watch films full of jump scares to ‘see our reactions’, though I really think it’s because he’s too scared to watch it alone.” he laughs at his own comment, feeling a bit more relaxed again.

“That’s so not true Arthur.” Chris states, his voice breaking halfway through. “God I need a drink when we get home.”

“I think you’ve had enough mate.” George quips.

“Of water, you dickhead.” Chris snaps back, throwing his head back against the headrest.

When they pull up to their flat, Chris pays the driver and wishes him a good evening as the other three make their way into the building. They all kick their shoes off and Arthur removes his dog onesie, which he was using as a coat after only wearing shorts and a T shirt underneath. George also whips off his pickle costume, wearing similar attire to Arthur the whole time too. They throw their costumes on the floor. “Oh hey guys… and girl.” Arthur Hill says, walking through to the entryway, not expect y/n’s presence. Everyone else greets him as Chris enters, throwing his pickle costume to the pile on the floor too, muttering something about binning them later. “You all look like you need big glasses of water” Hill chuckles, looking across each ex-player, his eyes ending on Chris and widening.

“Fuck the film, I’m going to bed,” Chris groans, heading to the kitchen to grab some water first, “I’ll grab you two some blankets and spare pillows. You okay taking one of the sofas too y/n?” Y/n looks to their huge comfy sofas and nods.

“I think I can handle a movie, if anyone's still interested?” George offers to the room. Y/n and the Arthurs accept. Y/n immediately plops on one of the sofas, patting and feeling it with her hands and smiles to herself at how they're as comfortable as they look.

“I’ll grab you guys some water and paracetamol… and some food too.” Hill says as he heads into the kitchen area, Arthur follows him but passes to go to the bathroom. George collapses onto the other sofa and gets Netflix up on their huge TV. Hill passes y/n a tablet and water, setting the other two on the shared coffee table. He sits himself next to y/n. “No, Hill. Come sit by me mate.” George calmly suggests. Hill looks to him confused, shrugs and obliges. Y/n is busy messaging Becky to even pay attention. George then whispers in Hill's ear and they look to y/n, who's still none the wiser, and Hill gives George a subtle thumbs up.

Arthur enters the lounge area holding a pile of fresh folded blankets and pillows balancing on top. “Chris says ‘good night’,” he grunts a half-arsed impression of a grumbly Chris. He wobbles his way to the sofas, dropping the pillows to the floor and the top two smaller blankets onto George and Hill, and taking the larger blanket to share on the sofa with y/n as he plops down next to her. "They're for us to use later." Arthur explains to y/n. She nods and drapes the blanket over them both.

“I’ve put a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven, you all should definitely eat something tonight.” Hill says.

“Thanks Hilly” y/n replies. George scrolls through the horror section on Netflix, waiting for everyone to agree. Y/n is open minded the whole time, whereas Arthur doesn’t want to watch one that he’s seen recently. Hill doesn’t fancy anything too gory and George just wants a film picked ASAP. The boys bicker a little as y/n watches on in amusement. Arthur makes himself comfortable, slouching with his arm resting by y/n. Y/n gets herself into a more relaxed position herself, but couldn’t deny feeling slightly chilly while she sits by the flat’s flimsy windows. She pulls her side of the blanket further up to her chin, sitting with her knees to her chest. “You cold?” Arthur whispers to her, while George and Hill are debating what makes a film 'too gory'.

“A bit, but I’ll be okay,” y/n replies. Arthur doesn’t have anything to chivalrously lend to her, not without being shirtless.

“Oh! Do you want to wear my dog onesie? I promise I didn’t spill anything on it.” He offers, throwing his half of the blanket off himself and standing to his feet, a little too fast and giving himself head rush. Y/n chuckles at his eagerness.

“Sure, thank you,” she answers, but by this time Arthur is already bringing the onesie over. She stands and puts it on over her postwoman costume. It was already big on Arthur, so it hangs even baggier on her, with her feet still tucked in the cuffed foot holes. She sits back down and pulls the blanket back over herself. “Much better,” she sighs contently.

“Don’t forget the hood!” Arthur grins, pulling the hood up from between her shoulders and over her head, giving her a couple of light pats. “There. Good girl.” He whispers as he leans in closer to her, a nod to her comment back in the last pub. Y/n scrunches her face up as she laughs, Arthur’s hand still on her head. He gently slides his hand down to her cheek, leaving it there for a second before setting it back on his lap. Y/n feels her face start to burn, thankful Arthur moved his hand away in time before he could feel it too, but also wishing he was cupping her cheek still. Finally, they all decide on a movie. Hill excuses himself to grab their dinner before it plays, then re-enters a few minutes later carrying two plates of pizza, which he had kindly cut into slices. George immediately grabs a slice. “Thanks mate,” he mumbles with his mouth full. As Hill gets himself comfy on his sofa again, George presses play on the movie. The four sit in silence while they watch and eat, ironically Hill eating more pizza than the others.

A particularly intense moment begins building in the movie, and y/n's body stiffens up. Arthur looks to her and can see her wide eyed and taking shallower breaths. "Ahh!" He suddenly screamed as he grabs her, the hand that was once resting behind her now grabbing her shoulder and his other hand reaching over and grasping her arm, making her jump out of her skin. She flinches so hard that the hood of the onesie flies back off. "Fucking hell mate!" George also calls out, pausing the film specifically to turn and shout at Arthur. Hill is sat in silence with his hand to his chest, panting slightly.

"Sorry guys, I won't do it again." Arthur chuckles, still holding y/n but he loosens his grip. The film continues. "Sorry," his whispers again but just to y/n, pulling her slightly closer to direct his apology gently into her ear.

"It's okay," she giggles back quietly, nestling herself more comfortably against Arthur. He smiles to himself as his attention turns back to the TV. After a while, y/n pulls the blanket up to her nose.

"Is it my breath?" Arthur jokes quietly.

"No no, my nose is cold," she muffles, which is true.

"Lemme see." Arthur replies, pulling the blanket off her face and pressing his nose against hers. "Oh yeah.' he whispers sweetly, his face lingering there for a moment as his warm breath fans her face. She pauses, even her pulse. He tilts his face to the side slightly and slowly leans in further, his lips not even an inch away from hers, before George chokes on his water. The sudden noise causing the pair to jump. They had almost forgotten that there are others present.

George sputters as Hill smacks him on the back. "Sorry. Wrong hole," he sheepishly croaks.

"Now we have to rewind because you forgot how to drink, a basic human task!" Hill whines.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," George murmurs, reaching for the remote and getting the film to where it was before it was interrupted. Y/n and Arthur share a look. Both sporting a shy smile, both wondering if the other could hear the other's heart pounding.

A jump scare happens and the whole room jumps, y/n is startled so much so that she grips Arthur's thigh in a panic. His eyes go wide. Her hand feels perfect on him, half over his shorts' leg and the other half on his bare skin - which feels like it's burning under her touch. His tongue swipes over his lower lip nervously. She realises what she's doing and slowly releases her grip, adjusting the blanket as an excuse to pull her hand away. She notes to herself how firm and hairy Arthur's thigh is, so rugged compared to his soft demeanour. "Scared?" He whispers teasingly in her ear.

"No..." She retorts, almost silently. He squeezes her closer to him sweetly and chuckles.

"Cute." Did he just say... Did she hear that right? She can't help the smile creep on her lips either way.

After the movie finishes, the group take a few moments to discuss what they think of the ending. Y/n is distracted by her phone pinging, so she leans over to check it, laying on her side but still curled up under the blanket. It’s a text from Chip, hardly making any sense.

‘I’m home and a live heehe was nice meetin you proper today. u should ask author out you wld be so leng leng together xxxx’

Y/n thanks him for the fun day and a good night message, returning her full attention back to the group conversation but staying laid on her side. “Y/n looks like a little cinnamon bun over there, you tired from the pub golfing?” Hill asks. Arthur turns his gaze back to her, his heart melting a little at how cozy she looks.

“A little tired, yeah,” y/n answers before yawning. The three golfers tell Hill about their day, each with their own little anecdotes. Arthur does a lot of the talking, keeping his voice lower for Chris’s sake. It sounds like liquid gold. Listening to the boys’ chatter, y/n feels her eyes getting heavy as her blinks get slower. And slower. And slower.

