#thanks to all of you who have stuck around

[kitten4sannie]

ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ

pairing: frat boy! san x fem! reader feat. yungi

genre: frat au, smut

summary: san and his boys are more than grateful when you help them with their newest ‘feature film.’

w.c: 3k

warnings: they’re making porn okay, nasty mean dom! san, subby aloof! reader, san knowingly takes advantage of reader’s romantic feelings for him…. (bro’s the king of douchebags), manipulation/corruption, brief implied mxm bc i love fruity frat boys <3, praise/false praise, name calling/degradation, major voyeurism/exhibitionism kink, mind break ig?, double penetration in one hole, oral (giving), brief hair pulling, throat-fucking, tit fucking, facial, rough sex, bulge kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, gang bang !!, it’s all unprotected btw, multiple orgasms, creampies <33

a/n: this is so fucking insane you guys….like idk why frat aus have me in such a chokehold but here we are🧍🏻‍♀️also this is totally random (and essential) info but san’s signature frat party look would be a ‘don’t hate me it turns me on’ shirt and a backwards red cap hwjhw anyways happy reading~ and please lemme know if you liked it uwu

p.s: we’re at 6.5k followers HELLO???? that’s insane 🫣 thank you so very much!!!

song rec: i like the way you kiss me - artemas (✨ male manipulation: the song ��)

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” San, the frat boy you’ve been in love with for ages, encouraged you from behind the lens of the camcorder he was holding, his smooth baritone voice like saccharine, artificial, yet sweet enough to keep you coming back for another taste. It was when you offered him a small, shy smile through the camera lense, despite the shamelessness of your current position, that he knew he had struck gold. 

San was filming one of the first of many future encounters you would be having on the expansive black leather couch inside their crowded frat den. You were stuffed to the absolute brim by two of his closest colleagues, Yunho and Mingi, who always refused to participate unless they were working together as a duo. 

“Stop looking at me like that, dude,” Mingi huffed up at Yunho from below the both of you, his shoulders and back routinely getting stuck to the couch with sweat. 

“Like what?” Yunho scoffed back, leaning further down onto your body to get closer to Mingi, essentially folding you in half, his hands closing around your ankles.

“Like you wanna kiss me. You’re gonna make me soft.” Mingi grimaced, pushing Yunho’s hands out of the way to hold onto your ankles instead, driving himself into you like a well oiled machine. He was throbbing nonstop, but there was absolutely no proof that it was because of his friend’s heavy cock rubbing along his inside the cunt they were sharing. 

You could feel Yunho’s breath hit your shoulder when he laughed. “Skill issue,” Yunho simply replied, delighted when Mingi bucked up into you even harder, encouraging him to do the same. 

Clearly, there was something vaguely homoerotic going on there, but it wasn’t San’s business, and he definitely had better things to focus on — you, his newest pupil. He watched you with dollar signs in his bright brown eyes and the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, unable to keep himself from licking repeatedly at his chapped lips, especially now that the innocent classmate he had recently taken a liking to had no problem taking two cocks at once inside her puffy, used cunt, while he, his bros, and his trusty camcorder had a front row seat to her mutually beneficial destruction.  

“Look at you, so flexible…Are you sure you haven’t done this before, Y/N?” San teased, lowering the camera down until his sharp feline eyes were visible.

“N-no, I swear!” you squeaked out, the growing embarrassment you felt only spurring all of this newfound pleasure you were drunk on. “Just wanna, nnngh–be good for you…”

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. You’re being a very good girl right now, baby, Don’t worry.” San couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to melt in front of him. It was just too easy. He glanced down at the camera, zooming in and capturing the moment his friends filled you up with their hot loads, the bliss evident on your fucked-out face. “That’s it, baby. Are you happy you stuck around here with us instead of going back to your dorm to do homework? Taking cock is much more fun, isn’t it, beautiful?” 

“So much more fun,” you sighed out, your pupils blown out just from looking at his devastatingly handsome face. It was then that you pouted. You were only here because you were in love with San, and yet, it wasn’t even his dick inside you. It wasn’t fair. “But, I’d have even more fun with you, Sannie~” 

“Is that so…?” San offered a brief shit-eating smirk to one of his boys nearby, reaching down to grab at himself through his sweatpants, like he was weighing it. “It’s right here, baby. Why don’t you show us what that pretty mouth can do?” 

Both Mingi and Yunho slowed down their thrusts, but didn’t completely pull out, choosing to leisurely fuck their cum back into you, as they fought to catch their breath.

“What a loser, cumming first like that,” Mingi insulted Yunho, licking at the saliva left on his lips. 

“Your mom doesn’t have a problem with it,” Yunho chided back, reaching down past your body to smack his hand into the side of Mingi’s ass. 

“Goddamn it, you guys, I’m gonna have to edit that gay shit out.” San brought a hand up to scratch at his head in frustration. “You know what, both of you, get out of my shot and sword fight somewhere else. I’m not doing this right now,” San grumbled, shooing the two panting men away from the couch they had just made a mess on. 

“Bro acts like we don’t know about his late night tutoring sessions with Wooyoung,” Yunho whispered to Mingi, trying to stifle his laughter. 

Mingi almost choked on his breath. “Don’t forget, Yeosang. San doesn’t even take physics anymore, either. Yet, he still visits that nerd every Friday like clockwork.” 

“Dude, aren’t they roommates?” Yunho cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, still using a hushed tone, “Do you think they run a train on–”

“Hey! Don’t make me haze the two of you again just for fun…” San warned from the center of the room, glaring daggers at the two men who went quiet almost immediately. His annoyance abruptly melted away once you gingerly reached up to pull his sweatpants down until the frat emblem that was stitched into the thigh pocket was no longer visible. It was when San smacked his heavy length down onto your face, that you let out a pornstar worthy moan. Cha-ching. “Oh, you like that? Hm? Want my cock?”   

“Mm-hmm…” San’s cock slapped down onto your face a second time. You quickly squeezed your thighs together to keep yourself from cumming right then and there, biting back a moan all the while. You wondered if it was obvious how truly desperate you were for the man standing above. Fuck it. You were already here, so you might as well get what you came for. “Please, give it to me, Sannie, f-fuck my mouth.” 

San could not believe his luck. His loyal fanbase would absolutely have a field day with this as soon as he uploaded it. He could already see the cash flowing in, and it made him rock hard. He sighed happily to himself, running his fingers through your hair, carefully tucking a few strands behind your ear. “It’s really true what they say…the shy ones are always the most slutty.”  

*“I’m not a slut, I just–” you cut yourself off, not wanting to confess to San right before you were about to suck him off in front of his fraternity and whichever degenerate that would be watching it back later on. You pouted again, looking up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “I want to be useful to you, like a doll~”  

“Did you hear that, everyone? Y/N here is a real life doll. Let’s treat her as such,” San reminded his friends and housemates who couldn’t help but hover around the couch, a few of them sharing knowing smiles with one another. 

Your heart began to thump away inside your chest, unable to believe that your long-time crush was giving you so much of his attention and affection. It was like a dream come true. As soon as your lips parted to take in a shaky breath, San tightened his grip around your hair, yanking you forward and stuffing your mouth full of cock. “Mmnnf…!” 

Clutching the camera with one hand and the makeshift ponytail he created near the back of your head, San began thrusting sloppily into your open mouth, groaning at the slick sensation of your throat routinely closing around his moving cockhead. “Come on, doll, let me in, yeah? So Sannie can fuck your throat raw.” 

San wasn’t lying. With each wet, rough thrust, he got closer and closer to doing what he promised you. “Mmmn…nnn…” You couldn’t tell if the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes were the result of San’s dizzying performance or the burning arousal you felt stirring inside your core simply from being watched by a room full of men you didn’t know. 

“Aww, crying already, princess? I’ll give you something to really cry about when I’m breeding that pretty cunt of yours,” San chuckled darkly, his strong hips snapping relentlessly, his pace only beginning to falter once he saw escaping drool mixed with his pre-cum dripping down past your chin and down in between your tits. You were becoming a mess. It was going to make the frat leader bust any second. The borderline obsessive look you had inside your teary eyes didn’t help either. “Fuck, oh god– Somebody take the goddamn camera!” 

The youngest of the group fumbled to grab the camera, using his jacket sleeve to rub the fingerprints off of the lens, before lifting it up, capturing the exact moment San pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and slid his cock along in between your glistening tits. 

San turned to face the camera for a second, dimples flashing, squishing your tits in between his thick fingers as he fucked them. “See, you guys? This is how you use a doll to her maximum potential,” he explained as though he were a professor on campus. “Just look at her face. She loves it.” 

Instead of trying to focus on the camera, you gazed directly up at him, your cheeks warm to the touch, still love-struck, even when San’s load landed all over your face. You simply licked away what had landed on your lips, sucking the rest off the frat leader’s fingers once he so lovingly fed it to you. 

San nodded his head in approval, patting yours in an effort to reward you for your hard work. “That’s a good girl…” He tilted his head to the side. “Let’s see what else our pretty doll can do. Sound good?” 

“Really good,” you chimed, licking at your swollen lips, savoring San’s essence. 

Wedding bells were ringing in the distance. You would do anything for San, and that meant letting him treat you like a sex doll and fuck you in any position he saw fit for the next hour. By the time your knees gave out from cumming for the nth time, San had you in a full nelson in the middle of the couch, positioned behind you with his arms locked around your upper half, making sure your used, feverish body was on complete display. 

“Sannie…gonna…cum…again,” you breathed out in between a few heavy moans, your head feeling so heavy that you just let it hang for a second. 

San repositioned himself so that he could clutch your chin, tilting it upwards. His free hand snaked around your waist, laying his palm flat on your tummy, suddenly driving his cock up into you so hard, you couldn’t even speak if you wanted to. “Hey, be a good slut and let them see what you look like when you’re cumming your brains out.” 

You simply looked up at the blurry camera past your teary lashes, letting out a choked gasp once you barreled over the edge of ecstasy. You didn’t have a chance to recover from the overwhelming pleasure, especially not when San pressed his hand down firmly onto the bulge his cock was routinely making inside your stomach. “P-please..! Sannie..!” 

You want another load? Fuck, baby.” Groaning, San took a second to lick one of the tears that was rolling along your cheek before it dropped, his hips slamming against yours so quick, you were already developing bruises, ones that would accompany the bright red love bites scattered across your slick skin. He pressed his lips directly to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “You know, seeing you in class and on campus, I never would’ve pegged you as a cumslut, but everyone enjoys a good surprise every now and then…don’t they?”

“Yes–yes, yes, yes,” you chanted back, too cockdrunk to even fully process what San was saying, just focused on how full you felt, and how you needed more. 

“Good, because I got a surprise for you too.” Grunting loudly, San lowered his hips and slammed them up into you one last time, holding your trembling body still, painting your pulsing walls white. “Now, say ‘thank you, Sannie.’”

“Thank you, Sannie.” You leaned your head back to nuzzle the side of his cheek, placing your hands over his, feeling him rubbing your lower stomach in small circles, his cock still fully sheathed inside you. 

“Anytime, sugar.” San gave your hair a few strokes as a reward, before pulling out and climbing off of the couch. He took the camera back from the new guy and snapped his fingers at a few of the bricked up housemates standing nearby, pointing in your direction. “Now, show me what you’re really made of.” San gave you a charming, dimpled smile. “Make me proud, okay?” 

As a few half naked strangers surrounded you on all sides of the couch, some of them reaching out to grope your warm body, you returned San’s smile, your heart skipping a beat or two. “I’ll give it my best just for you~” 

Throughout the night, San, alongside his fraternity, conditioned you with care, meticulously molded you into a star, one they eagerly passed around, easily making your tape one of the longest in their exclusive film collection. It wasn’t difficult, by any means. You were, of course, the perfect specimen: passive, pliant, and poisoned by the oxytocin that turned your brain into mush.

Even when you were being used by more men than you could count, you couldn’t keep your attention off of Sannie, his handsome face only growing blurry when someone would make you gag on their cock, as you didn’t have the most experience with men of their size. You wanted San to yourself again, desperately wishing you could reach out for him instead of another stranger’s twitching erection — but you endured it all, falling further into the rabbit hole of pleasure for the sake of your whirlwind infatuation. 

Everyone in the frat house deeply appreciated your dedication to their amateur film, especially San, who, by the end of it, secured the perfect spot to capture the finality of your desecration. Two of his older friends had just finished inside you, their spent cocks slipping out of your used hole and revealing the beautiful mess they left.

Crouched down in front of the couch, San reached out past the camcorder to spread your puffy lips apart, each and every load you took over the past hour now slowly spilling out onto his veined hand. “Look at this pretty cunt, you guys…so full of cum, it won’t stop coming out…” He panned up to your face with the camera, giving you a wicked smile from behind it. “You’ll be pregnant in no time, won’t you, doll? With whose baby, I wonder…”

After all that, you somehow managed to act shy, covering your flushed face, giving San heart eyes past your trembling fingers. “Hopefully yours…” 

“Oh, princess.” San gently rubbed his fingers over your reddened cunt and clit, cum still dribbling out of you all the while. “I don’t think you realize how cute you’re being right now~ Almost like you didn’t just slut yourself out for everyone to see, huh? Mm, do you feel cute, Y/N?” San asked in a babying tone, as he slowly stood up and towered over you. 

“You make me feel cute…” You nuzzled your cheek into the palm of San’s warm hand once he offered it to you, hoping you secured a spot inside his heart after all the hard work you put in. “I would keep going for you if I could still feel my legs.” 

“Aww, there’s always next time, isn’t there?” he suggested slyly, rubbing away some leftover cum from your cheek before caressing the side of your face. “Do you have anything to say to our loyal fanbase, baby?” 

“I love cock, especially yours, Sannie,” you slurred lovingly up at San, through the camera lens, licking your lips, mouth watering at the thought of being invited again to film another movie. “So give me a call, okay?” 

“Oh, I will, believe me.” A smug laugh erupted from San’s puffed-out chest, as he aimed the camera at his pretty boy face for a second to announce, “We’ve officially turned another good girl into a filthy cumslut. If you’d like to watch the transformation happen in real time, feel free to stop by our frat. For extra, we’ll let you have a go.” And with that, he shut the camcorder off and pushed it into the youngest member’s chest, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck it, we might even give you a turn.” 

The freshman choked on his spit. “R-really?” 

“I’m feeling nice today.” San sighed, running his fingers through his gelled up hair to fix it. When the young man just stood there drooling, the frat leader grimaced. “Upload this to all our sites ASAP, and don’t forget about our twitter page this time,” he demanded, rolling his eyes when he saw the cum stains the embarrassed student left behind on his pants. “And, for fuck’s sake, will you take care of that?” 

As another member brought a can of beer over to San, the frat leader took it and cracked it open. “Can you believe that guy? He’s been here for, what, a month now? And he’s still creaming his pants like a virgin? Unbelievable.”

As you gingerly put your clothes back on, you watched San move around the frat to dab up his friends and clink their beer cans together in celebration of another successful shoot. You couldn’t help but let out a long, lovesick sigh. He would be yours one day. Until then, you would take what you could get, and of course, become a star. 

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @crazyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[intotheelliwoods]

Hey everyone, its going to be 2 years of 2AL soon! (the bday is Feb 17th) I cannot thank everyone enough for enjoying the comic! And a huge round of applause for those who have stuck with the AU for so long, or even the full 2 years to see my progress as an artist! 🥺 With that and the end of the comic coming soon, I wanted to do something for the occasion with a...

-> -> Panel Redrew Event! <- <-

Info:

Please, take any panel you want from the entire comic and redraw it however you feel! It doesnt have to be your favorite, it can just be one you think looks cool, or you think it could have been better in your style :)

You do not have to add color if you do not want to, you can also do what I do with flats!

It does not matter how old the update is for you to redraw it, you can also redraw panels for updates I am planning on making later this month!

You can also redraw panels from the mini comics

Put a link in your post to show what update the redraw is from!

Tag me! Tag me so I can see!

Prizes:

Everyone who enters will be put onto a wheel which I will spin at random, I will spin the wheel 3 times to get 3 different winners!

Each winner will get a small colored doodle request from me :) turtles, OC, whatever! My ask is that you do not request anything involving shipping, or more than 3 characters!

Deadline is the end of February! Hence me posting this so early before the birthday

Once again, thank you everyone who has stuck around this AU for so long <3 I hope you guys all have fun!

[mayahawkesfirstwife]

New Roommate

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

Pairings: G!p Sub! Kang No-eul x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are No-eul’s new roommate and you find out that she’s different from other girls.

Warnings: Smut, blowjob, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (she pulls out!), praise kink, fluff at end, etc.

Author Note: Lowk only posting this bc I ACTUALLY finished it and I love the ending it’s so cute. This is lowk long asf omgg!! :0 Sorry if theres any mistakes!!

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

You finally finished moving boxes into your room, you sat on your knees on the cold wood floor as you dug into the big box in front of you.

No-eul knew her new roommate was moving in today, she was expecting a weirdo but she opened the door and was literally met with a girl wearing a white tank top and the smallest shorts she’s ever seen while you were practically bent over a box.

She shut the door behind her and you turn to face her, face lighting up. “Hi! You must be Kang No-eul!”

She was already in love. Your face was even more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

You stood up, “I’m Y/n.” You stick your hand out and she shakes it, “Nice to meet you…”

“Sorry about the mess, I’m trying to put my things up as soon as I can so it won’t be in the way for long.” You said, but you notice that her eyes are in fact not on your face as you spoke to her.

But your tits that poked through your white tank top. Maybe you should have worn a bra.

To avoid her gaze on them, you turn around and kept putting your things up.

“It’s fine.” She finally replies, sitting down on her bed.

She sat back and watched you like a weirdo.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

She’d continue to do that weird watching as you do anything at all.

You noticed her gaze darken when you’d do certain things like rub lotion on your legs before bed, sucking a popsicle, change, or even lay on your stomach.

Maybe she’s just a pervert, you were weirded out at first but the more you’d talk to her, she’d continue to barely talk but you kind of loved how mysterious she was.

Soon you’d start to tease her purposely and she’d just shift in her spot, pulling on her jeans as if she had a literal boner.

One time you seen a bulge in her pants, she quickly put her pillow over it and it confused you, maybe it was just her jeans or something in her pocket?

You’d grow needy and horny for your roommate. You knew she felt the same way and you just wanted to be fucked by her at this point.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

Today you walked into your dorm and seen her hand under her cover, hand moving up and down as her head in leaned back against the frame. She was touching herself.

You clear your throat and she gasps, moving a pillow over her crotch that was already covered by the blanket.

“Shit, I thought you had class.”

“It got cancelled.” You lock the door and walk over to her, her bangs were stuck to her forehead and she was panting.

“Want some help?” You bit your lip. She looks away, face turning red.

“No thanks.”

You sigh, “So, what’s your problem then? You stare at me all the time like you want to tear my clothes off. But when I come onto you, now you don’t want me?”

“It’s not that…I promise. I’m just…not what you think, okay? I’m…different.” She said, it was the most she’s ever told you about herself.

“Different how? No-eul, I don’t care. Just tell me. Is something wrong?” You ask, rubbing her leg.

She flinches back, “It’s weird. You’re going to get grossed out if I tell you.”

“Well, show me, then.” You said, she sighs.

“Fine, don’t blame me when you run away.” She moves her pillow off her crotch area and pushes the blanket down.

She had a penis!

Not only that…it was fucking long and thick. Who the fuck could she fit that shit inside of?

“Wow.”

It was hard and the tip was red and sticky, leaking of pre-cum.

“I know, it’s gross and weird. I’m the weird girl with a penis.” She sighs.

“A fucking huge one.” You crawl into the bed.

“I wonder if it’d fit inside of me…what do you think? Hmm?”

Her face is shocked and she is blushing, she grows even harder.

“W-What?”

“Should we try?” You peck her lips and she whines.

You two start to make out, she was a great kisser. You pull back, “Have you ever done this?”

She looks down, “I mean…I kissed a couple of girls and one girl…jerked me off...but that’s it.”

“You never been sucked off before?” You hum, crawling down her lap. “N-No…”

“Can I be the first?”

“P-Please…yes.”

“You’re so fucking hot, No-eul…” You hum, wrapping your hand around the base and pumping it, licking your lips.

She groans, gripping your arm. “I-I…please! Put it inside your mouth, please?”

“Needy baby, I will, okay?“ You suck the tip and she moans.

“I-I…just…yeah, just like that! O-Oh my!”

She grips your hair as you take her cock in your mouth, bopping your head up and down.

You look up at her, she whimpers as you hold eye contact with her as your lips are wrapped around her dick.

She groans loudly when the tip of her cock hits the back of your throat.

“F-Fuck! You’re really…huh! good at that!”

You gag once when your nose touches her lower stomach, you breathe through your nose and don’t stop sucking her dick as well as possible.

If it was her first time getting a blow job, you needed it to be fucking fantastic.

“I’m about to…fuck! I’m about to cum!”

Her mouth opens wide into an O shape, she gasps. “Fuck, fuck! Do I…Do I do it in your mouth?” She whined.

You nod against her, flattening your tongue on her cock while your head bopped up and down.

She groans, her hands tug on your hair as she came down into your mouth.

You hum into her, you swallow the warm liquid and pull yourself off her cock with a pop.

You gasp for air and breathe heavily, coughing and wiping your mouth with your arm.

“Fuck, you’re huge. My throat hurts.” You sit up on her lap as she looks up at you.

“That was…amazing. Thank you.” She pants, her hands grab your hips.

“Of course…” You blush, fiddling with your hands.

“Do you…want to do more?” You ask, she nods quickly.

“D-Do you?” She asks, you smile and nodded your head. “I do…”

You stood up from her lap and undid your shorts button and pulled them down and then you pull your pink panties down and she moves the blankets away.

You get back on her lap basically straddling her lower stomach, you pull your shirt off over your head and she stares down at your boobs through your pink bra.

She pulls the strap down, shyly as she looks up at your face as you smile and unclasp it with one hand.

You lean closer, letting it slip off and you toss it aside. You grab her hand and place her palm over your tit.

“Play with them, mmhm.” You nod, she shakily grabs the other boob and squeezes them.

She pulls her hands away and starts to suck on your nipples. “Fuck, No-eul…”

She looks up at you while her lips are wrapped around your nipple, she grips the other one.

“So good with your tongue…gonna have to show me what else it does later.” You giggle.

She nods eagerly, you moan when she pushed her hips back against her cock that rested on her stomach.

You rock back on it, your clit rubs against it and she pulls back from your nipple.

“Can I…put it inside? Please?” She asks, hands grabbing your hips.

“Yes, put it in, baby.”

She moans softly at the name and you lift your hips and look down, watching as she lines her cock up with your entrance.

She pushed the tip inside and glanced up at you as you hiss.

“S’warm…” You hum, she pushed about four inches in and you squeeze her shoulders.

“H-Hold on.”

“You alright? Is it bad? Should I stop?” She asks, you shush her. “Shh, it’s okay. Just give me a minute, mhm?”

She nods, you try your best to get used to her size, her cock was thick. Not only was it thick but it was about seven inches long.

“You can put the rest in now, it’s okay, baby.” You nod, she moans.

She pushed the rest into your tight pussy and she groans as you squeeze around her.

“H-Holy fuck! You’re really tight.” She says, looking up at you while you bit down on your lip, trying to get used to her size.

“You okay, Y/n?” She asks, you nod with a frown. “I’m fine, it’s okay.” You pull a few inches out and slowly slide back down.

“Oh, fuck! You’re fucking huge, you’re stretching me out.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you continue to slowly pull most of her out before sliding back down.

She lays her head back, gripping your hips tightly. Your slow pace was driving her fucking insane.

She hissed when you take her whole cock down your pussy only to lift it back out and slowly slide down.

She digs her nails into your hips, “Just…please! Can you s-speed up? It’s driving me crazy.” She pants.

“Fuck, i’m so sorry…I just never been with someone so big…” You frown, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Baby, can you? Can you please just do it for me? I can take it. I just can’t do it myself yet.” You pant.

She swiftly flips you over to lie on your back, you moan when she pushed your legs open wider and holding them in the air.

She slowly thrusts into you, before she slowly sped up. Your moans and whines increase loudly.

“It’s so fucking good!” She moans loudly as you start to rub your clit.

“You fuck me so good…don’t you fucking stop!” You groan loudly.

She moans, gripping your hips while she buries her head in your neck.

“Is it okay? You sure?” She asks for reassurance.

You grab her hand, placing it on your lower stomach. Her eyebrows furrow.

“Do you feel that?” You moaned.

“Feel what? Oh…” No-eul looks down at your fucked out state.

You were taking her so fucking deep that it bulged through your stomach when she’d thrust hard.

“You’re in my tummy, No-eul. You’re so fucking huge!” You moan, she notices your rubbing on your clit, “C-Can I?”

You nod, pulling your fingers away and she used her right thumb to rub on your clit.

“Oh, yeah! That’s so good! You’re so good to me!” You whimper, head falling back against the pillow.

“You take me so well, oh f-fuck! It’s like you were made for me…” She whimpers.

“Y-Yeah? I was made for you, my pussy is all yours! I love to take your huge dick.” You moan, gripping the bed sheets tightly.

“F-Fuck! I’m so close, are you?” She moans and you nod repeatedly.

“I’m about to cum!” You whine.

“Cum around me, please!” She moans, you do just that, cumming around her cock.

She continues to fuck into you until she groans loudly, pulling her cock out to shoot her load onto your stomach and tits.

Fuck, even her pull out game was perfect. She was so perfect.

You both pant, she looks up at you all fucked out, hair messy, breathing heavily as your eyes are shut.

“I’m sorry, let me clean you up.” She grabs a pair of boxers and puts them on before going into the restroom and getting a towel and wetting it with warm water.

She comes back and wipes your stomach clean, you look up at her in awe, “Thank you.” You smile.

“Yeah, of course…” She blushes, you rub her face. “You’re not how I thought you’d be, No-eul…”

She shrugs, “Neither are you…” She replies, you chuckle.

“I really like you.” She admits, you peck her lips. “I like you too.”

“So…that means I can be your girlfriend?”

You giggle, “I would love that.” You said, she nods with a smile on her face.

You peck her lips again and move to sit up, your legs shaking. You sigh, “Could you get me something to wear? If I stood up I would fall over.” You chuckle.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” She grabs a T-shirt of hers from her drawer and hands it to you.

“Uh, you want some of my boxers to wear? Or like I could…get your underwear.” She seemed too nervous.

“Boxers are fine.” You chuckle, she hands you some and you put them on.

“Would you look at that? I think they are super cute!” You say, she nods.

“My clothes look really cute on you.” She says, you lay back on her bed, making room for her.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask, she nods, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you closer.

You pull the blanket over y’all and cuddle into her chest.

“Goodnight…” You hum.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” She whispers and you blush into her chest and shut your eyes, drifting to sleep fast while she held you.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it. 

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

 Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again. 

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important. 

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-” 

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging. 

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks. 

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours. 

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence. 

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls 

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.” 

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging. 

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can. 

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him. 

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins. 

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand. 

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.” 

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp. 

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him. 

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore. 

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same. 

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear. 

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here. 

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow. 

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder. 

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time. 

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway. 

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading. 

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot. 

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.  

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer. 

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits. 

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp. 

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied. 

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge. 

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment  hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely. 

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about. 

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that. 

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been. 

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men. 

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed. 

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about. 

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud. 

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him. 

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death. 

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day. 

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver. 

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet. 

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless. 

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him. 

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face. 

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth. 

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns. 

And runs. 

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips. 

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out. 

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder. 

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him. 

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger. 

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face. 

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy. 

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die. 

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back. 

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies. 

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together. 

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse. 

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace. 

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable. 

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him. 

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again. 

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man. 

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be. 

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches. 

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun. 

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile. 

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment. 

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you. 

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man. 

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose. 

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly. 

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world. 

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time. 

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent. 

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing. 

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much. 

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you. 

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit. 

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more. 

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening. 

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him. 

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it. 

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day. 

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try. 

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin. 

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk. 

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you. 

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you. 

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man. 

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him. 

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his. 

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation. 

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his. 

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench. 

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt. 

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you. 

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would. 

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone. 

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly. 

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off. 

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks. 

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face. 

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going. 

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls. 

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of. 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!” 

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell. 

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.” 

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast. 

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door. 

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them. 

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming. 

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this. 

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground. 

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares. 

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers. 

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him. 

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business. 

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness. 

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone. 

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night. 

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back. 

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long. 

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him. 

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind. 

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is. 

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them. 

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur… 

Arthur has to see this through. 

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world. 

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to. 

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs. 

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim. 

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest. 

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers. 

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn. 

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side. 

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. “I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots. 

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand. 

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first. 

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running. 

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in. 

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand. 

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again. 

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore. 

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest. 

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego. 

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does. 

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot. 

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free. 

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting. 

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him. 

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you. 

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply. 

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face. 

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up. 

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own. 

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you. 

Next part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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[alsofoundinpeas]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[lucifermorningstxr]

Lucifer wasn't mad at Chloe, nor did he hold anything against her now or ever. He was just sad, anxious, and, yes, guilty. Although he didn't know what exactly he'd done, as he was still learning self-awareness to the extent his human needed from him, he still felt bad for having done anything unintentionally at all. He wanted nothing more than to do it right this time, and so Chloe's near immediate resurgence back to him was reassuring in a big way. He instinctually kissed back and draped an arm around her. She'd come back for him, which must mean he hadn't messed up too badly, right?

Poised to answer but caught up in the movement of the moment, Lucifer simply followed Chloe like a puppy dog desperate for approval. And no, he didn't care about looking desperate with her. If there was anyone worth putting his ego aside for, utilizing his vulnerability to its very core, it was Chloe Decker. She deserved to know how deeply he cared about her, even if it made him look like a romcom simp. Truth be told, he didn't even care about the shower itself. That wasn't to say he didn't long for the dream come true of showering with the Chloe Decker, but in that moment after all, he just wanted to know he was okay. Maybe that was truly just part of the vulnerability; feel insecure and showing it to her.

Whatever the case, he'd stuck it out, and it paid off as he climbed in with Chloe. Standing in front of him now, she was as gorgeous as ever before. She hadn't aged a day since her starring role, which was saying a lot for a mother working such a high stress job, but dear old Dad must've spent a little more time on her. Placing his hands gently on her hips, he leaned in to kiss her shoulder. "Thank you, Detective. I'm not afraid of much, but I am afraid of losing you." Moving his hands gently up her side, coming to rest gently on her breasts. "Because any man who loses you has a fate worse than Hell, and I would know."

After everything that had happened in the last nine months, compounded with the tremendous turnaround the partners had performed tonight, Lucifer was taken a bit off guard by the fact that another turn for the worst could take place at the eleventh hour. Then again, he wasn't always the slickest with his words. Still, he'd say even more in an effort to save whatever it was that was going wrong. "No! No... it was a joke, Detective!" He propped himself up, looking at his human with a concerned daze. "I didn't mean to say anything wrong... I don't really know what I said."

That probably wasn't the right thing to say right now either, but Lucifer wasn't exactly renowned for his self-awareness. Rather, he was tripping over his own Luciferness, as it were, trying to make something good out of something... confusing. The whole situation wasn't turning out great, but when Chloe said she didn't think they should shower together, he knew he'd really messed up. Showering together was the hallmark of a successful night, but apparently, tonight wasn't so successful after all. In an effort to preserve whatever the partners had left, he simply nodded and looked up at her from his position on the bed. "Right... very well, Detective." Not a lie, but not a happy truth.

Regardless of everything, the whirlwind of emotions stirred by the updating evening, Lucifer maintained his desire to stay. Chloe's plea only reaffirmed that his presence was at least somewhat still desired in return, and so he nodded from his spot amongst the sheets. "I'm not going anywhere, Detective. If you need help... with anything... I'm here. I really am here." To stay. The silent part should've been said out loud too, but given the circumstance, how could he be certain it wasn't the wrong thing to say too?

Maybe it was true. Maybe Lucifer would always ruin everything he touched. But maybe, just maybe, if he could keep at it, he could fix it too. He'd never stuck around long enough to try, but even if he misspoke a million ways to Sinday, one thing was damned certain: he'd stay this time.

[utopiastri]

Touch starved/cuddle curse for landoscar please!!! I love your writing so much, thank you for sharing 💕

hi anon! i went for cuddle curse because i always love an excuse to write magical realism - i hope you enjoy and thank you for the prompt!!!

“So. How much longer are we trapped like this?” Lando asks

Jon checks his watch and glances at the ceiling as he does some quick mental maths. “About seven more hours? Give or take.”

Lando groans and tries to tilt his head back dramatically only to be stopped abruptly when the back of his neck hits Oscar’s arm where it's curled around his shoulders. “Sorry, mate,” he grimaces.

“It’s ok,” Oscar says quietly, “Sorry for getting us in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. Alright, well it’s not entirely your fault anyway,” Lando amends after Oscar gives him a look.

Jon clears his throat and Lando and Oscar both turn to look. “You boys all good here for the next few hours then? I'll be right next door if you need anything – you need anything before I go?” Oscar shakes his head and mutters a small thanks, but Lando stops to think about it for a second. He opens his mouth but Jon cuts him off. “Lando, no matter how many times you ask me, I’m not letting you have a cheat meal the night before a race just because your teammate got you cursed.”

Lando huffs. Oscar winces. Jon sighs.

“Fuck off then, if you’re not even gonna let me eat anything fun,” Lando grumbles.

Jon rolls his eyes and leaves the room. With him gone, Lando and Oscar fade into an awkward silence. Or as close to silence as you can get when you’re tangled so tightly with your teammate that you can hear every breath, every sniffle, every fidget. When the curse first pulled them together they'd experimented with lying further away from each other, but it resulted in so much pain for them both that they decided it would be better to just cling to each other instead.

For the record, Lando wasn’t kidding when he said this whole thing wasn’t entirely Oscar’s fault. Yes, Oscar’s the one who impeded Charles in quali today and yes, technically, Charles is the one whose magic accidentally manifested a curse on Oscar, but it’s not Oscar’s fault that Charles has never been able to control his magic.

“Why do you think Charles’ magic wound up casting a cuddle curse of all things?” Lando asks eventually, sick of the somewhat tense silence.

Oscar mumbles something but Lando can’t quite make it out.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I think the curse is having fun with the fact that Charles was pissed off that I was so close to him on track.”

“Huh?”

Oscar huffs. “I was too close to Charles on track so now the magic says I’ve gotta be too close to you instead.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Oscar mumbles after a few more moments.

“I’ve told you you don’t need to apologise. It’s fine.”

“Oh, what, because you’re having such a wonderful time right now? Being forcibly stuck to your teammate when you could be in your own bed with as much space as you want?”

“I mean it’s not…like, I mean I know I said we were ‘trapped’ when Jon was here but like, it’s not…not nice.” Lando tries not to pull a face at the trainwreck of a sentence he just came out with.

He's not lying though. There is something not not nice about being cuddled up so close to Oscar. It’s warm for one thing, comforting for another. He’s always enjoyed the rare occasions he and Oscar have hugged for longer than your typical bro hug.

It’s not not nice.

It’s, well.

It's nice.

Like. Really nice.

Oscar makes a soft noise. “You, um, this is, uh…”

“Osc?”

Oscar takes a deep breath and then somehow manages to pull the two of them closer together, nuzzling his face into the side of Lando’s neck. “This ok?” he whispers. Lando can feel his lips move against his neck as he speaks.

“Yeah,” he replies as quietly as Oscar spoke. Tentatively, prepared to pull back at any moment, he takes the hand currently plastered to the back of Oscar’s shirt and dips it underneath, resting his palm there, skin against skin. “This oka–”

“Yes,” Oscar breathes, barely letting Lando finish the question, already leaning into the touch.

Lando swallows and does his best to tug Oscar in tighter.

Maybe being stuck like this for seven hours isn’t such a bad thing.

[themioka]

Shaw pack head cannons. I have pt2

Marie took up healing magic so that pack members wouldn't have to spend money to go to a healer after getting injured or sick. It wa her way of showing gratitude towards her pack for what they'd done for her and Milo.

Colm wanted Milo to work for the department, going so far to try and steer Milo in the direction of doing so. However, Milo was quick to catch on what Colm was doing, and the two broke out into a massive argument about it.

Asher's parents always felt guilty for leaving Asher behind in pursuit of traveling around the world. While yes he's an adult, and had the support of his packmates, unlike his sister who they where present for the majority of her life up until she moved with her husband back to his pack and hometown. They immediately left the moment Asher could legally care for himself. Asher didn't blame them, nor did he hold any kind of grudge against them. He just kinda wished they stuck around longer before they up and left.

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Milo has a sleeper build body, and it drives Sweetheart wild whenever he decides to flex just to get a rise out of them. He gets a huge ego boost out of it every time, too.

Milo is the very much, I love to stay /hang out more but I have to go check on my cat and make sure he's doing okay and that he gets fed, etc, kind of person.

Whenever Milo is coming home from a rough or stressful job, he'll just pick up Aggro and Sweetheart, before heading to the bedroom to snuggle with the two, gaining a few cheek/forehead kisses from Sweetheart before all three fall asleep in each other embrace.

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One time, Sweetheart spooked Milo into shifting out of fear, and they've never felt so bad in their life until now. Just immediately pulled Milo's wolf into a tight hug as they apologized to Milo, their hand instinctively running through his fur as they kept hugging him til Milo slowly shifted back. They managed to get a laugh about the whole thing, but it took a bit of convincing from Milo that he was absolutely fine from the whole thing.

Whenever Sweetheart is experiencing a panic attack or feels an oncoming attack, Milo's either away on a job or hanging out with the pack members. They'll go to hide in their shared closet until it passes, unaware that Aggro is following them until Aggro is crawling into their lap and begins nuzzling Sweetheart, making biscuits on their lap, or making "conversation" by constantly meowing at Sweetheart. Manging to calm down, Sweetheart will thank Aggro before carrying him to the bed to take a small nap with him. Only to wake up to Milo petting their head as he lays across from them, and Aggro curled up between them, purring loudly.

Sweetheart, who'll make sure everything is up to code on Quinn's security/containment, double checking and ensuring the man doesn't even have a chance at escaping. Sending a list of details and updates of what they've gathered to the pack group chat at the end of their shfit before heading home.