--------

Her eyes gradually open, thankfully only a tinge of a headache surrounding her, all thanks to Hill’s insistence of drinking water from the previous night. The morning rays cascade on her through the windows of the boys’ living room. She gently sits up and looks over her shoulder, confused to see a pillow behind her that she definitely hadn’t placed the night before. When she faces forward again, she can see Arthur laying on his back on the other couch, staring intensely at his phone. When she squints her eyes, she can just make out a chess game on his screen. “Morning,” she yawns, startling him out of his match.

“Oh! Morning y/n,” Arthur replied, casually locking his phone and rolling over to face her. Abandoning a game that just now, he was so focused on. “Did you sleep alright?”

“I did,” she replies and a groggy smile, “although I really need to brush my teeth.”

“Me too, I’ll see if the guys have any spare toothbrushes for us.” Arthur replies, before stretching and hopping to his feet. He shuffles out of sight before y/n leans over and grabs her phone. It’s almost dead, so she grabs the portable charger from her postbag and sits back on the sofa. Upon plugging it in, she notices a text from George from the early hours of the morning.

“Cuties 🥹”

With a photo attached. She clicks the message for a better look and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. The photo is of her laying asleep curled up on the sofa, phone in hand. However, Arthur was big-spooning her, in almost the fact same curled up position. She zooms in on the photo to see his arm is sandwiched between and his face is all squishy from his position - he was fast asleep too. She hearts the photo and saves it to her phone, feeling giddy. However, soon after she stops to think. ‘If he was lying with me here, why was he on the other sofa when I woke up?’ She starts to worry herself, scared she farted or snored or something and gave him the ick.

“Well that’s not the face of a morning person.” George stated, standing in the living room in just sweatpants and a baggy T shirt. His croaky voice startles y/n slightly before she chuckles.

“Just in deep thought,” she replies.

“About what, the photo?” George asks. Y/n shushes him and waves her hand at him aggressively. George rolls his eyes.

“Relax y/n, I walked past Chris’s room just now and they’re both gassing about Lord of the Rings stuff.” Which makes y/n grin. George takes a seat next to her on the sofa. “The photo’s pretty simple, he fell asleep next to you.”

“Yeah,” y/n nodded, “but what happened?”

“Not sure entirely, I was chatting to Hill and realised Television was suspiciously quiet, when we looked over we saw you two spooning.” George explains, “we figured we’d leave you both to your sleepy time and both headed to bed ourselves. We left spare toothbrushes out for you by the way.”

Y/n stands up and yawns. “Thanks Clarkey” she sends him a half smile before making her way to the bathroom.

“Wait,” he starts, “Looks like Arthur slept on this couch.” he gestures to the pillows and disarrayed blankets on the other sofa.

“Yeah I think he did, did you see him get up at all before you went to bed?” Y/n asks quietly, fully aware she’s closer to Chris’s room now.

“I didn’t, like I said, you were cozied up when we last saw you.” he replies. Y/n pauses to think, eyes serious. “If you’re worried, just ask him mate,” George suggests. Y/n nods and heads to Chris’s room. George shakes his head with a smirk and whispers “Young love” to himself.

When y/n gets to Chris’s doorway, she can tell the boys are in deep conversation. As soon as Chris locks eyes with her, he clears his throat.

“Oh, good morning y/n. You sleep well?” he asks, his voice higher than usual.

“I did thanks, sorry to interrupt the hobbit talk,” she starts, making the boys chuckle. Arthur struggles not to stare, but he can’t believe how good she looks first thing in the morning, although it doesn’t surprise him. “Arthur, there are toothbrushes awaiting us.”

They head to the bathroom and brush their teeth in a comfortable silence. When they're both finished and put their toothbrushes back in the spare glass, the brush heads happen to be pressed together. "Look," Arthur points, giggling, "our brushes are smooching!" Making y/n laugh. Arthur beams proudly, admiring how unreserved her smile is. Just before they head out, y/n psyches herself up and reaches for the hem of Arthur's shirt.

“Hey, before we go back out there, I have to ask you something.” His hand is already on the door handle, but he stops himself and turns to face her, feeling his chest tighten.

“Sure, what’s up?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I hate to be awkward, but George sent me a photo from last night.” She begins, unlocking her phone to pull the photo up.

“Is it the one of us asleep on the couch? George sent me the same one.” Arthur chuckles shyly, sliding his hands in his shorts pockets and finding it hard to look in y/n’s direction. His face quickly drops and a look of anxiety washes over him, thinking he's in trouble. “I am so, so sorry for that. I must’ve fallen asleep before I could even realise-”

“Oh that’s okay Arthur, really. I thought it was quite cute.” Y/n assures him. Colour starts to flood back to his face as he finally looks at her, a small smile tugs one corner of his mouth with relief.

“I was more curious to know what happened after you first fell asleep, I noticed you switched sofas during the night,” she explains, searching his face for an answer before he even speaks.

“I see,” Arthur nods slowly, and he begins to explain:

“I’m not sure when I fell asleep but when I woke up, I was still laying behind you, like in the photo. You were fast asleep and I kind of panicked. I didn’t want you to wake up and see I was laying up against you without any consent and think I was a weirdo or something. So I figured I should move to the other couch and hoped you’d not know about the accidental spooning. I very carefully got up from the couch. You looked comfy, but I could only imagine the neck ache you’d wake up with. So I grabbed a pillow from the floor and very carefully lifted your head and slipped it under. You looked so much comfier then. Then I got on my couch and I guess I fell asleep straight away, as I can't remember much else.”

Y/n sighs, she smiles and shakes her head. “You’re so sweet, you really are.” They look at each other for what feels like minutes. Arthur’s glances switch between her eyes and her lips. She steps towards him, her gaze never leaving his sweet smile. A knock on the bathroom door brings them both back down to earth. “Are you guys done? Sorry but I need a shit.” Chris’s voice is heard in the other side. The pair giggle before Arthur rolls his eyes and opens the door. He stands to the side to let y/n leave first but Chris barges in mumbling an apology. When the pair walk back out to the open living area, George is preparing breakfast. "Oh, there you two are," he smiles, "I'm just about to make some grub, would either of you like any?" Y/n politely shakes her head.

"I'm okay for now thank you, I should really head home and get out of this uniform before I stink the country up anymore!" She replies.

"I should go and shower too, do you want to share an Uber? I'll pay." Arthur offers.

"We can go halves." She grins back, then unzips the dog onesie places it on the sofa. As she does so, the smell of Arthur's aftershave mixed with a hint of beer breezes past her, a harsh reminder of just how much she fancies the man.

They head to where their shoes were discarded, preparing to leave. "Just so you know, you smell lovely." He whispers, his eyes then suddenly widening. "I mean- that sounded creepy- I just mean that you don't smell bad! You- you won't stink up the country!" He then blabbers, bringing his palm to his forehead with a disappointed grin.

"Thank you Arthur," she replies with a genuine tone and smile, letting him know that he's not a creep.

"Speaking of smell," Arthur starts, turning to face towards the bathroom, "Bye Chris, enjoy your shit!" A muffled 'fuck off' is heard retaliating from across the flat.

"Bye guys!" y/n adds on between laughs, she faces George "Please say bye to Hilly for me when he wakes up." George waves his spatula playfully, like a suburban wife waving out her husband.

"Good bye, loooove you!" He calls out in a soft, higher pitched voice.

The Uber doesn't take long at all to arrive outside the boys' building. Arthur rushes ahead of y/n, holding the door open for her. She bows her head as if to thank him and climbs in, Arthur following behind her. When y/n gives the driver her address, Arthur is shocked to realise that she only lives a 20 minute walk away from his place. With nothing but the hum of the car engine for a short while, Arthur breaks the silence. "You know, it's refreshing to meet someone who is just as nice in person as they seem in their videos."

Y/n is surprised by the sudden compliment. "Same goes to you," she replies, "and you really do go wild after only a couple of drinks." She then chuckles.

"You should give me your number, I'm sure Isaac, Italianbach, would love to have you as a guest on our Bach and Arthur podcast. We can set something up." Arthur cleverly tests the waters, still unsure if she likes him or is just super nice.