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Darlin struggles to break their terrible habit of hiding bruises, cuts, etc. They won't even acknowledge whatever cut or bruises they have until someone points it out. Sometimes getting a bit defensive about the whole thing, as they're still not used to the idea of relying or asking for help from others.

Darlin swears they're not a good teacher, that they don't know or can't teach, and on top of it, someone who isn't an exact role model. Yet, can't say no whenever one of the younger pack members come to them on help on either learning on how to fight in their wolf form, getting better a shifting, etc.

Darlin is covered in various scars, small, big, either faint or not, depending on how old they are, either visible from afar others you can't really see unless you're up close.

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Whenever Sam joins in on pack runs, the others even David will try and race against him, and he'll indulge in their antics, pretending to slow down and acting a bit tired before blowing past them with ease.

Has gotten caught up in their spins out though it typically gets a chuckle out of him, because they always end up in a tangled mess, and he's trying to get them to hold still while he untangled them rather than having them wiggle around as they untangle themselves from each other limbs.

Sam will give Darlin a few words of encouragement whenever they're struggling to interact with the pack. He is struggling to hide the look of pride on his face whenever Darlin does it without help.

Sam, who's made to sit separately from Darlin during pack movie nights by Asher, because the two always end up falling asleep, not even halfway through the movie. Asher's attempts fail though because the two just "magically" find themselves right next to each other a few minutes later and are vast asleep, Sam having a tight yet gentle grip around Darlin's waist keeping them close and tight against him.

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David used to be in between a heavy sleeper and a light sleeper. However, after the inversion, he became an extremely light sleeper at the time, practically waking up to the sound of the blanket moving. He's gotten a bit better over time, but every now and then, he'll be awoken by the tiniest of noise.

Saw someone say that Darlin possibly has a limp due from the fights they've been in, 100% agree on it, yet overtime Darlin has learned how to adapt and normally functional with it, almost as if they've never had it. But given their age, they sometimes struggle to keep up on pack runs, so David will act as support and stick by them as they run together.

David gets dragged into the little playful scuffles that are mostly started by Asher, though he acts a bit annoyed by it. You can tell he enjoys these kinds of things that allow him to act like a kid/teen again. He'll sometimes switch up on sides every now and then or just team up on Asher with Milo and Darlin, ignoring Asher complaints that 3v1 is unfair.

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Angel will help David in looking for places that are suitable for Sam, of anything they can possibly bring with them if the place they're going to doesn't have much or doesn't offer any kind of shade, just to ensure Sam doesn't miss out on anything even if he claims he does mind being exclude from a few things.

(Both David and Angel won't allow it)

Whenever Angel manages to get David to lie on top of them, they'd usually have to hold onto him to get him to stay because he'll only lay on them for a few minutes, before trying to move, because he believes they'll end up hurt if he stays on top of them longer than usual.

Angel enjoys poking David's sides as they love getting a reaction out of him. Sometimes, David will pull them close to him in a tight embrace, growling in their ear for them to stop, or he'll punish them later for their behavior.

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You know those people who always have their arm around or hands on the person shoulders they're standing right next to because it feels weird if they don't or like have no idea what to do with their limbs in general. And on top of it, they give that little shoulder side pat or do that little shake when they get excited or happy about it. That's Asher, and it doesn't matter who it is, Babe, David, basically anyone who's close in range, Asher automatically has an arm slung over them or a hand on their shoulder.

Asher is very popular with kids since he's down to play with them whenever they invite/nag him to come play with them. Answers their questions with a silly response before going on to ask them questions that typically get a laugh out of them. Gets a laugh at pretending to scare the absolute crap out of their parents whenever he pretends he's dropped the kid whenever holding them. 100%, the one who starts tickle fights among the children. It's not uncommon for him to be the children jungle gym. On top of it, he'll be having a conversation with someone while it's happening and is 100% unphased by it.

Asher who'll jump onto one of the packmates back in a surprise greeting, the other typically being able to support the sudden weight but every now and then, it's enough to send both of them to the floor.

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Babe frequently smacks Asher's hand away whenever they're eating in or out, because no matter how much of their food they give Asher, it seems he's always coming back for more but at this point it's 50/50 for either more food or loving the reaction he's getting out of Babe.

Babe loves getting a rise out of Asher whenever they're over at Milo's and Sweetheart's place and just start loving on Aggro while Asher is whining at them. Milo often joins in, telling Babe how they should get a cat and telling them the perks about owning one, Babe acting all interested in what Milo's telling them all while "ignoring" Asher who's clinging onto them and whining on how they don't need a cat as they have him who is in his words much cooler than a cat.

Every now and then, whenever they're eating in or out, Babe will pretend they're full and offer the rest of their food to Asher, who's been eyeballing their plate after finishing his food.

[jostystyles]

when i run out of road, you bring me home | sj

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARVY SORRY YOU LOST :( but anyways, this is a culmination of me yapping to @mattyanonwrites about jarvy. i also had casual by chappell roan stuck in my head writing this, so it’s loosely based off that as well. and also happy bday harry styles there’s references to you in here too.

warnings: mentions of marijuana and alcohol, brief mentions of sex

word count: 2.1k. this was supposed to be a blurb.

The blare of the alarm broke him out of a peaceful sleep. The kind that makes you not want to get up, and just stay in the comfort of the blankets and shielded from the real world. Seth sighed as he rolled over to silence the alarm, scrolling through the slew of texts he was already receiving. If he wasn’t already awake, he was now after seeing the notification he’s always looking for.

12:07 am

(Y/N) 🤒

happy birthday jarvy :) hope you have the best day. miss you and sorry i won’t be around today to see you.

His heart clenched, as he realized she was the first person that texted him. She was also the only person he wanted to actually see today. In all honesty, she was the only person he really wanted to see ever. He’d take her in any capacity he could get. Loving the message and replying with a quick “thanks, miss you” and dragged himself out of bed to go in the shower. As the water cascaded down his body, he couldn’t help but let the memories flow of just last week when she was here with him, their bodies wet and flush to each other as one. Turning the water cold, Seth shook his head and dragged his hands down his face with a sigh.

He rode to the rink in silence, aside from a nice phone call with his mom, the only thing surrounding him was the sound of Carolina by Harry Styles coming from his speakers. It was a song (Y/N) added to his playlist as a joke, but one he’d grown to genuinely enjoy. (In all honesty, he actually enjoyed Harry’s music which is something he’d never admit to anyone) Surprisingly, he was the last one to arrive to the arena for morning skate, a role which was usually reserved for KK. As if they had it rehearsed, the second he set foot in the room he was met with the glaring shrieks of Martinook and immediately encapsulated in a three way hug by KK, Andrei and Burnzie.

“Happy birthday Jarvyman!”

“Gee thanks guys,” he exclaimed, “I was afraid that blink 182 lyric was true for a second there.”

Rolling his eyes and shoving Seth away, Andrei let out a chuckle.

“You pumped for the late evening, eh? Win or lose tonight we are getting very drunk. Rented out the Local for a good time.”

Seth smiled, replying with a laugh of “Hell yeah man.”

Andrei noticed his friends spirit was a little deflated.

“Yeah? Any chance of uh, you know who making an appearance?”

Like a sleeper agent, Seth’s demeanor activated from distracted to focused almost instantly.

“Uh, probably not. She texted me that she won’t be around today. She’s stuck in New York City with work.”

That’s why he was sad, Andrei realized. (Y/N) wouldn’t be in attendance. He might be playing with fire by saying this, but he just had to ask.

“You guys are still doing that casual thing, yes?”

Sliding his practice sweater over his pads, Seth nodded.

“Yeah, if that’s what you wanna call it.”

Casual. Except he was eating her out in the passenger seat of his car the other day. Casual, when her mom invited him to their beach house for (Y/N)’s birthday in the summer.

He had no right to be as upset as he was. She wasn’t his girlfriend. In all honesty, he didn’t even know what she was anymore. Three months ago, she was the frazzled college girl he met his first year in Raleigh that became his best friend. The girl he couldn’t live without. Three months ago, she was the girl whose couch he cried on after his ex girlfriend cheated on him. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew they were waking up naked and agreeing to keep it casual. But Seth liked to be stupid, and the guys teased him for it. He realized been in love with (Y/N) over the summer, and has done nothing but daydream about it to anyone but her. Nellie laughed and called him a romantic when he was wasted and told her and KK about his feelings, saying how he saw (Y/N) living in his apartment, her cats, and maybe they’d have a dog by then. And she’d take him with her and show him off to her friends back home.

“No attachment, right?”

He should’ve said no. Please. I’m attached. But instead, he agreed. A decision he was certainly regretting right now as he threw back his third green tea shot of the night, chasing it with a sip of his beer.

Jesperi sighed watching his best friend sulk at his own birthday party. In the next 5 minutes though, he was either going to go down as the best friend in the world or never be spoken to again. Glancing down at his phone, the message he’d been anxiously awaiting most of the night came through.

11:39 pm

(Y/N)

ubers 2 min out. do you think he’s onto us yet?

No. He doesn’t suspect a thing. Walking around the whole day like a sad puppy. Even looked dejected after he scored

fuck yeah. not that he’s sad, but this is going to be the best surprise ever. i’m here. keep him distracted

Realizing Seth was about to turn and head his direction, he raced forward to slap him on the back and keep him facing away from the door.

“Eh buddy, enjoying your night?”

“Yeah man this is awesome. I’m kinda beat though, think I’m gonna head out soon.”

KK squinted, pulling his head back a bit. “Leaving your own birthday party early? You good Jarvyman?”

Seth shrugged. “Yeah. ‘sides (Y/N) said she was gonna call me when she got to her hotel from the event she was at, but she hasn’t called me yet.” As soon as he stopped talking, he felt a pair of soft arms snake around his waist.

“Yeah, sorry about that. My plane got delayed a few times. Sorry I’m late to the party.”

Whipping around faster than he could on skates, he was met with his favorite smile and the prettiest eyes he’d grown fond of looking into blinking excitedly at him.

“(Y/N)? You’re here? I thought- New York, and you’d be stuck until tomorrow, and…oh my god.” he trailed off, burying his head into her neck and breathing in the scent of her. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes as he swayed her back and forth.

Giggling, (Y/N) murmured into his ear, “Of course I’m here, Seth. I would’ve never missed this. Happy birthday my dear.” she finished, pressing a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek.

“Can we leave? Now, please? Just wanna be with you.” He mumbled back, still holding onto her.

“Already? I just got here! At least let me say hi to everyone before I go-“

“You’ll see them at the next game. Let’s go.” He said, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from the bar. As they raced out, (Y/N) waved at Andrei and Jaccob, who were beside themselves with laughter at Seth’s sudden desire to leave his own party. Thankful he moved his car across the lot after the game, Seth opened (Y/N)s door for her before climbing into his own side of the car.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now. For the record, worst surprise ever. You showed up with only an hour left in my birthday.” He teased, fingers tapping the steering wheel with anxiety.

“Yeah well tell that to mother nature. I tried to get in so I could at least see the game, but we couldn’t depart JFK until the storm passed. I had to warn KK before puck drop to update our plans.”

“He was in on this?”

“Yeah, always. As soon as I found out I was going to come home today I texted him.”

“You guys suck. I don’t like being left out.”

(Y/N) laughed. “Jarvy, we were surprising you. We kind of had to leave you out.”

“Well yeah, but that doesn’t stop me from getting FOMO.”

The elevator ride up to his apartment was silent, which was unlikely for Seth. (Y/N) could tell he was on edge, and she wasn’t sure why. Before she could let her thoughts wander further, the bell dinged and they walked out hand in hand to his door.

Seth’s heart was racing. From almost bawling like a baby at the sight of her, he really hadn’t talked to (Y/N) that much since she got here. But in his own defense he didn’t think he’d have to do this so soon. Since she left last week, (Y/N) had left a void in Seth’s life. He’d always had her in some capacity since they came into each other’s lives. But lately, since they started whatever this thing they had going on, he craved her in every way imaginable. If all it took for him to realize he finally had to tell her how he felt was her going out of town, he’d have bought her a ticket a long time ago.

They stepped into his apartment, leaving their shoes by the door. As soon as (Y/N)s second boot was off her foot, Seth’s hands were grabbing her face, bringing it towards his own. His lips were soft on hers, and she could taste the cheap beer he’d been nursing all night. (Y/N) loved kissing him, but this one was different. Usually, every kiss they shared was fueled by pure lust, the marijuana smoke in their lungs or liquor in their veins providing accelerant. But this one, right now, was one fueled by something different.

Pulling away from her, his brown eyes wide, he rambled out, “I need to tell you something. Let’s go.”

“Seth. Honey, you’re scaring me. You’ve been weird all night, is everything okay?” (Y/N) asked, as they made their way to the couch.

“Yes it’s ok. I promise. Just please, listen to me, ok?” Seth replied, sliding himself into a position where he was kneeling in front of her, his head resting against her tummy. They’d been in this position many times before, but in his eyes this was the most intimate one yet.

“I don’t think I can be casual anymore. It’s getting too hard for me. Because I think it feels too real. And that’s what I want. The real thing. With you.”

“Seth, honey-“

“Wait please, let me get it out before you say anything, ok?” She nodded to him in response.

“I want to be yours. Your favorite bra is in my dresser, and I know my favorite jacket is at your place. I can’t call it casual when I was on the phone talking your sister down from dropping out of soccer. Or when you’re texting with Kayden about what he should buy his girlfriend at Ulta. Because that to me means we’re in this. And I try to be chill about it, and you know I love to talk but I try to hold my tongue on that topic because I want to give you space and not overwhelm you. But it’s overwhelming me. And I hate that I let this drag on so long because now I’m hating myself for not telling you sooner.”

“Oh, Jarvy. Don’t you know how much I love you?” (Y/N) replied, her acrylic nails scratching his head softly.

Seth must have died and gone to heaven. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I should’ve told you sooner. That night you kissed me, I decided that I’d have you in whatever way I could. And that meant being casual so it would hurt less when you eventually got tired of me. Because you were never really mine” (Y/N) confessed, sort of feeling a weight lift off her chest. She’s loved him for so long.

Seth moved so he was on top of her, her back pressed to the corner of the couch, their legs intertwined at the opposite end. “I love you. I love you so much. You’re my best friend. I’ll never get tired of you.”

(Y/N) giggled, leaning forward slightly to capture his lips in a quick kiss. “I know that now, silly boy.”

Seth rested his head on her boobs, his arms squeezing her waist a little tighter. Eyes closed, he laid there for a few minutes, listening to the beat of her heart, following the rise and fall of her breathing, and feeling the warmth of her hands in his hair.

“You know what would be the best birthday gift ever?”

“What’s that, honey?”

“For you to be my girlfriend.”

(Y/N) let out a cackle. “Well, it’s a good thing you asked because I left your other gift at my apartment.”

Jesperi was definitely getting an expensive gift for his birthday this year.

tags: @comphyjost @ilyasorokinn @lam-ila @2manytabsopen @laurenairay @leafsbabe

[transformers-spike]

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding. 

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

[nickistuffs]

Birthday with you

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference

Summary: As a late birthday celebration, Harry invited you to meet the people he holds dear to his heart.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None. Fluff 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry had invited you to his birthday party at one of his luxurious villas in Italy. The villa, perched on a hill with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, was stunning. The atmosphere was filled with the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the gentle hum of conversation—a perfect blend of elegance and warmth. But as you stepped inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were an outsider. This wasn’t just any party. It was an intimate gathering, filled with Harry's close family and friends, all of whom had known him for years. They shared memories and inside jokes you could only wish to be part of. You had never met any of them before, though you knew them from following Harry's career—interviews, social media, the occasional tabloid headline. But surface-level knowledge was hardly the same as truly knowing someone.

Harry, ever the warm and welcoming person, had been ecstatic to invite you. The moment you arrived, he stuck close to you, offering fleeting touches of his hand and gazes that reassured you. "I can’t wait for you to meet everyone," he had said, his enthusiasm undeniable. You tried to calm your nerves, but with every new face you saw, you couldn’t help but feel small. Would they accept you? Or would you just be another fan who had somehow found their way into Harry's world?

You sat quietly on a stool, nursing your drink and watching the lively chatter around you. Stories about childhood antics, tour memories, and quiet moments filled the air—things you were never a part of. The feeling of being an outsider weighed on you. But Harry had wanted you here, and you couldn’t let your nerves take over.

Just as you began to wonder if you'd ever feel at ease, someone tapped you gently on the shoulder. You turned around, startled, and found yourself face-to-face with Anne, Harry’s mum. Her warm smile immediately made you feel a little less alone.

"You must be Y/N," she said, her voice full of kindness. "Harry's told me so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Twist," you replied, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

"Please, call me Anne," she insisted. "I hope everyone’s making you feel welcome."

"Everyone's been lovely," you said with a smile, though a part of you still felt that initial intimidation.

Anne gave you a knowing glance before leaning in slightly. "You know, when Harry first mentioned inviting you, I could see how much he values your presence. He spoke about you with such enthusiasm."

You looked over at Harry, who was deep in conversation with a group of people. He caught your eye, offering you a warm smile that melted some of the tension.

"He's been looking forward to introducing you to everyone," Anne continued, "and I’m glad he did. It’s always wonderful to meet the people who mean so much to him."

Her words touched you more than you expected. "Thank you, Anne. That really means a lot."

Just as you were beginning to relax, you noticed Harry’s playful voice behind you. "I see you’ve met the most important woman in my life," he said, wrapping an arm around his mother’s shoulders.

Anne chuckled and patted Harry’s hand. "We've been getting along splendidly. I was just telling Y/N some stories from when you were little."

Harry groaned, his face contorting in mock horror. "Mum, you didn’t!"

"Oh, I did," Anne teased. "I had to let Y/N in on the time you tried to bake a cake and ended up with flour everywhere."

You laughed, picturing a younger Harry covered in flour. "That must have been quite the sight."

Harry rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. "I was seven! The recipe was way too complicated."

Anne raised an eyebrow. "It was a simple sponge cake, dear."

Before Harry could respond, Gemma, his sister, stepped into the conversation with a mischievous grin. "Oh, that’s nothing," she chimed in, her voice full of amusement as she approached the two of you, her baby cradled in her arms. "If we’re talking about embarrassing Harry stories, I’ve got plenty more."

Harry groaned louder. "Not you too, Gem."

Gemma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, this is one of my favorites. Do you remember the time when Harry decided to put on a magic show for the whole family?"

Harry’s eyes widened. "Gemma, don’t you dare."

But Gemma, clearly enjoying the moment, wasn’t about to stop. "Well, let’s just say the 'magician' managed to lock himself in the bathroom for an hour because he couldn’t get the handcuffs off. And we had to call Mum to get him out."

You burst out laughing, imagining little Harry, desperate to get out of the bathroom. "That sounds like a real magic trick."

"It was more of a disappearing act," Gemma teased. "The only thing Harry disappeared into was the bathroom, and we had to rescue him."

Harry’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but the smile on his face showed he was in on the joke. "I was, like, five!" he protested.

Anne laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think we should let Y/N hear the one about his birthday party when he got his first guitar."

You couldn’t help but laugh even more. It was so clear how much love and laughter surrounded this family. Their teasing, their easy camaraderie—it all made you feel like you were slowly becoming a part of it.

Harry finally gave in, rolling his eyes but laughing along with his mum and sister. "Alright, alright, I get it. I was a disaster as a kid."

"You were adorable," Gemma corrected with a playful grin, turning to you. "But honestly, Y/N, Harry’s stories are just the beginning. He’s grown up to be quite the character, even if he tries to act all serious now."

You smiled warmly at her. "I’m starting to see that."

Harry turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening. "I’m glad you’re getting to know my family. They’ve been a huge part of who I am."

"I can see that," you replied, genuinely touched by their kindness. "They’ve been wonderful."

Anne gave Harry a gentle nudge. "I’ll leave you two to chat. It was lovely talking with you, Y/N."

As she walked away, Harry took a step closer, his gaze intent. "I hope I’m not being too embarrassing," he said, a teasing smile on his face.

"Just enough," you teased back.

Harry laughed, his voice warm and carefree. "Fair enough. Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet."

Taking your hand, he led you through the villa, guiding you from group to group and introducing you to more of his loved ones. With each introduction, you felt a little more at home, your earlier nervousness slowly fading. Harry’s world was no longer something you observed from afar—it was becoming something you were a part of. The people he loved were just as warm and kind as he was, and they made you feel less like an outsider with every passing moment.

...

After a few more conversations with family, Harry squeezed your hand and grinned. "Come on, there's a group of people I want you to meet."

You followed him through the lively party, passing by laughter-filled clusters of guests. As you neared a circle of friends, Harry's arm brushed your back to guide you into the group. The familiar faces in the circle weren't just anyone—they were his close-knit crew, each one sharing a piece of Harry’s world.

"Hey, everyone, this is Y/N" Harry announced, his voice light but with a hint of pride. "This is basically my second family." His eyes twinkled as he gestured toward them. "And trust me, they’ve all been waiting to meet you."

You smiled nervously, unsure of what to expect. The group welcomed you warmly, their faces open and friendly.

First, Harry’s friend Jeff, with a mischievous smile and an easygoing nature, stepped forward. “So, you’re the famous Y/N Harry’s always talking about. Good to finally meet you!” He gave you a quick hug, which immediately put you at ease.

Next was Glenne, whose bright eyes and calm demeanour were a sharp contrast to Jeff’s energy. She extended her hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you, Harry loves talking about you know,” she joked, laughing softly.

You chuckled and felt yourself relax even more. “I’m not used to this kind of attention,” you said, glancing at Harry, who was grinning proudly.

Just then, Sarah caught your attention. She was holding her infant daughter in her arms, a soft smile on her lips. “Hi, Y/N, I’m Sarah,” she said gently, her voice tender as she rocked her baby back and forth. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Harry was right your are pretty.”

"Well your daughter’s adorable," you said, blushing at her compliment.

Sarah beamed, her eyes lighting up. “Thank you! She’s a handful, but a joy. One of the many little wonders of life.” Her baby cooed, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

As if on cue, Mitch, with his wild, curly hair and a playful grin, came rushing past. He was in the middle of a lighthearted battle with a toddler, trying to tickle the little one. “Hey, I’m Mitch!” he exclaimed between laughs as the toddler squirmed and giggled. “Don’t let this chaos fool you, I’m a softie on the inside.”

The toddler finally broke free from Mitch’s grasp and sprinted toward Sarah, who swooped them up effortlessly. “It’s like a never-ending game with these two,” Mitch said, shrugging in amusement.

You smiled at the scene, feeling more and more comfortable with each passing second. Harry’s friends were warm and welcoming, each of them with their own.

...

As the group bombarded you with questions about your life, your interests, and how you ended up at the villa, you found yourself laughing and feeling surprisingly at ease. Each question felt like an invitation to share more of yourself, and their curiosity and warmth made you feel more at home with every passing minute.

You talked about your favorite books, the music you loved, and how you ended up in Italy. With every word, you felt a little more connected to the people who meant so much to Harry. The ease with which they welcomed you made the night feel like a celebration not just for Harry, but for the bonds they all shared—bonds you were now becoming a part of.

However, Harry had been standing off to the side, watching with a knowing smile. As much as he loved seeing you connect with his friends, there was something about the way they all adored you that made him want to have you to himself, just for a moment. He admired how effortlessly you fit in, but he couldn’t help but feel a little possessive, wanting a break from the crowd.

After a particularly lively round of questions about your favorite books and music, Harry stepped forward, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes twinkled with playful mischief as he squeezed your hand and, with a teasing smirk, spoke up.

“Alright, as generous as I am, I think it’s time I get a little selfish,” he said, his voice smooth and full of charm. “I want to steal my girl for a moment.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “If that’s okay with everyone?”

The group let out a collective groan of exaggerated disappointment, but there was no mistaking the fondness in their voices. “Go on, mate, we’ll let you have her for a bit,” Jeff said with a wink, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Harry smiled at them, giving you a wink of his own, before gently guiding you away from the group. “See, they understand,” he said with a smirk, leading you toward a quieter corner of the villa.

As you walked away, a warm blush spread across your cheeks from his words. You could feel the eyes of his friends on you, but it didn’t matter. The heat of the moment only deepened the connection between the two of you, and Harry’s presence was like an anchor in the sea of social energy around you.

Once you were far enough from the crowd, Harry stopped, turning to face you. His eyes softened as they lingered on you for a moment, taking in the soft blue dress you wore for him. The way the fabric hugged your form made his heart skip a beat. He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a warm shiver down your spine.

He smiled, clearly appreciative of the effort you’d put into looking beautiful for him. “I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, filled with affection. “I just wanted to be with you, even if it’s just for a minute.”

You chuckled, your voice light but sincere. “It’s your birthday party, Harry. The attention should be on you.”

He shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They’ve worked with me all year. They might be sick of me already.”

You laughed at that, the sound of it filling the space between you two, feeling like it was just the two of you at that moment, away from the chaos of the party.

You leaned in slightly, your faces close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The distant sounds of the party faded into the background, and in that quiet moment, all that mattered was the intimacy between the two of you. Harry’s gentle touch, his easygoing nature, and the warmth of his presence made everything else seem distant, like background noise.

He leaned down, his lips brushing near your ear, his breath warm against your cheek. “Though I have to say, it’s pretty fun making you blush.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your attempt at feigning indifference. “You're impossible,” you whispered, your voice light but full of affection.

Harry chuckled, and you could feel the warmth of his laugh in the air between you. “You love it,” he teased gently, his fingers still tracing circles on your skin.

Just then, the sound of laughter broke through the quiet moment, and you heard a voice from the distance call out with a teasing tone.

“Hey lovebirds, time to blow out the candles on your cake, Harry!”

The playful interruption came from none other than Jeff, who stood with the group, his mischievous grin matching the fondness in his eyes. The others behind him chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment they had interrupted.

You and Harry exchanged an amused glance, both of you still caught in the afterglow of the quiet moment you shared. With a soft sigh, Harry smiled, his hand gently holding yours once more.

“Well,” he said, his grin widening as he gave you a playful nudge, “looks like they’re calling us back to the party. But don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Of course you’re not.”

With that, Harry led you back toward the group. As the bustling crowd and lively chatter resumed around you, the warmth of the quiet moment you’d just shared lingered. It was a perfect balance—shared laughter, heartfelt conversations, and just enough of Harry’s attention to remind you how much he cared. The party was a celebration of him, but with him by your side, it felt like a celebration of the two of you.

Just as Harry was about to blow out his candles, Anne’s voice rang out, playful and full of motherly warmth. “Make a wish, Harry!” she called from across the room.

Harry paused for a beat, a small smile playing on his lips. He glanced at you, then back at his cake, before he blew out the candles. He already knew what he’d wished for—and he didn’t need to make a wish to know it had already come true.

...

AAAHHH!!! HBD to our lovely Harry Styles <3

[peachiejeongin]

ink and thorns, part 1 | hyunjin

part 2

synopsis: hwang hyunjin is the tattoo artist you cannot stand for the life of you, always acting so smug, so horrendous, and always attempting to flirt with you. you hate him, but what happens when you end up in his arms after a traumatic night?

pairing: tattoo artist!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mature & sexually explicit content (18+ recommended), lower case letters intended, swearing, pet names (sweetheart, princess, etc.), mentions of anxiety, cheating (not hyunjin or reader), mentions of losing a parent.

wc: 15.4k

notice: hello, my darlings! tattoo artist hyunjin has been on my mind for a while with the revelation of hyunjin's buzzcut and after being inspired to write a longer hyunjin fan fiction. thank you jeonginsleftcheek for the latter (please go read hate your guts, it is such an amazing read!). i hope you all like this story! i started working on it the minute hyunjin's buzzcut was revealed, and i have continued it between writing the other fictions on my account, so it has been a while in the making. thank you in advance for reading and enjoy :)

divider by: @cafekitsune

the door to prism ink studio creaked open as you clutched your printed design like a lifeline. a scent mixed of antiseptic and ink filled the air, the smell surprisingly soothing your rampant nerves.

this was going to be an exciting day for you; today was the day you were getting your first tattoo—a delicate flower you had carefully crafted to celebrate the milestone. after hours of sketching, you had perfected it; each thorn and petal was drawn to represent your personality, your story even—a girl who, although tested and tried at times, stood strong and beautiful like a rose.

you were enthusiastic, over the moon even, to get your first tattoo; however, the moment your eyes landed on the man behind the counter, your stomach twisted.

hyunjin.

of course, it had to be him—the sharp-featured tattoo artist with a permanent smirk and a blonde buzz cut that somehow made him even more insufferable. he was leaning casually against the counter, tattooed fingers idly tapping on his phone and occasionally making the cool silver of his rings clink. as soon as he noticed you, his dark eyes sparked with recognition, and a grin curved across his lips.

you had to resist the urge to turn around and leave.

hyunjin was not just some run of the mill tattoo artist; he was the reason your best friend, nari, had spent weeks crying over her half-finished sleeve. he had worked on her design for months, only to ditch her for a "better-paying client" before finishing the job, as nari had told you. sure, nari eventually found another artist, who notably completed the work better than hyunjin could have ever, but the drama left a bitter taste in your mouth. now, seeing him here, smug and unbothered, made your blood boil.

"well, hello there, sweetheart," he said smoothly, tucking his phone into his pocket. "you lost, or are you here for a tat?"

you swallowed your irritation and forced a smile, although it was visibly faux.

"i have an appointment with changbin."

'ah," hyunjin drawled, leaning forward and perching himself on his elbows as he tsked. "sorry to break it to you, but binnie's out today. got the flu."

"oh." your heart sank. "should i just reschedule then?"

"well you could." hyunjin tilted his head, feigning his thoughts. "that would mean waiting at least two months, though. changbin's pretty booked these days."

you hesitated, the urge to leave growing stronger with every second you had to look at hyunjin's stupid face; however, you had planned this appointment for weeks and felt as if you had waited long enough.

"fine," you eventually bit out. "who else is available?"

"let's see," hyunjin trailed off as he looked to the sky in fake ponderation. "chan's booked all day, felix is on break...looks like you're stuck with me." his shit-eating grin widened.

"you're kidding." you froze, your eyes narrowing. of course this would be just your luck.

"afraid not." he pushed himself off of the counter, tattoos shifting along his forearms as he crossed them. "unless you're cool with waiting an eternity for changbin, i'm your guy."

every nerve in your body screamed at you to say no, but practicality won out.

"whatever." you sighed in a resigned manner. "if i have to, i have to. let's just get this over with."

"love the enthusiasm!" hyunjin teased, motioning for you to follow him. as you stepped into the back, the smell of ink grew stronger, and you swore you saw him smirking over his shoulder.

this was going to be a long session.

the station hyunjin led you to was annoyingly perfect. black leather chairs sat gleaming under the warm glow of hanging edison bulbs, and his setup was meticulous, with ink bottles lined up like soldiers and glinting under the light; his sketch pad rested to the side, flipped open and allowing you to glance at some of his work, from skulls to portraits. Despite your feelings on the artist, you had to admit that the space screamed professionalism.

"you can sit," hyunjin told you, pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves with a sharp snap. "or are you going to glare at me all session?"

"i'm not glaring," you shot back, giving him a look full of annoyance and impatience.

"sure you aren't." he smirked, motioning to the chair.

reluctantly, you sat down, clutching your design. he took it from your hand, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second but just long enough to send a spark of irritation through you.

"a flower," he mused, holding up the design to the light in order to inspect it. his dark brows lifted, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "how original."

"i like it," you snarled through a clenched jaw.

"good thing that's all that matters." he tossed the paper onto the counter and grabbed a fresh sheet to sketch. "but this could use some life. where you want it?"

"my wrist."

“risky,” he warned. “one of the most painful places for a tattoo.”

“i like taking risks. what can i say?”

hyunjin did not respond; instead, his gaze lasered in on the design as his hand glided over the paper with practiced ease. you hated how skilled he looked, hated the way his lips pursed in concentration and his lashes cast shadows against his chiseled cheekbones. he had no right to be so ethereal while being such an insufferable person.

"i’m making the petals softer," he explained, spinning the sketch around to show you. the design had more depth now, with delicate shading and a subtle curve that made the flower look like it was swaying in the wind. "see? it looks better."

"it's fine, i guess," you muttered, refusing to compliment him. you hated to admit it, but he was right. his artistry complimented the design much better than yours ever could have the potential to, and it looked absolutely gorgeous.

"wow, try to hold back your excitement," he chuckled. "you'll hurt my ego."

you ignored him as he prepped the station, the buzz of the tattoo machine igniting a fresh wave of nerves.

"first tattoo?" he asked, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts.

"yeah," you responded shortly.

"though so." he crouched beside you, his face annoyingly close as he adjusted your wrist with a light grip. "relax, alright? it's not that bad. besides, you can't be scared of needles and be a bitch. pick one."

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "can you just do the tattoo without the comments?"

"where's the fun in that, sweetheart?" hyunjin laughed, the sound low and rich.

hyunjin grabbed a cleaning cloth and quickly dabbed it over your wrist. he then carefully, yet firmly, applied the stencil he had drawn out on the sterilized area.

“look good?” he asked, holding up a mirror so you could see the outline. you nodded, watching as he grabbed the tattoo needle after your response. he dipped it in a fresh bottle of black ink and aligned it carefully over the stencil; its first touch against your skin made you wince, causing hyunjin to pause. 

"you good?"

"fine," you replied, albeit through clenched teeth.

"alright. just breathe for me, princess."

"stop with the pet names."

hyunjin tuned out your last comment, already focused on the work at hand. his teasing demeanor slipped away as he worked. the machine's hum filled the silence as you watched hyunjin constantly wiping the tattoo needle clean, dipping it in different colored inks to complete the intricate shading he had added to the tattoo. for the first time, you saw a different side of hyunjin; he was calm, focused, and precise, completely contradicting his normal cockiness. after what felt like hours, he wiped the tattoo clean and leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"there. not bad for your first time, especially not for a wrist tattoo."

you glanced down at the flower blooming across your wrist, the details soft and intricate, exactly as you had hoped they would be.

"it's nice," you admitted begrudgingly.

"nice?" he raised a brow. "i'll take it. come back when you want another one. maybe get something less basic next time."

“doubt it,” you remarked, shooting him a glare. you swiftly strided to the door, preparing to exit; you did not get too far before hyunjin yelled after you.

“leaving without paying, sweetheart?” he inquired, stepping back behind the counter as he propped his chin up on his palm. you snapped your head in his direction, rolling your eyes as you let out an aggravated sigh. you pulled out your wallet, digging out three twenty-dollar bills and throwing them on the counter before turning to leave again.

“not so fast.” you stopped in your tracks, throwing your hands up in vexation.

“what now, fuckass?”

“only sixty bucks?” hyunjin counted the bills as if to accentuate his words. 

“yeah,” you obliviously responded. “that’s what the price estimate was when i talked to changbin.”

“i’m not changbin, princess,” hyunjin retorted, setting the bills down to the side. “for a two hour appointment, especially with that much detail, you’re looking at about a hundred and twenty for me.”

“a hundred and twenty?!” you repeated, your voice raising out of anger. “i don’t have that much on me!”

“well, you’re in luck,” hyunjin replied with a fakely sweet tone. “there’s an atm right behind you.” he pointed to the grey banking machine right behind you, making you groan in frustration. you stomped the couple of steps it took to get to the atm and infuriatingly inserted your card, extracting another set of three twenty-dollar bills and slamming them in front of hyunjin. the smug, amused smile he had on his face made you want to slap him.

“there. a hundred and twenty bucks. can i go now?”

“what? no tip?” hyunjin quirked an eyebrow, his lips curving as he watched your stature further enrage.

“assholes don’t get tips,” you retorted.

“makes sense as to why you’re so uptight,” hyunjin scoffed.

“oh, fuck off,” you turned towards the door, finally making your leave as hyunjin yelled out a comment about how you did not say he was wrong.

you swore you would never go back.

you convinced yourself that hyunjin’s smug remarks and relentless teasing were not worth the trouble. sure, his artistry was undeniably stunning, but facing him again? absolutely not.

yet, here you were, standing outside prism ink studio for your second appointment; thankfully, changbin was finally back, and he had some free time in his schedule. thus, he offered you what he called a “make-up appointment” to apologize for missing your first one. to make matters even better, you had specifically asked if hyunjin would be working that day, to which changbin assured you he was not. your optimism of avoiding hyunjin was high as the bell above the door chimed. stepping inside, you were greeted by the now familiar whiff of the shop.

"welcome back, princess."

you have got to be kidding.

hyunjin was behind the counter again, leaning casually like he owned the place. his buzzed hair was freshly cut, accentuating his chiseled features even more, and his colorful tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his black shirt. he looked up from his phone, his smirk spreading when he saw you.

"what are you doing here?" you snapped, stepping forward. "where’s changbin?"

"number one, i work here,” hyunjin shot back sharply. “number two, he’s out sick again. i’m covering for him today."

you stared at hyunjin, disbelief and frustration warring in your gaze.

"seriously? he promised he would be here today! does he ever show up for work?"

hyunjin shrugged, clearly enjoying your annoyed stature. "he can’t help getting sick. no use in whining about it."

"whatever. when's his next appointment?" you clenched your fists tightly as you asked, digging your nails into your palms as a way to hold yourself back from unleashing all of your bottled wrath.

"let's see." hyunjin tilted his head, pretending to think. "a couple of months, give or take, but  you're in luck; i just so happen to have an opening right now. if you’re desperate enough, that is."

desperate was not the word, but the idea of pushing your design back another two months made you want to scream. it had taken you weeks after your first appointment to muster up the courage to get another tattoo, and the thought of waiting again was unbearable.

"you're really the only one available right now?” you questioned, sighing sharply.

"yup. seems like fate to me," he remarked, a wolfish grin prominent on his face. you thought fate seemed more like a cruel joke.

"fine," you snarled. "but this is the last time i’ll ever come to you for a tattoo."

"sure it is," he drawled, leading you to the back room.

the session started much the same as last time, with hyunjin throwing in a steady stream of comments designed to test your patience.

"another flower, huh? you're growing an entire garden," he teased, sketching out your new design.

"so what?" you muttered. "sure, flower tats are unoriginal, but they’re pretty."