"Great idea!" Y/n chirps, holding her hand out for his phone. He passes it over and watches her type with a smirk. When she hands it back to him, he grins to himself we notices that she saved her name as:

'Y/n 🐶✉️'

"Very nice." He states, amused. Sending her a text immediately that makes her giggle:

'Woof woof 😉'

They talk amongst themselves about upcoming videos, y/n is excited to hear that Arthur plans on playing another Dress to Impress with the boys. Arthur notices that the driver is heading to his place first. "Do you want a coffee at mine, we can walk to yours after as it's basically just around the corner." He offers with a wholesome smile.

"I would love to, but I desperately want to have a shower before I see some of my friends this afternoon." She replies, a hint of disappointment in her tone. "Otherwise, coffee would be nice." Unfortunately for both of them, Arthur doesn't quite realise at the time that y/n is suggesting they go for coffee sometime, like a date.

Arthur only nods though, "That's fair enough. Well I'll text you about the podcast soon at least." He smiles, although if she were someone who knew him better, she'd notice the slight pensiveness behind his eyes. He wonders to himself whether she's actually busy or just rejecting him kindly. Though later that day when he follows her on Instagram, he'll see from her story that she was telling the truth.

As the Uber turns to Arthur's street and starts pulling over, Arthur gives y/n a tap on her leg. "Don't worry about paying me half by the way, it's my treat." He tells her, still wanting to be chivalrous as ever despite his self doubt.

"You don't have to, but thank you" y/n replies, feeling warmer than she did five seconds ago.

"I'm glad Chris invited you to pub golf, it was fantastic meeting you" Arthur states, words oozing in y/n's ears like warm honey, as he reaches out to shake her hand.

"You too Arthur, have a lovely day" She replies sweetly, taking his hand to shake it before boldly pulling him towards her and pecking his cheek, slightly catching the outer corner of his lips too. Arthur rushes to unbuckle his seatbelt and step out the car before y/n can notice his face turning scarlet. As the Uber pulls away, y/n turns to watch Arthur walk toward his building, noticing his hand is pressed to his cheek with a dopey smile on his face.

--------

Over the next few weeks, y/n and Arthur message each other animal facts and videos about dinosaurs and general science back and forth. They also plan her appearance on the podcast. One day, Arthur sends her a random Instagram post of a postman cuddling a puppy and adding 'it's us 🥹' to the message, making y/n go fuzzy inside.

When Chris uploads the pub golf video almost a whole month after filming it that fateful day. Y/n reads the comments with rosy cheeks, completely unaware that 'basically just around the corner', Arthur is sat on his computer chair doing the same.

Commenter 1: omg did you see the way Arthur looked at y/n????? ↳ Commenter 2: Fr fr he was smitten

Commenter 3: get y/n and Arthur in a team next time Chris

Commenter 4: y/nTV is going to happen I’m calling it now!!!!!!

Commenter 5: 23:37 chip says 'bros in love' DID ANYONE ELSE HEAR THAT ↳ Commenter 6: Right? That had to be about y/n!

Commenter 7: there's definitely some tension between y/n and arthur 😏😏 did you SEE that arm wrestle

Commenter 8: Y/N FREDERICK IS HAPPENING. feel free to come back to my comment in like 4 years time when they announce their wedding in a museum :)

--------

With both of them being too awkward to blatantly ask the other out or even admit their feelings, they continue their mix of friendship and flirtationship while their YouTube circle watches on in frustration. That's when Arthur Hill then decides to invite y/n to join him, Arthur TV, and George on a platform roulette video.

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

A/n: Here is part two! Thanks so much to everyone for their sweet reception of part one. I feel like this one wasn't as good, but please let me know still if you'd like a part 3! ♥ Tag: @ooostarwarsfandom501st - Gabby xo

[thanosscross]

Sharing is Caring - Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P x reader x Kwon Ji-Yong/G-Dragon part 2

Summary: For weeks you couldn't get either man out of your head, but what happens whenever they finally find you and have a chance to speak with you again.

Warnings: None for this part, all fluff for you lovelies <3

After that night you tried to go back to your usual life, but it was hard whenever everything reminded you of the two men you had slept with, it was a first for you, most guys you got with were always vanilla, so spending that night with Seung Hyun and Ji Yong was a complete 180 for you, not that you were complaining. You attempted to find them on social media, but after looking up their names and seeing the extensive internet history of them being famous and apart of a huge K-pop group, you were quickly scared away.

Seung Hyun and Ji-Yong were having the same exact issue as you, desperately trying to figure out who exactly you were, but without a last name it was proving to be a lot more difficult than they had originally thought. After reaching out to a few friends the boys were quick to learn your name, thank god Ji-Yong had taken a video of the boys at the club, catching you not far off in the background of it. Whenever you got message from Ji-Yong you were concerned at first, until he explained that your friend, Mi-Su, had given him your number. Agreeing to meet again at your apartment considering they had already been there you all sat in the living room. You felt flustered under their gazes, knowing that the last time they saw you, you weren't exactly sober. "We can't stop thinking about you" Ji-Yong started nervously, this topic wasn't exactly something you could just cut to the point with, but Ji-Yong wasn't really sure how to ease into it. You could feel your face heat up as Ji-Yong spoke, looking down at your hands "I-I've thought about you two as well" You shyly admitted, your admission caused both boys' hearts to jump, looking back up to see their reactions, you saw them both looking at each other. "So....what does that mean?" You asked after a moment, messing with your rings nervously, you weren't exactly sure why they were here, but you figured with you not being able to get them out of your head, why not have them come over and talk like they want to?

"We um..We talked about it...and if you're okay with it..we both wanna take you out" Seung Hyun nervously mumbled out, scratching the back of his neck as he looked down at his shoes "Only if you're okay with it, y/n" Ji-Yong jumped in, watching your face closely as you processed their request, both of them? "So..like..two boyfriends?" You asked tilting your head confused, Ji-Yong couldn't hide his smile at your cuteness "Basically..yea" He answered sheepishly, his freshly dyed red hair falling in front of his eyes. "I..um.." You stopped, were you really about to do this? What has your life come to? You worked at a half ass restaurant as a cook, and now two famous k-pop idols were wanting you to be their girlfriend, what the fuck.

You noticed their nervousness, Ji-Yong repeatedly adjusting his beanie, Seung Hyun messing with his hands, his eyes never meeting yours until you replied "Sure" You shrugged smiling, watching both of their heads turn towards you quickly in shock "R-Really?" Seung Hyun asked in shock, glancing at you and then Ji-Yong, almost like he couldn't believe what the hell he was hearing. "Yea, You both seem really sweet, and hot, so why not, as long as I won't mess with you two as friends" You explained calmly, trying to stay calm, knowing you'd call your friend later to freak out about your situation. "No, No we've already talked about it" Ji-Yong assured before smiling softly "So would you..wanna stay for dinner?" You asked softly, motioning to your kitchen nervously.

The next week was amazing, you had spent it with both men, learning more about them while starting to realize you really liked the two. "Y/n?.." You heard Seung Hyun's half asleep voice call from the living room, groaning and rolling out of your bed, you slowly shuffled to the living room where both Ji-Yong and Seung Hyun stood, finally ready for work "I was laying down, this better be good" You huffed crossing your arms under your blanket that you had wrapped around you "You're adorable, Aegiya" Ji-yong smiled, pressing a short kiss to your forehead before looking to Seung Hyun "We have to rehearse today, but did you want to come to our place?..You can meet Dae-Sung and Tae-Yang?" Seung Hyun asked softly, resting a hand on your shoulder "You can wear that, if your heart is set on it" He offered, you just nodded going to get your phone and other things you'd need, you'd be damned if you were getting all dressed up this early in the morning, the sun hadn't even come up yet, and wasn't for a few more hours. Both boys just laughed as you shuffled back to them, leaning into Seung Hyun's side as Ji-Yong opened the door for you both before taking your hand holding it gently as Seung Hyun wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

You laid around for about six hours before you heard the door open and different voices start to echo off of the walls "Oh Y/nnn!" You heard Ji-Yong's voice call, you slowly got up from your spot, peeking out of the room before shyly walking out towards the group of men that stood waiting in the living room "Guys! Meet Y/n, she's amazing" Seung Hyun smiled brightly, you waved softly chewing on your bottom lip gently was you approached them all, Ji-Yong wrapped his arms around you quickly, resting his head on your shoulder as you shook Dae-Sung and Tae-Yang's hands, giving Seung Hyun a soft smile as he kissed your knuckles gently "Aein" He greeted as you blushed brightly resting your head on Ji-Yong's as the others spoke, the entire night Dae-Sung had a weird feeling about you, the way you were dating Ji-Yong but the way you interacted with Seung Hyun was weird, the thing that confirmed it? Was after Ji-Yong fell asleep, Dae-Sung had caught you and Seung Hyun making out, his arm propping against the wall keeping you pinned as his lips were firmly pressed against yours. Sneaking into his friends room he quickly shook Ji-Yong "Buddy, bro, wake up" He grunted, sighing in relief whenever Ji-Yong sat up tiredly looking at him confused "Your girlfriend is out there making out with Seung Hyun" He whispered, pointing towards the wall, Ji-Yong just huffed dropping his back into the pillows "You don't care?" He asked after a moment, Dae-sung was confused, why the hell was his friend not upset right now? "He's allowed to, bro" He grumbled into his pillows "She's his girl too" He added on before turning his back to Dae-sung pulling the blankets back over his face.