"that's because i made them look pretty," he shot back. before you could retaliate, hyunjin spun his sketch pad around to show you his newly-crafted drawing. the design, which was a cluster of wildflowers trailing along your forearm, was breathtaking. It had depth, movement, and the same soft elegance as your first piece.

you hated how good hyunjin was at his job.

"it's alright," you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. hyunjin chuckled as he prepared his station.

"you are a terrible liar, you know that?"

hyunjin cleaned the area of your forearm the tattoo would be placed upon before placing the stencil on top of it. once you had confirmed the placement, he dipped the tattoo needle in an ink cartridge ; it touched your skin for a second round, a much more bearable and familiar sensation now. for the next hour, your focus was on any and every thing except the steady hum of the machine. your gaze kept trailing to hyunjin’s hands, which were warm and steady. you noticed how his concentration was absolute, fully devoted to his artwork. you could not stand how professional he could be when he was not preoccupied with driving you insane.

as he worked, your phone buzzed on the counter. hyunjin glanced at it, smirking as he read the notification.

"boyfriend checking in?"

"none of your business," you dismissed quickly, sitting up slowly and swiping your phone away with your free hand, careful not to make hyunjin jerk the needle.

"that's a yes, then," he remarked, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "wonder if he knows how much time you've been spending with me lately."

your heart undeniably skipped a beat, but you covered it with a glare of faux annoyance.

"i have spent two tattoo appointments with you, and you act like it’s been two weeks or some shit," you growled. "focus on the tattoo and not my personal life, please?"

"only because you said please, sweetheart."

when the session ended, you analyzed the tattoo; as with the first one, it was absolutely gorgeous, but you would never admit that to hyunjin. 

“looks nice,” you commented, though hyunjin caught the admirable glimmer in your eyes.

“yeah, yeah, i know you love it.”

“love is a strong word, fuckass,” you chuckled, knowing full well he was right. instead of responding, however, hyunjin handed you a business card with his number on it. 

"here. for appointments," he explained. “because i know after two flakes, you’re not gonna want to try changbin again.” despite his words, the gleam in his eye suggested he had other intentions. 

you took the card reluctantly, fully intending to never use it; however, as soon as you had paid and got to your car, you saved the number in your phone, giving hyunjin a contact name that you felt was fitting.

"fuckass."

the days after your second tattoo were quiet.

you could not stop staring at your phone, where hyunjin's number sat in your contacts under the hilarious nickname; at first, you had told yourself you would delete his number. having it felt unnecessary, especially considering his flirtatious manner paired with your relationship status. not to mention, you did not see the point in keeping the number of someone you could not stand.

but every time your thumb hovered over the delete button, something stopped you. maybe it was the nagging curiosity about his ulterior motives aside from “appointments.” maybe it was the urge to blow up his phone, bombarding him with a million questions about his work or about why he dipped out on nari. whatever it was, yet you refrained, keeping to yourself in an uncomfortable, deafening silence.

the last thing you were expecting that wednesday afternoon was a text notification, his contact name bolded above the messages icon.

fuckass: 'bet you're still admiring my work. don't forget to moisturize btw. wouldn't want the flowers to fade.'

you stared at your screen, incredulous.

you: 'how did you get my number? and do you text all your clients, or am i just lucky?'

his reply was instant.

fuckass: 'you put your phone number down on the information sheet before every session, dumbass. and i just text the ones who talk to me like i ruined their lives. it's cute.'

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him and firing back. against your better judgment, you chose the latter. against your better judgment, you chose the latter.

you: 'wow. professionalism really is dead.' fuckass: 'professionalism is boring. you would hate me more if I was boring.

you rolled your eyes at his response, tossing your phone aside and hoping that this conversation would be the end of your interactions with him.

spoiler alert: it was not.

over the next few days, hyunjin made it a point to text you almost every morning; sometimes, it was about your tattoos, and sometimes it was just to talk to you.

fuckass: 'favorite flower?' you: 'why?' fuckass: 'research for your next tattoo.' you: 'who says i'm coming back to you?' fuckass: 'you will.'

his confidence was maddening, but what was worse? he was not entirely incorrect.

you: 'daisies.'

one particularly bad day, you found yourself staring at his contact again, debating on whether or not to block him. the day was a disaster from the start: work was a mess, your boyfriend had not messaged you all day, and your anxiety was spiraling out of control.

to distract yourself, you scrolled through your messages, finding yourself rereading hyunjin's texts. against all logic, they made you feel...happier. his cocky attitude was infuriating, sure, but it was also humorous, almost grounding in a sense.

before you could stop yourself, your fingers were moving.

you: 'why do you always message me? you have to have a bunch of other clients you could be texting.'

his reply came within seconds.

fuckass: ‘yeah, but none of them are as fun to talk to.' fuckass: ‘don't get a big head about that btw. i can picture your smirk from here.'

despite what hyunjin thought via message, you were not smirking; you were smiling, the tension in your chest easing tremendously.

it was weird how the asshole always knew how to unintentionally make you feel better.

the weeks blurred together, each day filled with an irritating mix of responsibilities, and, somehow, more messages from hyunjin. he had worked his way under your skin in the most obnoxious way possible, texting you things at the most inconvenient times.

the weirdest part? it felt like hyunjin was texting you more than your boyfriend was. here recently, your boyfriend had gotten into a habit of going days, sometimes a week without responding to your messages; he always passed it off as you “overthinking” considering you lived together. yet, as the weeks went on like this, your gut began to unsettle at the feeling. you had thought about asking hyunjin for advice, if this was how guys normally acted; however, you subsided, letting the matter play out for itself. in fact, you were in the middle of staring at your phone, waiting for a message to pop up from your boyfriend explaining where he was at the hour. when your phone dinged, you became hopeful.

the wrong contact name popped  up, however.

fuckass: 'if you had to pick a tattoo right now without thinking, what would it be?' you: 'a stop sign.' fuckass: 'ha. ha. you're sooooo funny.' fuckass: 'seriously tho. what are you getting next?' you: 'don't you have actual clients to bother?' fuckass: 'i’ve already told you, sweetheart. you’re funner to talk to.' you: ‘funner isn’t a word.’ fuckass: ‘i’m a tattoo artist, not an english teacher.’

you did not understand how he had such a flaring ere to him. he had a sense of self-pride that was unmatched, and he talked to you as if it was a natural, flowing thing to do, despite the prior tension to your "professional" relationship. no matter how much you told yourself to ignore him, you never did. there was something infuriatingly safe about hyunjin. he was consistent, yet annoying in the same way every time you spoke, and he was oddly insightful when he was not messing with you.

if only his thoughtfulness could save you from the heartbreak about to ensue.

it was a saturday afternoon when the first red flag appeared. 

you were out with friends, sipping coffee at a small cafe, when your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen, expecting it to be a social media notification or an annoying reminder to turn your volume down on your phone.

instead, it was a text message; a photo, to be precise.

fuckass: 'this your guy?'

the image was grainy, clearly taken from across the street. no matter the quality, however, you could recognize the face anywhere. 

it was unmistakably your boyfriend; he was smiling as he leaned in far too close to a girl who was not you.

you: 'what are you doing?' fuckass: 'saw him on my way back to the parlor after my lunch break. thought you should know.'

you stared at the screen, your vision blurring. part of you wanted to accuse hyunjin of lying, of stirring up drama just so he could get under your skin; however, you knew that the picture did not lie, that it could not lie.

your fingers shook as you typed out a reply, anger clouding your judgment against all odds.

you: 'stay out of my personal life.' fuckass: 'k. suit yourself.

as soon as you got home, your boyfriend called, acting as if everything was normal. his voice grated on your nerves, every word sounding like a lie. you wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation for the photo hyunjin had sent you, but the thought of it made your stomach churn.

instead, you found yourself rushedly hanging up the phone, claiming to be tired. you did not take a nap, though; you typed out a message to hyunjin.

you: 'do you have any proof that he's cheating on me? like hardcore evidence?' fuckass: 'thought i was supposed to stay out of your personal life?' you: 'i wouldn't ask if i didn't want answers.' fuckass: ‘why is the photo not “hardcore” enough?’ you: ‘idk, what if the girl’s like his cousin or something?’ fuckass: ‘why would he be that close to a cousin?’ you: ‘idk. i just need something else to prove it.’ fuckass: ‘you think i would lie to you about something like this?’ you: ‘hyunjin, please.’

it took a few minutes, but another photo came through. this one was clearer, sharper; your boyfriend was holding hands with the same woman from the previous picture. 

fuckass: ‘there. i ended up walking past them and snapped that.” fuckass: ‘i was trying to send you the one that would break your heart the least, but you’re fucking stubborn so there you go.’ fuckass: ‘there’s one of them kissing, too, but i’m not making you see that one.’

you stared at the picture for what felt like hours, your chest tightening with every passing moment. how could this be? how could the man who claimed to love you, who claimed he would give everything for you ruin your relationship in an instant? you felt your face go hot, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed to yourself.

you were broken out of your thoughts by another text from hyunjin.

fuckass: 'you okay?'

you did not reply. you did not know how to.

a week passed before you found the courage to do anything.

the photo sat on your phone screen like a tragedy you could not take your eyes off of. it was late, midnight to be precise, and well past the hour confrontations should happen; however you did not care. you had spent the past few days trying to ignore it, hoping it was not true, that hyunjin had misunderstood the circumstance. yet, the weight of the photo was overbearing, suffocating you each time you looked at it.

you paced your apartment as you waited for your boyfriend to return home; he had been out all day, doing only the good heavens knew what. every second ticked by like it was a warning. the image burned into your mind: your boyfriend's hand clasped around hers, his thumb just barely over her knuckles in a way he always did with you.

when his key finally turned the lock, your heart dropped to your stomach.

he walked in casually, kicking off his shoes without a second glance in your direction. 

"hey," he greeted, his voice neutral. "why are you still up?"

"where were you?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. "your schedule said you got off at 5:00. it's 12:00."

he froze for a split second before recovering, tossing his bag onto the counter.

"out with friends. why?"

"you didn't think to call?" you gripped your phone tightly, the corners of it pressing into your palm. "which friends were you with?"

he frowned, clearly caught off guard.

"why does it matter?"

"because i want to know who she is," you snapped, holding up your phone to show him the photo hyunjin had sent you. his expression shifted in an instant, his confident mask crumbling. he stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"the hell is this?"

"you tell me," you retaliated, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "who the fuck is she? and don't you dare lie to me."

he stepped forward, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"baby, i promise you it isn't what it looks like."

"oh really? because it looks like you're holding her hand," you shot back bitterly. "and it also looks like you've been lying to me for only god knows how long."

"it's not-" he began, but you cut him off.

"don't," you warned, your voice breaking with each syllable. "don't you stand there and insult me with excuses. tell me the truth. are you cheating on me?"

the silence that followed the question was deafening. he looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"it's... complicated."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet; your head spun as you formulated a response.

"complicated?" you repeated, your voice hollow. "how is it complicated? you either cheated on me or you didn't."

he did not answer, but his silence was louder than any confession. your chest tightened, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"i trusted you," you told him quietly, your barely-audible voice quivering as you spoke. "i gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

"it wasn't supposed to happen," he tried to claim, his voice nearing the octave of a whisper.

his response was all it took to break you. the tears spilled over, smearing your mascara down your cheeks; you laughed bitterly through the pain, almost sounding psychotic.

"i don’t know how being romantic with someone who is not your girlfriend isn’t supposed to happen, but congratu-fucking-lations. it happened." he stepped closer, but you backed away. "don't. get the fuck away from me, and get out."

"y/n, please-"

"i'm not going to say it again," you apprised, your tone crackling with rage. "get the fuck out of my house. we are over."

for a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded, grabbing his bag and his shoes and heading for the door. when it shut harshly behind him, the apartment felt unbearably empty, the quiet pressing in on you from all sides.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, trying to breathe through the asphyxiating pressure in your chest. everything felt raw, like the air itself was too sharp against your skin.

disregarding how you felt in the moment, disregarding every ounce of pain coursing through you, your mind wandered to one thing: the only person who had warned you of what was coming, and the only person you knew could take away your sorrow in the moment.

hyunjin.

you found yourself self-consciously reaching for your phone; this time, there was no hesitation as you scrolled to his contact.

you: 'do you by chance have an opening?' fuckass: 'for you? always.' fuckass: 'everything alright?' you: 'just need a tattoo.'

you did not offer an explanation, and to your bewilderment, hyunjin did not push for one.

fuckass: 'come to the studio in a couple of hours. i’ll be here.'

the studio was quiet when you arrived; quiet was an understatement, as a matter of fact. there were no cars in the parking lot, and there seemed to be no one inside. you walked towards the entrance, your steps hesitant but purposeful. hyunjin was waiting for you at the door, the only semblance of life within the colorful building. his smirk was replaced with a look you did not recognize as he unlocked the door.

"you look terrible," he commented bluntly as you stepped inside; however, his tone seemed uncharacteristically soft rather than demeaning or teasing even.

"thanks. just what i needed to hear tonight," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "can i just get my tattoo?" hyunjin nodded, not arguing and leading you to his station without another word.

"i thought the studio would still be...y'know, open," you remarked, attempting to mask the quiver in your voice with the smug comment. "why did you tell me to come here after hours?"

"i always bring the prettiest clients here," hyunjin replied, his voice seeming more genuine and sweeter than teasing. "no, i just thought you could use the quiet. we were pretty busy today, and i didn’t want the noise to overstimulate you."

his care surprised you, and you found yourself nodding as you kept your gaze glued to the ground; however, your heart warmed at the gesture, at the smallest semblance that he did have some form of a heart.

"thanks."

"no problem. what's the design?" he inquired once you were seated. you handed him a rough sketch you had made a couple days prior as a way to distract yourself from what was happening with your boyfriend; it was a cluster of forget-me-nots, delicate and intricate.

"pretty," hyunjin remarked after a moment, his voice retaining its gentle demeanor. "why forget-me-nots in particular?"

"doesn't matter," you replied, your voice angrier than intended. hyunjin's lips twitched as if there was some sort of sarcastic comment waiting to spill out; however, he just nodded.

"alright. where do you want it?"

"here," you responded, gesturing to the inside of your forearm.

hyunjin studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. instead of pressing, he nodded once again and got to work sketching a stencil.

placing the outline onto your skin, hyunjin flipped on his tattoo gun, its hum filling the silence. for once, he did not try to distract you with his jokes or relentless teasing. his focus was unwavering, more so than usual, and his hands steadied as they moved over your skin.

when the needle paused, you looked up to find him watching you.

"what?" you questioned in a defensive manner.

"nothing." he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're just...quieter than usual. it’s weird."

"maybe i'm just sick of arguing with you." you swallowed hard, forcing the accumulated lump in your throat to stay down.

"i highly doubt that," he replied lightly, but the concern in his eyes lingered.

the machine's faint whir filled the tense quietude again as hyunjin resumed his work. you focused on the sensation, the rhythmic buzz and sharp prick of the needle pulling you back into the present.

hyunjin did not speak again until he wiped away the ink and inspected his progress.

"almost done," he commented, his tone calm. "how are you holding up?"

his question seemed to have a double meaning, and you pondered for a moment, wondering if he was referring to your tattoo or your personal life.

"fine," you lied, no matter what circumstance he was referring to. your voice was tight, and hyunjin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

"cool."

the final moments of the session passed quietly. when he finished, he leaned back and set the machine aside, turning your arm to show you the tattoo.

"there," he said softly, his tone almost proud. "whatcha think?"

you blinked down at the design, the intricate cluster of forget-me-nots etched delicately into your skin. they looked fragile but strong simultaneously, their soft edges balanced by the clean precision of hyunjin's linework.

they mirrored your current situation to a tee; you were vulnerable because of what had happened, yet you kept standing strong, refusing to blow over.

"it's beautiful," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last syllable. hyunjin did not respond, his eyes locked on yours as if they were searching for something.

that is when it happened.

the dam inside of you broke, the tears spilling over before you could stop them. you pressed your hands to your face, trying to conceal your sadness in order to keep the same strength the forget-me-nots were supposed to represent, but it was no use. the sobs came in waves, years of trust, love, and betrayal crashing down on you all at once.

hyunjin froze, his eyes widening into golf-balls. then, slowly, he leaned forward, his hands hovering just above your back as if he was not sure you would let him comfort you.

"hey," he called softly. "it's okay. let it all out, sweetheart."

"i...i don't even know why i'm crying. it's so stupid." you shook your head, the words tumbling out in broken stutters.

"it's definitely not stupid," he countered firmly, his demeanor low and grounding. "you're allowed to be angry, y/n."

"i feel so pathetic." you dropped your hand, meeting his gaze through the tears.

"well, you're not," he retaliated, his brows furrowing together. "you're human. and a human who has been through hell, at that."

the tenderness in his voice hit you harder than anything else, and before you knew it, you were leaning forward, burying your face in his chest as your arms snaked tightly around his waist.

hyunjin stiffened for a moment, then his arms came around you, strong and steady. he did not say anything; he just held you as you cried, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

minutes passed, feeling more like hours, before the racing panic inside of you quieted. when you pulled back, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, wiping at your face as your gaze quickly flickered away from hyunjin's. "i didn't mean to-"

"don't apologize," he interrupted softly but firmly. "seriously. you needed that hug." you nodded, unsure of what to say.

"you have a lot of people who care about you, y'know," he spoke after a moment, leaning back in order to give you space; although, his eyes never left you. "you don't have to go through this alone."

"funny." a small, humorless laugh escaped you. "that's exactly how it feels."

"i mean it," hyunjin responded quietly, his tone unwavering. "you are not alone. i don’t care how that douchebag made you feel. you are worth being cared about. you’ve got this, okay?"

for a moment, the weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you expected.

"thank you," you finally stated, your tone barely rising above a whisper. "you know, you aren't the asshole i thought you were."

hyunjin gave a small, genuine smile in response.

"i try not to be. i’m always here for you, princess."

the ride home from the tattoo shop felt heavier than usual, your arm wrapped protectively in the thin plastic film that hyunjin had meticulously applied. the air outside was crisp, the kind that made every breath sting just a little, yet, it did not distract from the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

it was not just your breakup, though the trauma of that alone was enough to leave you reeling. it was hyunjin; his words, his steady presence, the way he held you as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

for someone you had spent so much time resenting, he felt alarmingly like a safe space for you.

when you got home, the silence of your apartment felt suffocating. you dropped your bag by the door, staring at the faint outline of the couch where you had just laid hours earlier, crying your poor heart out from sheer betrayal. the memories lingered in the walls, in the spaces between the furniture, and it was all too much.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts.

fuckass: 'make it home okay?'

the question was simple, but it hit harder than you had expected it to.

you: 'mhm, i got here alright.'

you hesitated before typing the next part.

you: 'thank you. for earlier.' fuckass: 'anytime.'

you stared at the screen for a moment, longer than you had intended to, before setting your phone down and heading to the bathroom. the forget-me-nots on your arm stared back at you in the mirror, their ethereal petals a sharp contrast to the rawness you felt inside of you.

but they were beautiful, and they were yours.

and for the first time that week, you felt the smallest flicker of hope.

the next few days passed in a blur. you threw yourself into work, hobbies, and anything else that would keep your mind from spiraling too far into its own mental traps. hyunjin had not been messaging, and you did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at that fact.

but you could not stop thinking about him.

you could not stop thinking about the tattoo or the way he had comforted you. you could not shake off the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way his teasing had softened into something resembling protectivity that night. you had spent years building walls around yourself, and somehow, without even trying to, hyunjin had started to tear them down.

you were not ready to face that music. not yet.

not until a week later, when you found yourself back at the shop. you had not planned the visit; your feet had carried you to the parlor before your brain could catch up with your actions.

the door jingled as you stepped inside, and hyunjin's head snapped up from the counter where he had been sketching. his eyes widened, and his lips quirked into a soft smirk.

"well, well, well," he smirked, a hint of surprise present in his voice. "trouble's back."

"don't sound so shocked," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual sass.

"what? you miss me already?" there he was. there was the teasing guy you had grown to know, standing there as he crossed his arms over his chest. you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards despite yourself.

"actually, i need to talk to you."

"about what?"

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

"the flowers you did. the forget-me-nots. they're absolutely perfect."

"yeah?" hyunjins smirk softened into something warmer, something legitimate. “looks like they’re healing nicely, too.”

"yeah," you agreed, meeting his gaze. "i just wanted to say thank you, but properly this time."

"don't mention it, sweetheart." he shrugged, but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed his nonchalance. "it was nothing."

"but it was," you insisted. “it meant a lot to me.”

for a moment, the air between the two of you shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

"so," hyunjin started. "you want another one?"

"another tattoo?" you blinked at him.

"duh. unless you came here just to flirt with me," he replied, his playful smirk returning. you felt your cheeks heat up, and you cursed yourself for letting him get to you so easily.

"don't flatter yourself."

"too late," he responded with a grin, gesturing for you to follow him to his station. "you're in luck; i've got an opening, so let's see what you've got."

as you sat down, you could not help but notice how his demeanor had shifted. the cocky bravado was still there, but underneath it was something softer, something almost gentle.

something from that night was still lingering.

you pulled out your sketchbook, handing him the simple sheet of paper; the design you had chosen for this occasion was a simple daisy, its petals unfurling in soft, graceful lines.

"your favorite," he remembered, his voice seeming almost reminiscent; the way he had recalled the information made your heart jump, your body becoming overcome by a heat that was previously absent.

"any reason you chose this other than it being that?" his question fixed you back into reality; his eyes fixed on you, the orbs seeming as if they were searching your physicality for an answer.

"it's..." you hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the drawing pad. "it's for me. for everything i've been through these last few weeks. i get a lot of flower tattoos, yeah, but they all represent my strength. this one is a reminder that i’m still me." hyunjin nodded, his gaze softening.

"i get that."

there was something in his tone, something that made you glance up at him. for the first time, you realized how much you did not know about him, like who he was, where he came from, or what had shaped him into the person standing in front of you.

"have you ever gotten a tattoo for that?" you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

"maybe." hyunjin tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint beam. "but you would have to figure out which one."

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity grew.

“hm…that one.” you pointed to his forearm, where a dragon wrapped itself around his skin; the detail was intricate, almost as if the dragon was breathing fire in real time.

“very good, princess,” hyunjin smirked. “how’d you know?”

“lucky guess, i suppose,” you shrugged, smiling. “what’s it mean?”

“well, dragons are fierce animals,” hyunjin began. “i got this done after going through a breakup to remind me that i was tougher than i thought.”

"how ironic,” you responded with a dry laugh, to which hyunjin’s eyes brightened. “what's your favorite tat?"

"what's with the questions, sweetheart?" he questioned, his gaze turning cheeky once more. "finally warming up to me?"

"don't get ahead of yourself," you warned. "and i don't know. just curious i guess."

his expression shifted then, turning from bright to thoughtful as he turned his other arm over to reveal a small, delicate design on the inside of his wrist; it was a crescent moon, cradled by wisps of clouds.

"this one's my favorite," he told you softly. "did it on myself, actually."

"what's it mean?" you repeated the question, tracing the shape with your eyes, your heart tugging in a way you did not expect it to. hyunjin hesitated, his stare dropping longingly to the tattoo.

"i got it for my mom," he explained after a few brief moments of silence. "she used to say that the moon was watching over us both, no matter how far apart we were." the vulnerability in his demeanor caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless.

"that's beautiful," you responded quietly. hyunjin shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the inked design.

"she passed a few years ago. i guess this was my way of keeping her with me."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly atop his wrist.

"i'm really sorry, hyunjin. i didn't know."

he looked up then, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that felt almost unbearable.

"it's okay," he replied. "it's nothing i really go about parading." the moment stretched between the two of you, silent and fragile, until he cleared his throat and pointed to his station. "i should probably get started on your sketch."

you nodded, sinking into the seat as he began to prepare.

the session went as the others with him had gone, adorned with teasing comments but finishing with a beautiful daisy coming to life on your right shoulder. the only difference is, when the tattoo was finished, you found yourself reluctant to leave. the shop felt warmer than the cold, biting air outside, and hyunjin's presence had a way of anchoring you in a way you had not expected.

nevertheless, you reached hesitantly for the door handle of the parlor, only stopping when hyunjin called for you; the door jingled a little as you opened it slightly before closing it once more, and you slowly turned your head in his direction.

"you gotta be hungry after that session, right princess?" he asked, snapping off his gloves and discarding them in a nearby trash can. you blinked in reply, a tad surprised by his question.

"i mean a little," you reluctantly answered. "why?"

hyunjin grinned, grabbing a ripped jean jacket out of the space behind the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.

"come on," he commanded. "there's a place around the corner that has killer ramen."

you hesitated; the idea of spending time with him outside of the shop felt both thrilling and dangerous. not to mention, you were incredibly skeptical of anyone's attempts to be nice after the revelation of your boyfriend's faux love.

"look, if this is just you trying to act on some sort of feeling because i'm single now-"

"it's not," hyunjin quickly interjected, correcting you as he scoffed. "just think of it as my treat to you. you've been through fuck knows what and i wanna give you something nice. is that so wrong?"

"when we're supposed to keep this relationship professional, just a little," you unintentionally snarled out.

"like i said," hyunjin started, leaning down to meet your height, "professionalism is boring. now, are we getting food or not? my break starts in a minute." you thought about it for a few moments, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded.

"sure. why the hell not?"

hyunjin moved his arm down in a victorious motion, holding the door open and giving an 'after you' gesture as you joined him in the chilling wind.

the ramen shop was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its glowing LED sign swaying gently in the cold breeze. inside, the space was small and slightly closed-in, with warm lighting that bathed everything in a golden glow. the hum of soft jazz music mixed with the quiet clatter of chopsticks against bowls, creating a lively yet comforting atmosphere.

hyunjin led you to a booth near the window, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat across from you. you hesitated before sitting, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in such a cozy, unfamiliar setting.

"order whatever you want," hyunjin told you, gesturing to the laminated menu.

you picked it up, scanning the options, though your focus kept shifting back to him. in the warm light, his features looked softer, less guarded. your eyes drifted from the contours of his jawline, to the tattoos decorating his arms and collarbones, back up to the strange beauty of his buzz cut. there was something disarming about seeing him out of his usual sharp surroundings; it was almost like seeing a different side of him.

"you're staring," hyunjin interrupted your thoughts, his eyes still fixated on the menu.

"i am not," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at his teasing smirk.

"sure, sweetheart. and i'm a model." you rolled your eyes, setting down your menu to look at the artist; his eyes were now on you, boring an unfamiliar look into you. there was a certain...sincerity to his cheeky manner, and the realization made your cheeks heat up.

he certainly could be a model.

"whatever," you mumbled. "i'm ready to order." upon your words, hyunjin waved over the waitress and gave her both of your orders with an ease that suggested he was a regular here.

when the food arrived, steam billowed from the bowls, carrying the rich aroma of miso and chili. hyunjin handed you a pair of chopsticks, and you both dug in, the first few bites melting away the lingering awkwardness.

"so, does the parlor know you bring your clients out to lunch, or are we keeping that secret?" you asked, breaking the silence with daring look at him.

"what do you mean clients?" hyunjin raised an eyebrow, adding extra emphasis on the plurality of the word. "i told you: this is just a pick-me-up for you. seeing you quiet is...weird. do you really think i'd go out of my way for everyone that comes to me for a tattoo?"

"i'm sure the charm works on everyone," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"awe, you think i have charm?" he tilted his head innocently, laying a hand over his heart.

"don't push it, hyunjin," you warned, holding up your chopsticks to punctuate your words. to your shock, he laughed; the sound was low and genuine, and it made your chest tighten in a way you did not expect it to. you shook your head, attempting to brush the matter off, but the small smile on your lips gave you away.

halfway through the meal, the conversation shifted, the teasing giving way to something that had been nagging at your mind since you began your appointments with hyunjin.

"nari came by the other day," you said, carefully testing the waters. hyunjin's chopsticks paused midair, and his expression flickered before he schooled it into something neutral.

"she did, did she?"

"yeah," you responded, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. "whatever happened with that? y'know, her tattoo?" he sighed, leaning back in his seat and running a colorful hand over his buzzed head.

"i'm assuming she told you i bailed on it."

you halted for a moment, unsure whether or not to push on the matter.

"did you?" you questioned, finally looking up to make eye-contact with hyunjin.

"it's...complicated," he answered, his voice quiet.

"i am tired of hearing that from men," you scoffed, unintentionally directing your internalized anger from the week onto hyunjin. "that's not an answer."

hyunjin's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he did not say anything. when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, an edge of vulnerability beneath it.

"nari wanted something really intricate added onto her sleeve. she wanted a phoenix stretching across her entire arm, but halfway through, she changed her mind about the placement and the design."

"so you stopped?"

"i didn't have a choice," he explained, meeting your eyes. "i tried to explain how difficult it would be to start over after we had already done the outline, but she got upset. I told her we could redo it another day, but i guess she didn't take it too well."

"so, you didn't quit on her," you frowned, piecing the story together. "you just tried to be honest with her?"

"yeah," he answered softly. "i don't think she saw it that way though. she said i didn't care enough to finish it, and... i don't know. maybe she was right."

"that doesn't sound like you," you retorted before you could stop yourself.

hyunjin looked at you, his eyes searching your face for something; he was not exactly sure what it was, however.

"you don't even know me."

"maybe i don't know you," you admitted. "but i have interacted with you more than enough to know that you wouldn't give someone a half-finished tattoo without a reason." hyunjin's shoulders relaxed upon your reassurance, which told you that he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"looks like i was right: you are finally warming up to me, princess" he teased, his attention going back to his food.

by the time you left the ramen shop, the sky had morphed into a blanket of stars, the chill in the air biting at your skin.

"c'mon, I'll walk you to your car," hyunjin suddenly insisted, his voice casual but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. you nodded in reply, clasping your jacket tighter around you.

the walk was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward. when you reached your vehicle, you paused before opening the driver-side door. you turned to face him, a small but appreciative smile on your face.

"thanks for tonight," you said gently. "i really needed that pick me up."

"anytime." hyunjin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes; instead, his already dark brown eyes had noticeably darkened, carrying a familiar, intense emotion within them.

the weight of his gaze made your breath hitch, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer, looking up at him with pure admiration in your gaze. his eyes flickered to your lips, his body tensing like he was holding himself back.

"don't," he muttered, his voice thick with something you could not exactly determine.

"don't what?" you whispered, a hand unconsciously placing itself on hyunjin's chest.

"don't look at me like that," he responded, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

the air between you felt electric, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. then, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force, your lips met his in a kiss that was slow, passionate, and filled with everything you could not put into words.

for a moment, the world stopped spinning. the only thing that existed was the warmth of his mouth against yours and the way his hand cupped the back of your neck like he never wanted to let go. every emotion you had felt was spilling over into the kiss; hyunjin was an absolute asshole at times, sure, but it was not in the way you had initially envisioned. he never had bad intentions, and his nature only came from the fact that he was an absolute tease with a difficult past.

you were falling in love with the enemy.

"look who's acting on feeling now," hyunjin smirked against your lips, going back in a second after saying it; however, his words contained a different sort of weight. the snapped you back into reality, and you pulled away from hyunjin, your heart racing from a blend of passion and anxiety.

you were falling in love with the enemy…and you were not ready to.

"i...i'm so sorry," you mumbled, your gaze going down to the ground.

"for what, sweetheart," hyunjin questioned, his tone breathy. "don't say for doing that without asking, because you have no idea-"

"i can't do this, hyunjin," you stammered, stepping back until your back was pressed against your car. "I shouldn't have kissed you. i’m not ready for something new."

“sweetheart-”

“no! this was a mistake!”

hyunjin's expression fell, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before he masked it.

"if that's what you think," he shrugged, his demeanor clearly painful. 

you did not know what to say, so you thanked him for the meal once more, your heart pounding as you disappeared into your car. hyunjin watched dejectedly as you drove off, his heart aching with the thought of what could have been.

or what could still be, as a matter of fact.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[a-babe-without-a-name]

Sit Next To Me

Chapter 3: That’s Actually Very Unreasonable.

You had created two rules for yourself.

Rule One: You could do whatever you wanted. Get the degree you want, party when you want, cancel plans when you want, love who you want. Whatever you really wanted to do, you were going to do, anxiety and guilt free.

Rule Two: You could do whatever you wanted, except for have relationships with classmates. No sex, no dating. If they were on the same course roster as you, they were off limits.

Easy enough, right?

...Right?

Viktor x Female!Reader - 18+

A.N. Yay! Ch 3 is finally done! I pay Rugby and practice started up this week, which is a big reason this wasn't done a little bit sooner. But thank you to everyone for bearing with me and thank you SO MUCH for the support. I've received so many kind comments and messages, I'm so happy that I decided to actually finish and post this instead of letting it it in my google drive. Chapter 4 is coming, I'm not gonna promise when, but its on the way.

At the request of at least one person, I'm going to start a tag list in the replies of each chapter, lmk if you want to be added to that!

ALSO. Someone sent in a request and I am very excited about this. I wasn't planning on asking for requests, but I think it would be good for me to use those as a brain break from the main long form story. So if anyone is interested, feel free to send one shot or head canon requests my way! NSFW or SFW is fine! If you have questions, send an ask :) Anyways, I'll shut up now. Enjoy <3

Read on AO3

Waking up on Saturday was…difficult, to say the least.  After spending the summer mostly sober, save for the occasional drink with your dad or joint by yourself, your body was not prepared for the previous night's substance intake. You felt grimy when you came to in your bed. Your skin sticky from sweat, your mouth dryer than all hell, and your brain felt like it had been shaken in a jar. Laying there, face in your pillow, the pros and cons of climbing out of bed tumbled around your head.

You decided that if it was before noon, you’d allow yourself a few more hours of sleep, otherwise you had to get up. Blindly you stuck a hand onto the counter at the head of your bed, knocking things left out from last night around until you found your phone. The bright screen made your temple pulse when you clicked it on.

12:01.

You dropped your head and groaned into the pillow. A deal was a deal, though, even with yourself. You gave yourself grace as you sat up in bed, looking around your tiny double dorm room. Bright light shone around the edge of the blinds, making you squint. Clothes were still scattered around your side, your hightops dropped haphazardly on the floor, not far from your shorts. You had barely managed to piss, brush your teeth, and put on clean underwear before knocking out last night. You could still feel what little makeup you had on last night smeared around your eyes. All of your pre-made plans to hydrate and clean up before going to bed were abandoned as soon as you set foot into your room. 

Lest on the other hand, looked like a princess in her bed. Washed hair in two braids, fresh pjs on, and her trusty sleep mask covering her eyes. She even layed like a princess, flat on her back with her hands folded on her stomach. You envied her discipline for hygiene even when drunk. 

You slid out of bed. Bracing yourself on the frame with a groan when your stomach flipped. Lest didn’t even flinch, she slept both like a princess and a log. You left on the clothes you slept in, wrapped a towel around your waist, and gathered your shower bag. First order of business was to clean up, because even one more minute of feeling like you were covered in a film of alcohol and smoke and you were gonna peel your skin off. 

The shared hallway was aggressively bright, but fortunately empty. You were sure you couldn’t handle an awkward ‘on the way to the shower’ run in with a hallmate right now. You’d probably throw up on the carpet. Luckily on a well weathered first Saturday of the semester, the hall was virtually abandoned. Which also meant that the only single user bathroom on your side of the building was free.

You leaned heavily against the closed door, eyes screwed shut as you fought back the wave of nausea that came with your short walk. With your eyes closed you found the automatic light switch, pushing the button to shut the lights down. The frosted window let in just enough light to see without burning your eyes out. You hung up your things and started the shower, knowing it would take a while for it to warm up. 

You took that time to brush your teeth, sick of the grit that lined your mouth. When you saw yourself in the mirror you couldn't help but to cringe. You were a wreck. The makeup around your eyes was worse than you imagined, smeared completely around your eyes in an intense racoon mask. Your hair was half out of the scrunchie you had pulled it into on the way home, hanging awkwardly on your neck. As you brushed your teeth, you tilted your head at the borrowed shirt realizing something off about it. You frowned at it in the mirror, trying to make out what the writing said. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Metallica. You spit in the sink and set your toothbrush to the side before pulling the shirt over your head. It didn’t say Metallica, it said Mozart in the Metallica font. 

You snorted a laugh, “Jayce, what the fuck?” Folding the shirt up, you shoved it into your bag, hoping you'd remember to wash it with your laundry. When you caught a glimpse of your bare torso in the mirror, you froze. 

Memories of last night came flooding back as you stared at the red marks scattered across your body. An unsteady line of hickeys connected one hip bone to the other,  a few were splayed up across your stomach and in a cluster across your chest. There was even one framed by a perfect bite mark on the top of your shoulder. 

“God damn…” You muttered, turning in the mirror in search of more. While you didn’t find any more hickeys sucked into your skin, you did find thin bruises on the sides of both your thighs from his fingers digging into your flesh. 

You stepped closer to the mirror, ghosting your fingertips over the marks. You couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of his hands on you. You could still feel him against you, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. You gripped the edge of the sink, willing the thoughts away. It was a hookup with a stranger who’s name wasn’t even known to you. It wasn’t going to happen again. 

Despite that fact, you thought of him in the shower until the water ran cold.

-----

Lest was awake when you made it back to your room. In the time it took you to shower she had managed to get dressed, make both herself and you coffee and frozen breakfast sandwiches, clean up your side of the room, and get the first season of Love Island up on your TV. She was stirring creamer into her coffee when you came in.

“Goodmorning,” You said, locking your door behind you, “How long have you been up?”

“Like, 45 minutes,” She said, setting the creamer to the side for you, “Were you in the shower that whole time?”

“Er, yeah, sorry. I wanted to shave,” You lied, a little surprised at how long you had actually been gone. You hoped Lest wouldn’t notice that you definitely had not shaved.

You dressed quickly. You and Lest had never been shy about changing in front of each other, but right now you had yourself angled awkwardly against your closet, praying to god she didn’t catch a glimpse of the love bites you were sporting. Luckily you managed to pull on a tshirt and sweats without her noticing. It’s not like you needed to hide from her, you usually told her everything as soon as it happened, but this time you wanted to keep it to yourself. At least for a little bit. You knew she’d have something, probably valid, to say about the complete unknown of the man you had sex with. She’d scold you on how dangerous it was and drag you to the health center to get tested for an STD.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked as you made up your coffee.