The two spent the night talking about possibilities on what could be going on between their two friends and you, only to be caught by Seung Hyun a few hours later. While he explained to the others, you were laying next to Ji-Yong, laying pieces of his hair out of the way of his face, he was even pretty whenever he slept, and it frustrated you a little bit, how could both men be so effortlessly perfect? As you laid there, now glaring at the ceiling, Ji-Yong's arm draped across your waist, Seung Hyun walked in chuckling at your glare "What's going on, Aein?" He asked softly, shutting the door behind him as he crawled on the other side of you, plopping himself down before laying his arm slightly higher than Ji-Yong's on your waist "How are you both this good looking, but I have to spend forty minutes trying to get my hair to work with me in the mornings" You huffed, turning your head to glare at him "You truly are adorable" Was all he replied, chuckling softly to himself before pressing his lips to your jaw gently "I'm going to fall asleep soon though..If you need anything just wake me up okay?" He asked softly, even in the dark you could make out his features, and how truly beautiful he looked "Got it" You smiled softly, turning to lay your head on his chest as Ji-Yong turned on his side to wrap his arm around you.

The next morning, you woke up with only one of the men in bed with you, Seung Hyun was still fast asleep next to you as your phone buzzed again with a message

'Got called in for solo rehearsal, be back soon <3'

You sent back a heart before dropping your phone back on the mattress turning towards one of your boyfriends "Seung..." You whispered, placing a hand on his bare chest, his bright blue hair a frizzy mess as he slowly peeked his eyes open, smiling softly at you before closing his eyes again, you huffed, needing him to wake up in order for you to get out of bed, grabbing your phone to ask Ji-Yong what exactly to do. After getting your answer you turned your attention back to Seung Hyun, cupping his cheeks "Aein..wake upp" You whined softly, not wanting to be too loud incase their other bandmates were home, Seung Hyun huffed, attempting to turn away from you, after realizing he wouldn't be able to he sighed opening his eyes "Shhh I'm sleeping with girlfriend" He whispered, pulling you closer to him "Noooo! Seung Hyun I need to gooo" You whined trying to fight against his tired grip "Why?.." He mumbled as he slowly opened an eye again "I have work, My love" You whispered, pressing your lips gently to his before trying to get back up "Just..stay here, its okay" He huffed, not loosening his grip, you sighed smiling at him "Fine, since I like you a tiny bit" You teased, Seung Hyun gave you playful glare before pulling you close to him, giggling softly you traced circles on his chest sighing "Are we just going to lay in bed all day?" You asked, your tone still teasing as he looked at you smiling "Mmmm maybe until Ji gets back" He said shrugging, tracing his fingers up and down your arm "Do you know how beautiful you are?" He asked softly, tilting his head gently as you blushed, dropping your head against his chest "Don't say that.." You giggled, he just grabbed your hand smiling "I'm gonna say it, because it's true" He whispered playfully, you just rolled your eyes "Fine then, do you know how beautiful you and Ji are?" You fired back, watching as his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink "Seriously, you just woke up and already you're making my knees weak?" You giggled, smiling as he looked at you in confusion "How?!" He asked laughing loudly, you just smacked his arm softly as you blushed.

You both did indeed lay in bed all day, whenever Ji-Yong walked in he was greeted by you both laying in his bed laughing loudly at something on Seung Hyun's phone "He looks so adorable! I love it!" You smiled grabbing his phone to send yourself the picture of a sleeping Ji-Yong that was sleeping in an airport, hanging halfway off of the chairs while holding a stuffed animal. "What do you have that's making our beautiful girl laugh that hard?" Ji-Yong asked smiling as he leaned against the doorframe, watching as you both looked at him giggling and chuckling "Seung Hyun was showing me pictures of you" You replied sweetly, staying in your spot next to Seung Hyun, your head resting on his shoulder as you slid his phone back into his hand "She missed you, but didn't want to bother you after I explained what rehearsals were" Seung Hyun explained smiling, loving how sweet you were to not only him but his best friend as well. "Aww, sweet girl" He smiled brightly, making his way over to the bed hugging you tightly "What're the plans today? Have you guys even moved out of bed?" Ji-Yong asked after pulling away from your hug "We did for a little bit, it's just so comfortable in here" You objected before offering your hand "Come see for yourself" You tempted, waving your hand gently as Ji-Yong took it gently flopping next to you on the mattress, scooting closer to you as he looked over at Seung Hyun's phone "Really! I thought you meant my good pictures!" He protested whining, Seung Hyun laughed shaking his head as he muttered 'never' as you smiled cupping his cheeks "Don't worry, Ji, he showed me" You assured sweetly, causing his heart to swoon, as the three of you laid in bed you sighed, not knowing how you ended up in this situation, but you weren't at all complaining.

--

Hey lovelies?....You like? ;)

--

Taglist!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou-0401

@maenoakasuna

@ericityyy

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

[s-rosie]

CRACK AJ HCSSSSSSS

this is my 100 follower specialllll. thank you so much to everyone who follows me i can’t appreciate it more. by popular demand, this is what was requested for me to make. i hope you enjoy 💖

at their wedding, they tossed cake at each others faces (which was already agreed upon) which turned into a massive cake fight and everything got messy but they got the cutest wedding photos out of it

avery once made up a spicy dance and posted it to her private tiktok and jameson had it on repeat for 3 days straight even while he was sleeping

jameson is allergic to lavender, but ave bought him a lavender scented plushie that looked like the one he had as a kid and he didn’t have the heart to tell her so he would just break out in hives and have his eyes water and his throat close up until nash mentioned his allergy in passing so that’s how she found out (she felt so bad but he thought it was a sweet gesture and he didn’t care)

jameson makes up stripper dances and has avery rate them (she in return bought him a push-up bra and a thong so he can look the part 😭)

one time ave cuffed jamie to the bed😏and he pulled so hard on them he broke the headboard of the bed and it came off but avery was too embarrassed to say anything so it was broken for 2 years until jameson finally convinced her to swallow her pride and get it fixed (this is my mandatory aj cuff hc it is my cannon event and can’t be stopped)

at school he would walk avery to class then sprint to his next class bc some of them were far away but he still wanted to walk her to class

he is always third wheeling ave and max bc they are doing a bunch of bestie stuff and he is just there

whenever avery has a perfume on jameson guesses the scent perfectly even if he didn’t know she had that scent in her collection

avery and jamie would cuddle in the back of the library and sometimes avery would fall asleep and jameson would just skip his classes to let her sleep bc he knew she had insomnia issues and would only wake her up when she had classes bc he knows she hates to miss school

he will wrap her up like a burrito in a blanket and cuddle her like that while she non stop giggles

they will make out everywhere especially when they were younger like one time they were invited to the met gala and made out in the bathroom bc it was “kinda boring”

avery calls him good boy and he loves it (i’m sorry) (but you cannot convince me he doesn’t have a praise kink) (or that she doesn’t dom him sometimes and he doesn’t love it)

they love candles and they almost burnt their room down bc they lit like 134 candles in their room for a spa day

i hc that jamie plays electric guitar and avery plays acoustic guitar so when they go against each other in guitar hero they always tie every time and they get so frustrated

they were lyra and graysons d1 wingmen and take full responsibility for them getting together (they helped but weren’t the full reason they started dating)

i really hope you enjoy and thank you so much for all of the support i really can’t stress enough how much you mean to me thank youuuu 💖

[novvabee]

We Take Care of Each Other 🩹🌙

Summary: Remus x reader with chronic illness, just some cute and fluffiness with Remus. I just wanted to do a self indulgent fic with Remus to give those with chronic illness/disease some representation. ❤️

CW: mentions of chronic illness/disease, mentions of pain, mentions of sickness, swearing

word count: 1.9k

You woke up feeling like shit. Normally, you would deal with it and make your way to class, but today it didn’t feel like normal everyday shit, it felt like more serious shit. You tried to take some medicine and wait a couple minutes in bed for them to start working, but you could tell that if you didn’t go and see Madam Pomfrey, you would only get worse throughout the day.