“A little like I was hit by a truck,” You shrugged, putting the cream away in your tiny fridge, “But I’ve definitely felt worse. You?”

“Better than I thought I would,” Lest told you, starting the show, “I didn’t drink much towards the end, and I didn’t smoke at all so I guess it makes sense.”

“You’re lucky,” You joked, climbing into bed with your coffee and breakfast, “We’re still doing nothing today right?”

“Oh, for sure.” Lest said nodding with wide eyes, “This is probably the last weekend we’ll be able to actually push homework off. Everything can wait until tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” You nodded, sipping your coffee and tuning into the trashy reality show you and Lest were hooked on.

You realized pretty quickly that all the gorgeous men and women and unhealthy relationships in the world wouldn’t distract you enough. You had figured post your incredibly long shower you’d be free of Pretty Boy, that the memory of him would ebb away. No luck.

By the time Micheal had been cast out of the Villa, you had managed to replay last night's events a hundred times in your head. It wasn’t just the sex that you were hyper focused on, it was every second you were near him. You kept thinking about how he looked in the kitchen, the way the lights moved over his skin and hair. The fact that even in the dark his eyes were still so bright and warm. You could hear  the lilt of his accent in your head, all the words he said to you, all the things he called you. 

What really stuck with you was how soft it all had been. How gentle and kind he had been with you. The way his voice sounded when he asked if you were leaving. How much you wished you had said no. This was going to haunt you for at least a week, you knew it would. You were preparing for it to be a very hard and very unfocused week.

Lest called you out a few times during the lazy afternoon, questioning your mental absence from the shared room. You brushed her off with excuses of exhaustion and nausea. You could tell she was worried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her. Eventually, not many hours after waking up, you let yourself fall asleep to the thought of his lips on yours.

-------

On Sunday you woke up well before the sun, thanks to your early bedtime. You stared up at the ceiling, willing yourself back to sleep, but as your room slowly turned from pitch black into grey tones you knew it wasn’t going to happen. Quietly you pulled yourself out of bed and got ready for the day. It was barely even six by the time you were finished getting ready, but you were restless. Scribbling a note for Lest, you left your dorm. 

There was a time when you’d go on a walk before the sun was fully up every morning. It was when you enjoyed campus the most. The cold and quiet of it was comforting, it felt like home. Almost completely deserted at this hour. The only souls you ever saw this early were the landscapers, perfecting the small campus before the day began, and the occasional early rising professor walking a beloved campus dog. On a Sunday, though, it was truly empty. 

You wandered without really knowing where you were going, you let your feet remember the familiar path they once took so frequently. The sun barely peeked over the line of trees and brick buildings, casting long shadows over the quad. Dew grayed the grass, evaporating where the sun touched it. Eventually you reached the flower garden nestled between the two original buildings of the campus. You settled on a cold stone bench, the dedication plaque so worn it was nearly unreadable. 

You looked around the garden. The variety of flowers were in full bloom as the summer came to a close, each one tended to with great care. It was a sacred place on campus, for everyone. It was where most students had been introduced to the school, the garden being the meeting spot for all campus tours. During both matriculation and graduation, students paraded through it. The flowers were both a beautiful welcome and a bittersweet goodbye to those who chose Piltover for their education. It was impossible not to love it.

You sighed and picked at a patch of lichen on the edge of the bench. Remembering what else you used to do on these early walks, another habit you regretfully fell out of. You dragged your knees up to your chest and pulled your phone from your hoodie pocket. Your fingers were on autopilot as they navigated to your contacts.

It rang only once.

“Good morning Buddy,” Your dad’s voice was warming even through the phone.

“Good morning,” You said, leaning your cheek against your knee, “How are you?”

“I’m good, just getting ready to head out on the boat,” You could hear him shuffling around as he spoke. You could picture him, preparing for the day in the kitchen, “How are you? You’re up pretty early.”

“Working on a Sunday? That’s unlike you,” You joked, it was actually very like him, “I fell asleep early last night, couldn't go back to bed.”

“No, actually, not working today,” You heard the front door of your house open and close, “I’m headed out with the guys. The weathers going to be good for some deep fishing, today.”

“Oh good, that’ll be nice. I hope the catch is good,” You were glad he was taking time for himself, “Send me pictures if you get anything cool.”

“Of course buddy,” He laughed, you heard his truck start up, “Wait, so you went to bed early on a Saturday night? When did you become so boring?”

You scoffed, “Excuse me, are you mad that I am a responsible adult?”

“That’s not what I said!” He assured you.

“Yeah sure,” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyways, “Besides, it was friday night that I was out until three in the morning, rest assured I am certainly not boring.”

“Hm, okay,” He was quiet for a moment, “You’re making good decisions, I hope? Staying safe.”

You groaned at the implications of his words, embarrassed that they weren't actually that far off. He didn’t need to know that, though.

“Yes Dad, I am making perfectly fine decisions,” You half lied to him.

“Good to know. I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

“Ew,” You fake gagged, “Don’t say stuff like that.”

He laughed on the other end. It had been a week and a half since you saw him last, but you already missed the sound of him laughing, “How was your first week of classes?”

“Good,” You told him, “So far at least. I mean, it's the first week and I already have a good amount of homework to do, which sucks, but I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah, you’ve got this, though,” He assured you, never not confident in your abilities, “You always do. What classes are you taking again?”

“I have two envi-sci classes right now, one with a lab, a chemistry class with a lab, and I’m taking an Asian American Lit class, to keep myself from going crazy in the science building.” You told him, thinking about your particularly heavy science schedule, “I’m trying to switch chemistry classes, though. There's a smaller class with a…better professor. Not that my current professor is bad, it’s just that Heimerdinger is, like, the best professor here. I’d like to take at least one class with him. I’m on the waiting list.”

“Sounds like a good schedule. I’m glad you're taking a non-science class, it’ll be good for your brain,” He told you, “And I’ll cross my fingers you get into that class you want.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You laughed, at this point you didn’t have much hope for getting in, but you could always try next semester.

“Hey, has your mom talked to you?” The question made you groan. 

“No, why?” You didn’t particularly want to talk to her, not since her 2nd remarriage last summer. 

“She called the other day and asked if she could have you for Christmas this year?” He was treading carefully, “I think you should.”

‘What? No way,” You answered immediately, offended at the idea that you would want to do that, “First of all, I’m not 15 anymore, neither of you get to have me, I can decide where I want to go for breaks. And second, Why would I want to spend break in Arizona with her child groom and his infant children?”

He was, clearly, not a child groom. Paul was 35, but in comparison to your mother’s age- 45- he might as well be a teenager. His kids weren’t infants either, 9 & 14, but, again, they might as well have been. 

“Hey, I know, I trust you to make your own decisions, but I also know that you’ve developed a lot of anger recently with your mom,” He sighed, “I don’t want you to have a bad relationship with her your whole life, it’s not healthy.”

“Really milking those two years of psychology undergrad, huh,” You joked bitterly. Your dad would have been the best therapist in the world if he had finished school. Your surprise arrival put an end to that half dream instantly. He never resented you for it. 

“I’m serious, buddy,” His voice was calm, urging you to be open, “It wouldn’t have to be for the whole break, just a couple days around Christmas. If you want to spend the rest of the time here with me you can, obviously. Just think about it?”

“Fine…I’ll think about it,” You pouted, he could convince you of anything, “But no promises.”

“Thank you, sorry for springing this on you right now.” You could hear chatter somewhere behind him, he was probably at the docks by now.

“It’s okay, sorry for being a brat about it,” You laughed softly.

“You’d be nothing without your attitude,” He teased, in the background you could hear someone calling his name.

“I get it from you,” That wasn’t entirely true, you and him both knew it, “But hey, I’ll let you go, sounds like you’re needed.”

“Yeah, the guys just showed up,” He admitted, “I can tell them to wait for a bit though if you want to keep talking?”

“Nah, it’s okay,” You insisted, checking the time, “I should probably go, anyways. Me and Lest are gonna go work on homework in a bit.”

“Okay, no problem,” He told you, you wished you could talk to him all day, you wished you were going fishing with him, “I’m proud of you, buddy, and I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Dad,” You said, trying to hold back tears, “Have fun out there, be safe.”

“Always am. Tell Lest I say hello for me, Love you.” He let you hang up the phone. 

You wrapped your arms around your legs and buried your head in your knees, unable to hold back the sobs. You let yourself cry. You didn’t think this was how you’d start your morning, but it was fine. Almost cathartic in a way, to let yourself be sad about something as childish as missing your dad who was only a day. You knew it was fine and very normal, but it still felt immature. Regardless, you let yourself cry until Lest finally texted you.

-------

The rest of the day was just as unexpected. When you headed back to your dorm Lest had just started to get ready. You laid in your bed, scrolling through your phone until she was ready. In the hour or so it took her to shower, get dressed, and gather her school work, the weather took a drastic change. You had wanted to lay out on the quad and do work, but the soft sunny sky was full of clouds now, all threatening rain. Instead, you and Lest headed to the small coffee shop on campus. Here it was much harder to focus. You camped out at a table in the corner, despite this everyone who knew you or her came over to chat. Meaning the amount of work you finished was…disappointing, to say the least. 

Then, due to the cafe's short Sunday hours, you had to relocate once again. At the overly polite requests of the baristas, you packed up and hauled off to the library. You wished you had come here in the first place. It was pretty much vacant this time of day and you and Lest set up in the quiet section, assuring no one would bother you even if they wanted to. Workflow was steady now, you managed to knock out one assignment after another. In the quiet of the library you were even able to focus on your textbook readings enough to take notes. 

As the afternoon began to turn to evening and the library began to fill up, you were finally in the home stretch. Lest was on her last set of practice questions for her math class and you had one more reading and a chemistry practice test to do. You’d probably be back to your room within the hour. You opened up the practice test, determined to get everything done. 

It was harder than you had expected. Some of the questions were fairly basic, things you knew from level one and even highschool chemistry, and there were a few that took a little effort but were fresh in your head from last semester. Almost half the questions, though, were questions that were completely foreign to you. You could make out bits and pieces of it in your brain. Some questions gently touched by your previous professors and others that you could make shaky assumptions on. You tried to remind yourself that this was a practice test for a reason, but the shitty score you knew would show at the end still bothered you. In the end you got 65%. 

You opened up your email to check for submission confirmation before moving on to the reading. A recent message at the top of the box made you pause. You read it quickly once, twice, three times. 

“I’m off the waitlist,” You told Lest, flinching when someone at a nearby table shushed you.

“What?” She whispered, leaning closer to see your laptop.

“I’m off the waitlist for chem,” You whispered back, opening up the class portal and accepting the offer.

“I thought you were in a chem class already?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, but I got into the class with the professor I actually want,” You explained, wishing you could be more excited than the setting allowed. 

“Oh, that's…good,” You could tell she didn’t quite get it, but wanted to be happy for you anyways.

“Yes, it’s very good,” You laughed, pushing your chair away from the table, “and as a reward, I’m gonna go piss.”

“Babe, please don’t give yourself a UTI because you only pee after academic success,” Lest jokingly begged, rubbing the space between her eyebrows.

You couldn’t hold back a laugh as you walked away from the table, ignoring the dirty looks from other tables. You were thrilled, a class with Heimerdinger genuinely opened up a world of connections. He knew scientists in every field all over the world. Of course, as the dean of the science department, he was willing to help any student make connections, but it was definitely easier if you were in his class. You were so happy about this, you didn’t mind that the practice test you just spent an hour on was for a class you were about to drop. 

You pulled out your phone, shooting off a text to your dad.

Got into the class I wanted! Thx 4 crossing ur fingers

He responded immediately.

Yay… that’s great, happy for you… wanna see the catch today?

You shook your head at the ellipses habit he refused to break. Such an old man.

TY!!! Yes obvi. Fish Now. 

He sent back a photo of himself and one of the older guys he fished with holding an impressively sized mahi mahi.

Omg mahi this late in the szn is craaazzyyy, very jealous

You couldn’t help the pang of sadness that bloomed in your chest. Missing your dad intensely for the second time that day.

Yeah, me and the guys were surprised for sure…I got go, talk to you later?

Oki!

Love you Buddy

Love u toooo

You slammed into someone in your distraction as you hit send. The apology coming out of your mouth only made it halfway, your mind and body freezing up at the flash of chestnut hair and pale skin above you. 

“Woah, watch it.” The guy, who you realized a second later was not in fact Pretty Boy, snapped at you.

“Sorry,” Your voice came out like a squeak, you cleared your throat, speaking louder, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s…uh it’s fine,” Not Pretty Boy said, looking down at you oddly, “Are you okay?”

You realized you were staring at him, studying all the ways in which he wasn’t Pretty Boy. Too stocky, face too round, hair too long, eyes a dull green. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine, sorry,” You shook your head, stepping past him as you apologized again.

You hurried off to the restroom, face burning as you locked yourself into a stall. You had managed to keep him out of your head all day. You dressed without looking at the marks he left behind, you kept your mind busy with work and thoughts of your family situation, you barely even acknowledged the fact that you had a body. 

And now after all that work, here you were, unable to think about anything besides him. You groaned and thumped your head against the stall door, knowing he’d be inescapable for the rest of the night. 

You stared at your hand on your leg, fingers digging into the bruises under your jeans. You had set your book down for the hundredth time, barely halfway through the reading, distracted again.  Every time you tried to read the words on the page, you wouldn’t get far. Unable to process any of the information you were looking at. It all felt like a different language. You could feel his hands pressing into your legs, his lips on your neck, accent in your ears.

Something hitting your forehead made you jump, startling you out of the daydream.

“Earth to struggling student,” Lest whispered, crumpling another sticky note and launching it at you.

You swatted the yellow paper away, frowning at her, “What?”

“Girl, where have you been this weekend?” Lest hissed, leaning across the table, eyebrows furrowed, “You’ve been weird ever since Jayce’s party. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You shrugged.

“Okay, liar,” She deadpanned, rolling her eyes, “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” You insisted, rifling the pages of your book. 

She stared at you, blink her big eyes expectantly. At this point, she wasn’t going to give up.

“I hooked up with someone at the party” You muttered, not looking at her.

“What?” She gasped, ignoring the looks from other tables. She stood and took the seat next to you, pulling her chair close and leaning in, “When?”

“When I went to wash my top in the garage,” You told her, chewing on your lip, “I wasn’t exactly smoking alone,”

“Oh my god!” She squeaked, eyes wide, “You fucked someone in Jayce and Cait’s garage??”

“Shhh,” You placed a palm over her mouth, worried about wandering ears, “Be quiet, I don’t need the whole student body to know.”

She just blinked at you over the top of your hand, waiting.

“Yeah, in the garage,” You could feel your face getting hot.

“Did you guys… like, get a home run? Or only make it to 3rd base?” She raised an eyebrow.

“What are you? 12?” You scoffed, glancing sideways as you told her, “...home run.”

“Good girl!” She punched you lightly on the arm, “Wait, that’s why you’ve been so spacy? You’ve been thinking about your little garage escapade all weekend?”

“Lest, you don't get it,” You insisted, “It was, like, amazing. Quite possibly the best sex I have ever had in my entire life. Like, honeymoon waited until marriage but somehow still perfect at it kind of sex.”

“No way,”

“Yes way, bitch,” You said, raising your eyebrows at her, “yes fucking way.”

“Damn…” She stared down at the table, then quirked her head to the side, “Who?”

There it was, the reason you hadn’t told her as soon as it happened.

“Um, well…” You hesitated. Lest narrowed her eyes at you, you could see her mind scrolling the list of possibilities. You cringed, “I don’t exactly know.”

Lest gaped at you, “What?”

“We were both high,” You admitted sheepishly, “And kind of caught up with other things. Names didn’t come up.”

“Are you crazy?”

“He was nice!” You defended, “Like, so fucking nice.”

“That is so dangerous!” She scolded, more concerned than mad, “Did you use a condom?”

“Christ, Lest, of course,” You rolled your eyes, “I’m not dumb.”

“I know, but you said you were high,” She shrugged, “Just wanted to make sure I didn’t need to find a way to squeeze a crib into our dorm.” 

“Twenties pregnancy is no joke,” You told Lest, trying to hold your face straight as long as you could before the corners of your mouth cracked upwards. 

“Damn, so great sex guy is anonymous,” She sighed, “That’s kind of a bummer. He goes here right?”

“He said he did,” You told her, “That’d be an odd thing to lie about, right?”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll see him at another party?” She said, hopeful.

“Yeah, maybe,” You sighed, “I don’t know, it was so good I almost don’t want to do it again.”

“That makes zero sense,” she scrunched her nose.

“I mean, I fucked this guy once for, like, an hour.” You explained, “And he is all I’ve been able to think about for the past two days. Do I really want to do this again?”

“Well, if you make it a habit,” She offered.

“I don’t know,” You sighed, shaking your head, “It sucks, but I think it’s better if it doesn't happen again. I don’t think my grades could handle it.” You waved the book you had tried and failed to read for the past hour. 

“Skill issue.” She shrugged, shutting her laptop, “Do you have to finish that reading tonight? I wanna get dinner.”

“Uh, thanks Lest, very cool,” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at her joke, “And I’m not going to be able to anyways. I’ll finish it before class tomorrow.”

“Okay good,” Lest said, standing and stretching her arms over her head, “I’ll get us Thai if you promise details.”

“Hm, you know, I’m not against trading my secrets for pad thai and mango rice,” You laughed, packing your stuff up.

Clasping her hands together she determined, “This is, like, better than Love Island.” 

You just scoffed, shaking your head at her.

-------

As thrilled as you were to be taking Heimerdinger's class, there was one tiny drawback. It was your first and only seven am. You had managed four whole semesters of not having to be in a class until at least nine. That was very much on purpose, because dragging yourself out of bed at five in the morning was not your idea of a good start to the day. 

As much as you wanted to skip past your first alarm and show up to class unshowered and in sweatpants, you figured that wasn’t the most professional first impression to make on the dean. So you got up like a good student. You took your time getting ready and double checking that you had everything you’d need for your two classes of the day, preferring to not haul back to the dorm between them. You had correctly calculated enough time to stop at the cafe on the way to grab coffee with a higher caffeine content than what you could make in your room. 

There were quite a few seven am classes available, but given that you were over 30 minutes early, the halls of the science building were still fairly deserted. A few offices were lit up and some classrooms had TAs setting up for the day, but not much student presence yet. When you found the room the schedule had directed you to, you were pleased to see it was empty. It’d be easier to talk to who you considered the most intimidating professor on campus without an audience.

The classroom was small, but you knew the lab attached through a door at the back would be much bigger. Professor Heimerdinger was sitting behind the desk at the front, fidgeting with the desktop computer. You knocked on the doorframe to get his attention.

“Good morning Professor Heimerdinger,” You greeted, stepping partially into the room as you told him your name, “I was on the waitlist until last night, I wasn’t sure if they told you I had moved off of it.”