So you pulled yourself out of bed, not bothering changing out of your sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, and slipped some shoes on. You made your way through the common room where you found your friends lounging on the couches and completing last minute homework. Mary looked in your direction and had to take a double take. 

“Oh, sweetheart, do you feel alright? You don’t look too good.” Mary said with concern. If your friends could tell you weren't feeling well, you must look like death. Usually, they can’t tell when you felt your normal levels of pain and sickness, but you obviously look as awful as you feel.

“Yeah you look like you got hit by a train.” Sirius said, glancing up from his hastily scribbled notes, no doubt for class in only a few minutes. He himself didn’t look like his normal self, he looked a bit pale and had bags under his eyes. He and the other boys must have stayed up getting into trouble last night.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re one to talk Black.” you chirped back at him. He winked playfully at you and you gave your friend a small smile back, even if you were in pain, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him a little bit. 

“It’s just one of those days,” you explained, now speaking to the whole group again. “I don’t think I can make it to class so, I’m gonna go see if Madam Pomfrey can help me in any way.”

“Oh honey,” Lily said looking sorry and concerned, “I’m so sorry, I’ll be sure to take notes for you.”

“Thanks Lils,” you smiled, making your way out the common room entrance. All your friends called after you a melody of “See you later”s and “Hope you feel better”s.

You started your journey to the infirmary and cursed whoever built the castle. However beautiful it may be, they were an asshole for putting so many stairs throughout it. You wondered how all the normal kids did it, having to go up and down and up and down all day long. One set made you out of breath and needing a minute to recoup.

You were grateful for magic in times like these. You could take some potions and feel a bit better, but no potion could take away your illness. Yes magic could cure the common cold or minor aches or even broken bones, and you heard that there was some development in a magical cure for blindness, but there was no cure, no potion or spell, that could change your genetics, your DNA, every fiber that made you, you.

At times you wish you were just like everyone else, but that isn’t you. You have pain and sickness and hard times, but you have learned to deal with it, overcome it.

You trudged up the final stairs to the medical wing, catching your breath for a moment before pushing open the infirmary door and stepping in, looking for the sweet motherly figure.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to another child at the end of the room. She looked up and once she saw it was you, she gave you that kind, warm smile that you were so used to. You had come to know her quite well, being in and out of the infirmary a lot, especially when you got sick or when the stress of tests and exams hit. She also frequently made potions for you to stop by and pick up to manage your pain and fatigue, a simple tweak to the common Pepperup potion, but you still appreciated it.

“Have a seat in the open bed dear, I’ll be with you in a moment.” she sang through the room. You nodded and headed to the open bed in the middle of the room.

You got yourself comfortable before the curtains  magically closed around the bed. You were thankful for the privacy, not needing everyone in Hogwarts to know that you were here again. It wasn’t necessarily their fault for being so ignorant, half of them don’t understand muggle illnesses, but it doesn’t make it any less hard. Some of your peers accused you of lying and pretending to be sick so that you could skip class, but that was the furthest thing from the truth, and all your professors knew that. You wished you could be like everyone else, be able to simply sit through a class normally without starting to ache or fall asleep because of how fatigued you were. 

You hated that people didn’t understand, but your friends tried their best to, even if they would never know the full extent, because it isn’t something they experience, but they do a great job. The only one who can relate to you and understands more than the others it seems, was none other than Remus Lupin.

Remus always stayed back with you, walked slower than the rest of your friends around the castle so that you wouldn’t feel like you were behind. He would give you his jacket in classes if you needed to use it as a pillow. He made sure to copy his notes for you when you were too ill to go to class. He was amazing.

You always thought that he knew what to do because he was like you, he experienced the same things as you. Of course, you never asked him about it, but there were times where things were very similar between the two of you. Sometimes he was the one in pain, needing a can to get around, he was a little slower up the stairs with you, he was the one falling asleep in class. You just assumed that maybe he had a similar story to yours, but you didn’t want to pry or be rude, so you just returned the favor to him, lent him your sweaters for pillows, walked slowly with him, offered up Pomfrey's special potion when he winced and grunted while standing up.

You felt that you two were much closer because of these shared experiences, and you were glad you had someone to lean on.

Madam Pomfrey whipped open the curtain and stepped in. “Hello dear,” She smiled at you, “What can I help you with today?”

“It's the usual.” you explained plainly.

“What is your pain level at right now?” she asked.

You thought for a moment. “Like… a seven?” you said. To be honest, you seven was someone else’s 11, but you were used to it so it didn’t feel that bad.

“Well that is too high for my liking.” She said, starting to mix up a potion for you. “How have you been sleeping lately?”

“Not great.” you admitted. “I can’t get myself to fall asleep and then when I wake up I feel more tired than I did when I went to sleep.”

She looked at you and frowned, worry written all over her face. “Well then you are in no shape to attend class.” you wanted to argue but once you opened your mouth to protest, to say that it was fine and you didn’t want your education to suffer, the conversation you and she had had a million times not, but before you could say anything, she cut you off with a look. “I don’t want to hear it miss Y/N.” she said, continuing to mix the concoction. “Everyone always says ‘school comes first’ but that isn’t the truth. Your body and your health come first. Always. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, still wanting to tell her that you were fine really.

“Darling, you need rest. That is the best thing for your body. Now, I am going to write to your professors saying you will not be attending class for the whole day.” she said. You looked at her with bewilderment. “That’s right,” she held firm, “You are prescribed bed rest and my potion.”

You still wanted to protest, but it felt nice to have someone in your corner looking after your best interest. If your mother couldn’t be here, she was the next best thing, and you genuinely felt that she cared about you and your wellbeing.

So you gave in and nodded. “Thank you Madam Pomfrey.”

“Of course my dear.” she said, finishing the potion and setting it on the bedside table for you. She smiled and exited, pulling the curtain shut behind her.

You barely had time to drink your potion and relax into your bed before the curtain opened again. You were met with none other than Remus himself. He looked how you assumed you looked at the moment; not the best. He was pale and looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. You thought earlier that the boys had been up all night causing mischief, but Remus looked in no state to be having any fun. He smiled gently at you, which you returned to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he joked. You chuckled and felt the potion starting to work. You had seen Remus here countless times over all the years. Sometimes he was only here for a bit, sometimes he was there for much longer, Madam Pomfrey tending to him nonstop. You figured sometimes his condition was really bad.

No matter what, when your infirmary stays lined up, you two would recover together. Sometimes that meant hanging out and playing card games or reading next to each other or talking to pass the time, but sometimes that just meant knowing that the other was in the bed next to you, healing and recovering at your own speeds.

“Come here often?” you joked back.

“I overheard you were on bed rest for the day,” he said. You noticed his limp and figures it was a bad day for him as well. You nodded your confirmation to him. “Well, lucky for you, so am I.” 

Your smile broadened. 

Remus went to Madam Pomfrey to ask if he could move his bed right next to yours for company, and since you were both on bed rest and supposed to take a nap, it would be easier for her to check in on you both. 

Maybe it was because you two were her favorites, but she reluctantly agreed and moments later, his bed magically appeared next to yours, the curtains magically accommodated the new layout. Remus popped himself into his bed now next to yours, so close you could now rest your head on his shoulder, which you did. You felt his warmth beneath you and he rested his head on the top of yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Shit.” you answered bluntly to Remus. You always could be with him and he could be with you, one of your favorite aspects of your relationship with him.

He chuckled lightly, trying not to jostle your head around too much. “Yeah me too.” he said.

“You should sleep,” you said to him, yawning. “In the words of Sirius Black ‘you look like you got hit by a train’”

“He did not say that to you.” Remus said, disappointment at his friend laced in his tone.

“Oh yes he did.” you giggled.

Remus yawned as well. “Alright but you should too.”

“Ok, we’ll both sleep now so that we can shove Sirius down the stairs later and tell him that’s what the train feels like” you said mischievously. 

Remus giggled along with you. “That sounds like a plan.”

You both dozed off in the morning light, finally able to sleep now that the other was near.

Hi loves!! this one was really just a self insert for me cause I am going THROUGH it right now. but, if i can write something that only one other person can relate to, then I am so happy! ❤️

[faelorelia]

It’s more unrealistic for Will to get over Mike than for Mike to reciprocate Will’s feelings.

Why? Because this is a fictional story. In real life, it’s common for someone to have to move on from their first love, no matter how painful it is – that’s reality, and no one argues with that.

But this doesn’t apply to a fictional setting where the creators have deliberately emphasized a unique, deep bond between two characters. They’ve singled them out from the group, placed them in heartfelt, romantically coded one-on-one scenes, had them say incredibly sweet things to each other, and shown them going above and beyond for one another. On top of that, one of them has been confirmed to be in love with the other – and that person is one of the most traumatized characters in the show, someone who never seems to catch a break.

How can anyone argue that it would be good for Will to end up with a random NPC he hasn’t even interacted with yet, just to give him “someone”? What would that mean? “Poor gay boy, you can’t have the love of your life, the person you sacrificed your feelings for to make him happy – that’s too good for you. Here, take this character we introduced last-minute to avoid queerbaiting allegations and prove we haven’t forgotten about you.” Is that really what people want for Will? For him to not be rewarded for everything he’s endured?

I’m not claiming to know what the writers have planned or how the show will end. But if they give Will a last-minute love interest just to avoid leaving him single, it will be a complete disservice to his character and an insult to fans who resonate with his experiences.

And it’s not like it’s clear that Mike doesn’t feel the same. In fact, there are countless moments where Mike looks just as in love with Will as Will is with him. Here are just a few examples.

There are also moments of Mike acting “weird” that don’t add up when considered together:

• His lack of response to El’s kiss at the end of S3, along with how he seemed distant and not fully invested during their S4 reunion and their Rink-O-Mania “date”.

• His inability to say “I love you” to El, and his visible struggle with the topic throughout S4, suggesting there’s more to it than meets the eye.

• His inability to balance his relationships with El and Will.

• His constant feelings of inferiority with El, contrasted with how uplifted and himself he feels with Will.

• Him clearly viewing Will differently from his other friends – saying things with romantic undertones, acting differently with him (like one might act with their love interest). And yes, he’s looked at Will’s lips a few times (more than Will has).

To dismiss the possibility of Byler and get mad at those who connect these dots is ignorant and narrow-minded. To call us crazy and delusional is disrespectful. And to claim that “Stranger Things” – a show about nerds and outcasts – would never give us a touching gay love story because it’s “too mainstream” is to completely misunderstand its themes and core message.

[rederiswrites]

Conversations with Lace

[now up on AO3]

“So you’re gonna go with ‘Rook’, huh?” Lace said it through a mouthful of brown bread and cheese.

“Sure.” Arden scooped another glob of polishing compound up and started buffing out the wing of his knee armor. There was a dent he’d need to have seen next time they were in a big town. The smell of linseed oil and tallow was familiar and grounding.

“You don’t have to. Varric gives everyone nicknames. You can ignore it.”

“No, I uh…I like it.” He scowled down at his work. “Kaffas. This strap is going to break, soon. I think I’m out of replacements.”

“Fine then. Rook.” Lace grinned.

They sat for a minute in companionable silence, Lace finishing her roll, Arden rubbing the polishing cloth in practiced circles over his armor. They’d gotten close quickly over the last couple months, and not just because they were together nearly every day. Both had open, friendly natures, and as they crisscrossed northern Thedas, they’d whiled away the leagues in talk and laughter. 

They’d been staggering drunk together in Starkhaven, crawling from bar to bar while Varric took care of business in the palace, and surprised the shit out of would-be muggers. They’d hung upside down in snares together for two hours once after an encounter with one of Solas’s agents. They’d pretended to be Carta thugs for a few days once, while Varric tried to wheedle information out of a provincial Altus landowner, and mocked each other’s acting for weeks. 

“Never had a nickname before,” Arden said abruptly.

“What, never? Really?”

“I mean, basic name-calling stuff from the other boys as a kid, but I don’t think that’s the same idea.”

Lace looked surprised. “Your parents didn’t call you something? Like my ma calls me Sweet Pea, that sort of thing?”

“Nope. Just Arden. Young Master Mercar or Arden Maximus if I was about to be in trouble.”

“Wait. Your middle name is Maximus?” A positively evil grin was starting to spread across Lace’s freckled face.

Arden rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, go ahead. I’m well aware it’s incredibly pretentious.”

“Maximus!” By now she was giggling madly.

“Welcome to my childhood.”

“Maker!” Lace giggled at Arden’s disapproving look. “Alright, then, I’ll use Rook. Maximus.”

….

“Do you think they’re real fish?” Arden asked.

They stood side by side, staring into the fish tank. It was beautiful, but Arden found it unsettling. The glass and water distorted the light and made distances strange, but Arden couldn’t decide if he could see a back wall to the tank.

“I mean, I don’t know, but that one’s a Calenhad sunfish. I’ve caught plenty of them. Stupid little wastes of bait.”

“Yeah but what I mean is, is it a real Calenhad sunfish or whatever, or just…I don’t know, like a magic picture of one?”

“No idea. This place is weird.”

“I mean,” Arden went on, “if they’re real, what do they eat? There’s not even a place to put food in.”

Lace glanced up at the corners of the room. “Huh. You’re right. Maybe they’re real, but they live on magic. I dunno.” She left Arden scowling at the fish, and left to poke around the rest of the room. “You thinking of setting up your stuff in here?”

“What? No! Why would I do that?” Arden sounded startled.

“I thought maybe the fish would remind you of the coast.”

“Yeah, a nice seaside vacation at Marnus Pell inside a fish tank. No, I’ll find a nice little room with no windows and no weirdly endless fish tanks and pretend I’m somewhere normal.”

Lace shrugged. “Suit yourself. I like the old sunroom or whatever it was. The dirt makes me feel better.”

Arden grunted an acknowledgement, still frowning at the darting fish.

….

The grinding of stone shifting against stone was deafening for a few seconds. As the last echoes died away, Arden and Lace grinned at each other.

“I did it, Rook!”

“Maferath’s ass, that’s amazing.”

“What about that one? Can you move that one? If it was just a little taller, we could skip up to the next turn of the path.”

Lace concentrated for a second.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Doesn’t feel right.” Arden gave her a quizzical look. “Don’t ask me to explain. I don’t know. There’s just…a feeling. Like some stone talks to me and some is just…stone, I guess.”

Arden shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Give me a second,” Lace said. She moved slowly along the base of the hill, eyes narrowed in concentration. Arden trotted after her, keeping an eye on the woods. Nowhere was completely safe in Arlathan, in his experience.

“Wait! Here!” Lace held out her hands and scowled fiercely, and just ahead of them, a series of rocks rumbled and groaned into motion. When they finally stopped, there was a rough giant’s staircase up to the next turning of the path. “I did it!”

“Fuck yes you did!” Arden’s smile crinkled his eyes up and pulled in the scar on his cheek. “That’s amazing, Lace!” He put out an elbow, leaning on her head in what had become a habitual gesture of teasing affection. “Oh! Uh–” Arden let out something between a whoop and a yelp and staggered sideways.

Lace reached for him, grabbing his arm before he could fall. 

“Nope–whup!” Arden listed a couple steps forward, then barely caught himself before falling backwards. “I don’t–” His eyes rolled up in his head, and he keeled over. Spongy wood chips and rollie pollies scattered in a tiny explosion where his head hit a rotten log.

“Rook! Maker’s breath, Rook!” Lace rushed to kneel next to him, grabbing his shoulder. This time, though, she saw the ghostly lines of blue spreading from her hands. She jerked them back as if burned, scrambling away from Arden on hands and knees. “Maker’s breath!”

“Fine! I’m…fine,” Arden said, very unconvincingly. “Hoooo…gimme…second…” On the third try, he managed to roll up on an elbow. “Kaffas. Vishante kaffas.”

“Lyrium! It’s like I’m infused with lyrium! Oh, Maker, he’s lyrium addled. What if it’s permanent! What have I done?”

“Noo I’m betting. Bettering. Getting…better. Getting better! See?” Arden managed to push himself up until he was sitting. “Vishante kaffas,” he repeated, cradling his head in his hands. “‘S like I’m drunk.”

“Sweet Andraste, you scared the shit out of me,” Lace breathed, clutching the ground at her knees.

Arden snorted. “Pretty funny, though.”

“No, it is not! I could have really hurt you! Lyrium is dangerous, Rook!”

“Come on. Li’l bit funny. Ass over teakettle…lookit–lookit these poor bugs.” He gestured to the scattering of spongy orange wood and insects around him. “Like a Titan. Fall on their city–boom!” Arden giggled, ending on a loud snort.

“How in Thedas am I going to get you home?” Lace moaned. “Can’t even touch you. Andraste, give me strength.” She sat back, resigned to waiting it out. 

Arden’s head lolled to the side, and he snapped it back upright, wheezing with quiet laughter.

….

“You’re staring,” Lace said quietly.

Arden turned his head away from the other corner of the great hall, where Lucanis was cooking, to look down at her. “I’m not allowed? He’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah? Bellara’s gorgeous. Neve’s gorgeous. I know you like girls, too.”

“Sure. You’re gorgeous. What’s your point?”

“My point is–wait, I’m–oh gosh, no, I’m not–nope! Nope, I’m not letting you distract me like that! My point is that you’re staring at him specifically. Not just because he’s gorgeous.”

“Maybe so.” Arden returned his attention to Lucanis, who was busy chopping vegetables with hypnotic skill.

“Rook, he’s possessed! He’s a possessed assassin!”

“I know. And he’s mourning his grandmother, or at least I’m pretty sure he is. You kind of have to guess, with him. And he’s just been imprisoned and tortured for a year, and now he’s living in our pantry like a rat terrier. And also I’m kind of his boss? Or his employer. That isn’t actually paying him.” Arden pulled a wry face. “Don’t worry. I’m just enjoying looking.”

“I’m not convinced,” Lace said. “Plus, he’s looking, too.”

“He–” Arden sat up suddenly, banging his shin against the little table between them. “Kaffas!” He grabbed his leg, rubbing vigorously. “He’s looking?”

Lace sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you should say more. Really?”

“Mmmmm. Yes, he’s looking at you, sometimes. Why do you care, hmm? I thought you were just enjoying the aesthetics?”

“Alright. There might be a little, tiny crush.”

“I knew it!”

Lucanis glanced over at Lace’s outburst, and she waved him away, smiling unconvincingly. He watched them for a moment longer before turning back to his cooking.

“I knew it,” she hissed again, quieter this time. “Rook, you can’t seriously be thinking of…of whatever.”

“No, I know. I know, Lace. That’s why I’m just looking.”

[mrincrediblyblind]

MASSIVE S4 ANALYSIS

ANALYSED BY YET ANOTHER GAY TEEN ON THE INTERNET!

okay, this is about the California crew, (except Argyle). This is Byler, but i’m talking about it from the confirmed perspective that Will has a crush on Mike.

Firstly, just to set clear that were all aware the Rink ‘O Mania outing happened on Will’s birthday? If not google the date of it, it’s March 22nd as confirmed as Will’s birthday by Joyce in season two.

also please reblog this because i put my entire twinkussy into this 😭

ANYWAY!!

the things i’m gonna talk about:

1. Will’s birthday

2. The Hug

3. He knows :0

4. Jonathan sees Nancy in Mike

5. Joyce

6. Eleven

7. Will and Eleven

8. Friends Do Lie

9. Micheal Wheeer.

read on, dear friends!!! ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

1. WILL’S BIRTHDAY

((okay but he looks so epic in this shot, ily Will❤️‍🩹))

So for starters, the fact that Will probably convinced Joyce and Jonathan that he was going to Rink O’ Mania to celebrate his birthday with Eleven and Mike makes me want to kill myself!!! 😍😍😍

He probably thought he’s seeing Mike and he was gonna get a hug like when they last saw eachother and Mike would have an explanation as to why he could barely contact Will, and he’d probably had written him out a card or something for his birthday.

HE PROBABLY BROUGHT THE PAINTING FOR MIKE SO IF HE GAVE WILL ANYTHING HE COULD BE LIKE “oh, that’s so sweet… i actually did this for you. I’ve been working on it a while and thought i’d give it to you cos i’d see you today”

Mike also flew in on Will’s birthday. Can you imagine how happy he was? Byler shipper or not, they haven’t seen eachother in a year and Eleven gets the news that Mike’s coming to California. She tells Will “oh, he’s flying in on.. March the Twenty Second”.

Will, internally probably thought “that’s my birthday? is mike flying in to see my for my birthday?”, because who wouldn’t think highly of someone your close to in that way?

Regardless, you CANNOT tell me Will’s the “He didn’t have to get me something but the thought would be nice” TYPE OF PERSON

Poor boy probably saw the flowers and either

1. Thought they were for him

2. Knew they were for El, but Mike had something else for him

2. THE HUG

he got him absolutely nothing. not even a proper hug.

LOOK AT THE GRIN ON MY POOR BABY’S FACE WHEN HE SEES MIKE!!

HE LITERALLY HAS THE PAINTING IN HIS HAND, YET GOES IN ARMS WIDE FOR A HUG DESPITE THE FACT HE COULD CRUSH THE PAINTING??

He also grabs Mike’s backpack in an attempt to pull him into a meaningful hug. It’s been a year since they last saw each other.

We know Jonathan’s high off his balls, but he looks at the painting and then the boys “hugging” (if you can even call that a hug). He’s probably confused why Will didn’t get round to giving Mike the painting.

3. HE KNOWS :0

There’s no doubt that Jonathan knows what’s up. Lonnie used to verbally abuse Will for being gay so i’m sure he’s confirmed it to Jonathan at some point.

Also which, i’m sure he sees the fact that he has been in a similar situation with MIKE’S SISTER??

There was another person (Steve) who was with his love interest while him obviously being in love. Does that not parallel like crazy?

Jonathan’s not stupid, he’s just as high as a kite for the entire season, which if anything would probably make him overthink about the scenario.

When people smoke weed the THC in Cannabis (weed) can effect your frontal lobe which is responsible for a lot of creativity and logical thinking and enhances your senses overall. This is probably why Argyle suggested they fill up the pizza dough freezer.

Depending on how much he’s smoked, he could also be incredibly paranoid, as too much will cause a massive dopamine spike and can cause you too feel anxious and overthink.

Just because he’s had a couple hits doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what’s going on. He probably does, maybe definitely. He’s either thinking really deep about it or is super paranoid and thinking worse case scenario.

this moves me onto my next point

4.JONATHAN SEES NANCY IN MIKE

Nancy is unable to express her emotions and we know this, Jonathan knows this.

She struggled to tell Steve she loved him, Jonathan knows this. Jonathan was ALSO there when Will was trying to get Mike to (struggle to) say I love you.

He ALSO sat through Murray exposing Nancy for not being able to admit her love to Steve. On top of this, He’s dating her and experiencing the lack of communication first hand

as well as being stuck in the exact same weird love triangle thing. Eleven and Will are both in love with Mike. Jonathan and Steve were both in love with Nancy. He’s watching his brother go through the same thing.

I’m also certain that Will would’ve talked to Jonathan about Mike not talking to him like, at all. We know that they have a very close sibling bond so I’m sure Jonathan is aware.

5. JOYCE

We know absolutely jack shit about Joyce and what she knows, but she’s overprotective as.

I’m sure she would’ve insisted for Will to come do something with her and Jonathan for his birthday. He either would’ve:

A - insisted on going because El was going

B - Insisted on going because he hadn’t seen Mike for so long

C - Made up a lie that the roller skating was for his birthday

I’m sure it would be C, and some other contributing factors. Will doesn’t have a job and neither does Eleven, so where would the money for the skating tickets come from?

Joyce likely gave Will and Eleven money for them to go skating with Mike for Will’s birthday.

6. ELEVEN

Eleven is never ever at fault for Mike being… Micheal.

If anything, she went through an awful lot as well this season, so let’s unpack.

Before Mr Minion (Mike) arrives at the airport and all, were shown life in California for the Byers. Eleven and Will are in high school and Eleven is getting relentlessly picked on. It’s assumed that it might be her lack of education and social intelligence. Nonetheless, we know she is being bullied and the main perpetrator is Angela.

Angela humiliates Eleven despite her attempts at being nice and trying to befriend her. She doesn’t understand that Angela can be mean to her because she isn’t aware anyone is capable of wronging her.

She knows the people who work for the government and ones employeed at Hawkins lab are bad, hence why she calls them “The Bad Men”. She knows that they are out to get her because she’s escaped and is still on the run.

She thought Hopper was rude, but she learned he was only trying to keep her safe.

She thought Max was rude, but quickly learned that she was mistaken and formed a bond.

Eleven is forgiving. She let Kali/Eight’s punk friends (mainly Axel, with the mohawk) be rude to her.

She was deemed untrustworthy by lucas the whole 1st season and even lashed out at him, yet kept trying to be his friend and eventually earned his trust.

She was yelled at time and time again by Mike, who planned to get rid of her after finding Will, yet still got close to him.

She is unaware that people outside of the Hawkins Laboratory can be bad, as everyone she thought was bad has turned out to be an assumption proven wrong. She thinks that if she keeps persisting in being Angela’s friend then it will work out.

Eleven probably suggested they go to Rink ‘O Mania.

She already knew the popular kids hung out there, she tried to convince Mike that they were her friends in hopes that it would turn out well and they would meet Mike and hang out and have a good time.

She missed hanging out with a group of people who all valued her. She grew up in a group of lab experiments, she hung out with the party. Being alone reminds her of her darkest times, being experimented on and locked away, isolated in a claustrophobic deprivation tank, being on the run and surviving in her own.

Eleven hates being on her own, that’s why she hated being by herself in season 2 in Hopper’s cabin and alone in Mike’s basement. When she found out that there are nice people in the world (by meeting Benny) that weren’t just the other children in the lab, she wanted to surround herself with people who could look after her.

7. WILL AND ELEVEN

Finally, Will knows that El is being picked on. Instead of going home on his birthday after the disappointment of it all, he stays with Eleven.

He’d seen her get made fun of for her diorama of Hopper (who she assumed was dead??) and probably every other petty drama with Angela off screen.

He stayed with Eleven and Mike, third wheeling on his own birthday so that he could look after her.

He could have changed his mind and gone home, yet Eleven lied about having heaps of friends and going to the roller rink all the time, and when he saw them approach the table, he knew it would be a good idea to put her first.

8. FRIENDS DO LIE

“friends don’t lie” is something the Duffers familiarised us with up until the point of season 3 when Max tells El “Yeah, well boyfriends lie. All the time.”

We see Mike has been lying to El, and what does that teach her? Boyfriends lie and girlfriends lie.

She lies to Mike in her letter about having friends

Mike lies to her about…

MOSTLY JOKING IM SORRY MILEVENS IM SUPPOSED TO BE NON BIAS, IM JUST SAYING ELEVEN LIED TO MIKE THIS SEASON AND THEYVE BOTH RUINED THE TRUST IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP

9. MICHEAL WHEELER.

Not too much to say about him(/j). Firstly, I genuinely cannot back him up on the whole Will’s birthday thing, that shit makes me wanna cry. We might need the byler lawyer for this one.

However, it’s obvious Mike is very torn between the two. I’m trying to include as little byler as possible, but we are shown that Mike CANNOT deal with both Will and Eleven at the same time. He doesn’t write Will letters, only Eleven, yet he’s known Will since kindergarten and being his friend was the best thing he ever did.

The fact that he couldn’t reach out to Will does show that he is suppressing something that he doesn’t want Will to find out about. He’d rather upset Will then come to terms with something about himself or about Will.

I’ll leave this up to you as the reader, but take into account the fact Will is canonically gay and Mike is canonically a dick about it since season three. It might be a tough pill to swallow if you don’t think Mike has a crush on Will, but here’s what I’m saying.

Mike knows Will is not attracted to girls.

Season 2 final episode at the Snowball Dance, the girl approaches Will and asks to dance. He stutters and mumbles “i’m not-“, going to turn her down when Mike repeatedly hits him, encouraging him to dance with her.

Season 3x3, Will and Mike fight in the rain, Mike settles with the most considerate accepting words he could’ve.. 😍😍

“it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!!” 🥰

So Mike is aware of Will’s homosexuality. Would this contribute to him not wanting to be affectionate anymore? Because Mike is being homophobic? “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls”? that’s literally homophobic

Please explain to me (non Byler shippers, this is), why he wouldn’t feel comfortable around Will. I don’t mean this in a passive aggressive way, i actually want someone to explain it to me.

Regardless, i’m mad at Mike for being a shit friend on Will’s birthday.

YOOO!! You’ve reached the bottom! look at you! go. Share your thoughts with me please, this took so long so if you could reblog, i’ll give you a kiss on the mouth (/hj)

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

When Remus took out a pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips, Sirius was surprised.

Actually he felt something jumping inside his chest.

"You smoke?"

Remus was caught up by the question. Like a little kid being caught doing something wrong.

"Yeah sorry" Remus answered, the cigarette still on his mouth. But immediately took it out "I won't do it if it bothers you"

Sirius was fascinated. He remembered Rosie as an adorable kid still. It had been Sirius the bad influence. Well, Rosie had a brilliant mind for pranking. But she was innocent overall. With her soft curls on a ponytail and wearing her father's sweaters and trousers underneath her school skirt because she found it uncomfortable. Rosie talking nerdily about the book she was currently reading.

Remus still had the same aura. Although Remus being a boy wasn't the only thing that surprised Sirius.

He had changed with the years. In a good way, though.

"I don't mind" Sirius replied "I mean I smoke as well sometimes... My Uncle Alphard taught me last summer"

It was true. He smoked to impress Alphard and his friend George. Although when he got back to Hogwarts, James disapproved. And nobody had cigarettes around that pretentious school, so he stopped.

Remus was smiling at him amused. Sirius liked the way he was impressed.

"Want one?" he asked offering him the pack.

Sirius smirked before taking one. He hadn't had a cigarette in ages. He just hoped he didn't cough like the first time.

Remus had a lighter as well. Of course. So he lit up Sirius’s before doing it to his.

Sirius remembered he had been this fascinated only for one person, George. So handsome, easy going. With that vibe of a bad boy. Sirius had bought a leather jacket after meeting him.

He was feeling the same admiration for Remus.

Sirius observed Remus smoking in silence thinking who was this boy and also excited to meet this new version of him.

"What?" Remus asked after a while. He was smiling "I know that smoking is bad, I've been told"

Sirius looked away "Oh yeah, I know" he shrugged and continued smoking. Luckily he didn't cough and pretended to be an expert at it "I'm just surprised"

"Why?"

"What happened to my sweet Moony, eh?"

Remus's cheeks went pink. It was adorable. Sirius realized that Remus's vibe perhaps was different. But he was the same sweet kid Sirius used to know.

"Moony.... I haven't heard that in a while"

It had been the nickname Sirius had given his friend. All because of Hope's Moon wishes. Captain Moonshine from their pirate games. Silly precious things they used to do as kids.

"It probably sounds stupid now"

But they were teenagers now.

"I like it" Remus was quick to reply "I liked it before and I like it now. It's our thing, isn't it?"

Sirius liked to have things together again. He smiled.

"Should I call you Starman?" Remus teased.

Well, that sounded stupid. Not adorable like Moony.

"My friends call me Padfoot now"

"Padfoot?"

Sirius grinned "It's a long story" bloody James and his idea of nicknames.

Remus giggled "Okay, Padfoot"

Sirius liked the way it sounded from Remus's mouth.

"I guess we have a lot of things to catch up, eh?"

Sirius figured. Between learning to smoke, growing up, adquiring new nicknames and becoming teens, it was a lot. Probably missed first times: drinking, smoking, first dates and kisses (Sirius was most curious about that). Five years had passed without each other. Sirius wondered how did he managed without Remus. His Moony.

"Yeah, Moons" he grinned "We have a lot to catch up"

And Sirius hoped he didn't have to be apart from Remus ever again.