“Oh! Good morning, dear,” He beamed from under his impressively large mustache, moving away from the computer, “Yes, it was mentioned that there may be a change in the roster. I’m glad you were able to move up from the waitlist. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, you had never been in the same room as the esteemed man, only ever seen him give speeches or in passing around campus, you walked over to his desk, “I’m also glad to be here, I’ve been looking forward to taking one of your classes. I’ve heard great things.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” He walked around his desk and extended a hand up towards you. Due to his short stature you had to bend just slightly at the waist to return the gesture, “I’m glad to have you in class, your name is familiar. Are you acquaintances with Mr. Jayce Talis, by chance?”

You knew Jayce had been lucky enough to score Heimerdinger as his advisor and close mentor, you were surprised he had mentioned you, though.

“Yes, actually, Jayce is a very close friend of mine,” You told him, trying to hide a nervous laugh, “Has he been speaking of me?”

“Only good things, my dear,” He said, picking up on your anxiety, “I assure you.”

“Good to know,” You laugh, hoping it wasn’t too loud in the small space, “Thank you, again, I am really grateful for the opportunity to be in your class.”

“Well of course,” He told you, moving back around his desk as he spoke, “Have you been able to acquire the reading materials for the class?”

“I ordered the textbook last night,” You explained, “I should have it by the end of the week. I’m sure I can borrow a copy from a classmate for the time being.”

“No need, I have an extra copy you are welcome to use until yours arrives,” He pulled a dense book from under his desk, “It’s an earlier edition, though, so just be sure that you read the correct sections.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” You took the worn book, he also handed you a printed syllabus, “Was there reading for today? I could try to get some of it done before class starts.”

“Last week’s schedule became a little jumbled due to my being under the weather, so the first reading is due next class, if you would like to review the syllabus and schedule before class, you will be all caught up,” He explained. You couldn’t describe the relief this gave you, “We only met for one class last week, so you aren’t behind, but the class has already been divided into groups for the semester. I apologize that you were not here for the grouping. I allow students to choose who they work with, so if you see someone you know feel free to join their group.”

“Okay, thank you.” You nodded and turned to find a seat.

As Heimerdinger returned back to his computer, you set up in the corner of the room. The syllabus was fairly basic, but gave a good explanation of the Professor’s expectations. You were sure this wasn’t going to be an easy class, but you were also sure you’d enjoy the challenge. The only thing that was making you anxious was the fact that  none of the students that showed up were familiar to you. You watched as the clock ticked closer and closer to seven, your knee bouncing under the table. You tried to distract yourself by skimming through the borrowed textbook, settling on a random section to pass the time with.

You were halfway through the chapter about asymmetric oxidation and reduction when a newer copy of the book was dropped on the table in front of you with a bang. You jumped, looking up in surprise.

“Hey stranger,” Jinx smirked down at you, nodding at your book,“Pretty impressive reading pace you’ve got there.”

“Jinx!” You stood, wrapping your arms around her, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“Ekko is too, he’ll be here in a minute,” She told you as you settled into your seats, the room was busy now, “Were you on the waitlist?”

“Yeah, this class was a bitch to get into,” You frowned, then realized something, “Wait, how did you get in? You’re a sophomore this year right? This is an upperclassmen class.”

She laughed sheepishly, shrugging, “Ha, well you know, nepotism isn't always bad.”

“No way, Silco got you in? You lucky bitch,” You gasped, but were not surprised that her dad, who happened to be a well respected professor in the business program, had managed to get her into a higher level class. 

“Yeah, and Ekko,” She pulled the rest of her things from her bag, blowing a strand of freshly dyed blue hair out of her face, “You should have told me, I could have gotten you in, too.”

“Sorry, friend nepotism didn’t cross my mind,” You laughed, waving at Ekko as he walked into the room, “I’ll keep it in mind for next time, though.”

“Always got your back, babe,” Jinx gave an over exaggerated smile, all teeth.

Ekko slid into the seat next to Jinx, setting a coffee cup down in front of her, “Hey, where were you last week?” He laughed, extended a fist out for you to bump.

“Still on the waitlist,” You laughed, pulling out your things as other students began to settle into their seats.

“Glad you're here,” He told you, “You wanna be part of our group right?”

“Yes please,” You said with exaggerated begging,“I was worried I’d have to join people I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason I drag him into every class I take,” Jinx laughed, jerking her thumb over to Ekko.

“Yeah, I’m sure the fact that I always give you my notes has nothing to do with it,” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” She stuck her nose up in the air, giving him a side eye.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at them, their large personalities combined to make one big ball of loud and colorful and smart. You had spent a lot of your free time during your summer research with them. Jinx had convinced you to join their little band and you three terrorized the others with very loud and not so great music playing. You were excited to be in class with them. Looking around, though, you noticed that all the other groups consisted of at least three people, some of them even holding five. 

“Are you guys a group of two?” You tilted your head, it would be odd for the Professor to let them do that in a class that seemed to be very group focused.

“What? Oh, no there’s three of us,” Ekko told you, “I don’t know if you’ve met him yet. It’s Jayce’s new roommate, Viktor. I don’t know why he isn’t here yet.”

You laughed, part of you still wondering if this was some insane joke that everyone was really really dedicated to, “Haven't met him, yet, but I’ve heard of him plenty of times.”

“Wasn’t he at the party on Friday?” Jinx asked, “He said Jayce had convinced him to go.”

“Jayce kept saying he was there, but I never ran into him,” You shrugged, “I’m still not convinced he’s real.”

“Yeah, you got us,” Jinx said, dead serious, “He isn’t real.”

“Wait what?” You side eyed her.

“Also we wrote gullible on the ceiling,” She rolled her eyes, you resisted the urge to look up, “Viktor is very real, I promise. He’s super smart too, like, almost as smart as me.”

“Always humble, babe,” Ekko said, patting Jinx on the arm, “Always humble.”

Class began then, Heimerdinger calling everyone's attention to the front of the room. You settled into the flow of it pretty quickly. You weren’t surprised that he managed to be an engaging professor. You’d sat through plenty of his speeches and presentations over the past two years, and never for a second did you find yourself bored during them. He gave a quick overview of what the next couple of weeks were going to look like and then passed around paper practice tests. You were a little disappointed to have to do another one.

This test ended up being somewhat easier than the one you had taken last night, only a few of the questions really escaped you. You could tell this was a test meant to gauge how much the class knew as opposed to how much they didn’t. You had just flipped to the last page when the door to the classroom opened. As much as you wanted to keep your eyes down and not contribute to the awkward stares you were sure everyone was already giving, instinct kicked in and you couldn't help but to glance up.

You froze.

There was no way.

This was not happening. 

You blinked a few times, mouth hanging open as you watched Pretty Boy lean over Heimerdinger's desk, speaking too quiet for you to hear with an apology written all over his face. Your heart dropped all the way down to the center of the earth, your lungs dried out and you felt like your head was under waves.

When Pretty Boy turned around, his perfect amber eyes immediately landed on yours. Freezing, his eyes widened slightly in an expression you were sure was identical to yours. Poorly hidden horror. You looked away, eyes dropping to your paper, the grip around your pencil was tight enough to turn your knuckles white. You could hear him walking straight for your table, cane tapping along with his footsteps.

You furrowed your eyebrows at the table. Why was he coming this way? There were plenty of other seats. Was now the time to confront you? In the quietest classroom imaginable. He slid into the seat next to you.

“Hey Viktor,” Jinx whispered, glancing up before going back to her test.

Viktor. He was Viktor. Pretty Boy was the roommate you were convinced didn’t exist. The one you had just told Jinx you had never met. The reality that you had, in fact, met him very intimately was crashing down around you. You raced back through your memory, all the little dots that you should have connected immediately snapped together. The music he was listening to, the smoking, that he was even in the garage in the first place, the reason you hadn’t recognized him despite being in your year, the fact that you never saw him leave the house. 

He fucking lived there. He was Jayce’s roommate. You had fucked Jayce’s roommate. 

You could feel his eyes on the side of your face as these thoughts ran through your head. You looked up at him, his closeness making you dizzy, but not in a pleasant way like last time. His face was nearly blank, only the slightest pull to his eyebrows that didn’t  give away any of his thoughts. You had never felt the desire to know what someone else was thinking, not really, not until this very moment. 

Not knowing what to do, you let out a shaky breath and went back to your paper. The room was too quiet to speak to him, you could do nothing but endure the remaining time it took for everyone to finish their tests and hope you didn’t faint.

You were keenly aware of his presence next to you. Everything was taken up by Pretty Boy. By Viktor. You could feel the heat of his leg close to yours, you could smell the cologne he was wearing. The scratching of his pen as he started the test was the only sound you could hear. You felt like you were going crazy. At this moment you were sure you could have been committed to a state hospital. The words on the page blurred in front of you. You scribbled out incorrect equations a dozen times before Hiemerdinger finally concluded that everyone was done. 

“I will review these and adjust our scheduled content accordingly,” He told the class as the tests were passed forward, “As an unplanned reward for enduring my data collection, please talk amongst yourselves while I battle with technology. I will begin today’s lesson as soon as possible.”

“Nice,” Jinx said to herself as chatter started up in the classroom, she turned to Pret- to Viktor, “Dude, where were you?”

“Sorry, I was stuck behind a school bus,” He told her, his accent was less thick than you remember, “it wasn’t a problem last week, I wasn’t prepared.”

“Oh, yeah, school just started this week for little kids,” She nodded, she was lost in thought for a moment, no doubt thinking about picking up Isha from school later. She snapped back to the present and told him your name, “She’s part of the larger group, I’m surprised you haven't met yet.”

His eyes met yours and when he said your name, you could have melted all the way to the ground floor, “It’s nice to meet you, are you…joining our group?”

It took you a moment to realize he was holding a hand out to you. You shook it, trying to be as firm as you could, but you knew your hands were shaking. 

“Nice to meet you, too, ” You said, “Um, I can find another group if you-”

“No,” He said, too quickly, “No, that’s not necessary, I’m glad to have you work with us.”

You did your best not to read into that, “Glad to be here.”

“Heimerdinger wanted us to schedule an out of class work time,” Ekko told you, drawing your attention away from Viktor’s face, “We were thinking Friday’s right after class, since we won’t have lab.”

“That works for me,” You nodded, trying to settle into your chair and be casual.

“Cool, I’ll send a calendar invite,” He said, always the proactive one.

“You are friends with Jayce?” Viktor asked, tilting his head at you.

“Yep,” You nodded awkwardly, unsure how to talk to him, “Since freshman year,”

“Hm, interesting.” He mused. 

You hated this. It was so uncomfortable and not at all like the last time you had spoken to him. Even aside from the fact that you weren’t fucking, the few words said were clunky and awkward. You were realizing that the drugs and alcohol you had consumed might have had something to do with the ease of conversation. It made you sad. You knew this was stupid. You knew you were being childish. You were an adult, sex shouldn’t be the cause of this unbearable awkwardness. You should be able to talk to someone you hooked up with, without being on the verge of a panic attack. Luckily, Heimerdinger’s technical difficulties came to an end. He drew back everyone's attention and put a halt to your terrible conversation. You turned away from Viktor, facing the front as the intro to advanced ochem lecture began. 

The rest of class, thankfully, went smoother than you expected. Your group fell into a good rhythm, working together between bouts of notes to work on practice problems. Viktor was less tense, which let you relax a degree. He was more than willing to help you navigate your textbook, looking over your shoulder to check that you were on the right section. He even helped you find the reading for next class, tearing a piece of paper from his notebook and placing it in the pages. There wasn’t a lab planned for the day, so Heimerdinger continued his lecture well into the scheduled lab time. By the end of the four hours, you had written down almost ten pages of notes. Your hands ached.

“Apologies for the lecture heavy class, everyone. Having to cancel our first class last week meant I needed to catch everyone up” Heimerdinger said as he closed out the presentation, “I promise from here on we will utilize the last two hours as lab time. Have a good rest of your day everyone, I will see you on Wednesday.”

You scooped your things into your bag and slung it over your shoulder, “I’ve gotta get to another class, see ya around.”

You darted out of the door before anyone could reply. Your head was filled with too many thoughts. You took the stairs down, doing your best to organize the mess in your brain. You created a list. First, the things you needed to do, right now. Finish the reading for Asian American Lit, number one. Number two, go to your Asian American Lit class. Then, the things that could wait until after. Telling Lest about Viktor/Pretty Boy dilemma. Though, she would be mad that you didn’t call her at that very moment. Asking Jinx to add you to the group chat, meaning you'd have his number. Yeah, that you could wait on. Then the things you decided could wait forever. Number one, talking to Viktor. It’s all you wanted to do. And at the same time you’d rather spontaneously combust than confront that awkward conversation. 

You were free of the overpowering AC of the science building for less than a minute before the task you decided never needed to happen, happened. Against your will, of course.

“Wait up!” Your steps faltered for a second at the sound of Viktor’s voice calling after you. You ignored him, continuing as if you hadn’t heard. He shouted your name, “I know you can hear me!”

You stopped staring at the hot sidewalk for a moment. No. You had somewhere to be, things to do. You shook your head without turning around and kept walking.

“If you take one more step, you’re ableist!” He shouted, out of breath.

You froze and turned slowly to look at him, jaw hanging open, “That is not funny.��

“Got you to stop didn’t it,” He panted, closing the distance between you, he knocked his cane against the side of your calf, “And, I do believe running from a man with a cane can be considered ableist.”

“First of all, I am not running from you,” You lied, looking up at him. You stepped a half inch to the side, using his shadow to block your eyes from the sun, “And second, if I happened to be running from you, it certainly is not because you use a mobility aid.”

“Okay Miss PC,” He rolled his eyes, “Doesn’t matter why, if I deem it ableist, it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, floundering for what to say. You don’t remember him being this infuriating at the party.

“Exactly,” He said as you snapped your jaw closed.

“Viktor,” You sighed, “What do you want?”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head at you. He gave a soft laugh, “I have been waiting all weekend to hear you say my name.”

Breathing would have been easier if he punched you. You blinked up at him, watching him watch you.

“I’m sorry, can I…” He looked around, noticing that other students were leaving the building as their classes ended. You two were standing in the dead center of the sidewalk and in the late summer heat his pale cheeks were already turning pink, “Can we just talk for a second, please?”

He didn’t wait for you to respond before he stepped off the main path and began walking into the flower garden. The dry gravel crunched under his shoes as he walked, the sound amplified in your brain as you followed after him. He settled under a latticed arch, the honeysuckle vines that snaked around it shading you both from the midday sun. 

“I’m sorry,” You said, frowning at him.

“For what?” He asked, face confused.

For running away. For not asking your name. For leaving. For joining your class.

“I don’t know.” Was all you could manage.

“You know, apologies lose a lot of their value if you don’t know what you're apologizing for,” He narrowed his eyes, voice almost scolding.

“I..I know, I’m sorry.”

“You say sorry too much,” He laughed, shaking his head, he didn’t look upset, “It’s very American of you.”

“Well, I am American,” You pointed out, letting yourself laugh softly with him, “I’m sorry for that too,” You joked.

“Well, let me apologize?” He asked, “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable in class, it truly was not my intention.”

That was an apology. A real and true apology.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” You shook your head, “Fuck, if anyone had a right to feel weird, it was you.”

He tilted his head in question.

“I mean, it was your class first,” You told him, “I just kinda…showed up.”

“Did you join the class because I was in it?” 

“Well, no,” You laughed softly, “How could I have, I didn't even know your name.”

“That’s true,” He scoffed, “I regret that, by the way, I should have asked your name. Not very polite to ask after having sex with someone.”

“Eh, it happens to the best of us,” You shrugged, liking the laugh he gave you in response.

“Well, I am glad I know now,” He told you, eyes moving across his face, he smirked, “It’s a pretty name.”

“Hm, thanks, I like yours quite a lot as well,” You smiled up at him, the step closer he took didn’t go unnoticed, “It suits you, almost as much as Pretty Boy.”

“Thank you,” He smiled down at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“What?” You could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

“Can I take you out?” He asked, taking a nervous breath, “I know we kinda did this in a backwards manner, but I…you are very interesting to me, I would like to take you out properly.”

Your stomach twisted. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

“No,” You said, head shaking slightly as you offered a sad smile. The unexpected hurt that flashed in his eyes killed you.

“Oh, um,” He stumbled over his words, clearly taken aback by your refusal, he tried to step away, “Okay.”

“Hey wait,” You reached out, grabbing his wrist before you could escape, “Listen, it’s not you.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, begging you not to embarrass him any further with a cliche line.

“Really, I swear,” You urged, not letting go until he stepped back towards you, “I just… I don’t date classmates. I don’t sleep with classmates. Even if I want to. It causes problems, it makes class awkward, and I can’t risk my GPA just because I find someone attractive.”

He hummed to himself, nodding as he took in your words.

“So…” He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the same way he did when you were straddling his lap, “You’re saying you find me attractive?”

You resisted the urge to lean into his palm, instead you grabbed his wrist and pulled his lingering hand away from your face, “Don’t do that.”

“I’m confused, you’ve already slept with me? So what does it matter?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. He was so fucking handsome you wanted to scream.

“Because, at the time, we weren’t classmates.” You explained like it was obvious.

“Okay, so let me get this straight, you will be in a relationship - sexual or romantic - with someone as long as they aren't an active classmate?” He asked, lip curling up in confusion, “But if they were a past classmate, or in our case, a future classmate, it's fine?”

“Exactly,” You shrugged, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.”

“That’s actually very unreasonable.” He told you, “And also does not make much sense to me.”

“Well, good thing it’s a rule for myself.” You huffed, “You don’t have to understand, you just have to respect it.”

“So, if we were in separate classes, would you go out with me?” He asked.

“Probably, yes.” You admitted.

“But not now, because we are in the same class.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“So, if I ask you when the class is over, you’d say yes?” He leaned towards you, probing.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, “Who’s to say you won’t hate me by the end of the semester?”

“Well, considering you seem to be friends with the only people I know at this school, that would be rather unfortunate.” His voice lowered at the end, he was closer to you know. Very much within kissing distance. Right now there was nothing more you wanted than to feel his lips against yours. You know they’d be cool in comparison to the stagnant summer air.

You didn’t. Instead, you took a step back, and shoved your hand out into the distance between you, “Friends and classmates? Can you do that?” You asked, he studied your hand like the offer was written on it, then sighed.

“Fine, I can respect your rules,” He took your hand in his, firm and strong and cold, “Friends and classmates…for now.”

He moved his index finger softly across the inside of your wrist as he held your hand, goosebumps sprinting up your arm. You carried that feeling with you for the rest of the day.

[crazylittlejester]

my modern au links as tiktok trends/specific videos ive seen recently

Twilight: “‘you’re so funny’ haha thanks I’m not allowed to randomly text my friends ‘i love you’ without context anymore”

Sky: That trend where a girl will be doing her makeup and her boyfriend reaches out to poke her cheek or something and then it cuts to him sitting in the back with a FULL face of makeup while the girl continues doing hers like nothing happened

War: “I woke up with bruises all over my arms and legs. Do not be alarmed! I am not getting abused, I just tried wall twerking on an elevated surface last night and I took a BIG tumble, so… Just wanted to clear that up because you WILL be seeing the bruises ALL over. No need to be concerned, I was just trying something new”

Legend: That “me listening to ____” then vs now trend, except it’s Will Wood and all the songs are the exact same and the caption is “I have autism”

Wild: The casually stopping the elevator trend (Twi and War did it with him but Wild won because of the way he stuck his finger in there like he was going “wait” and then twirled his cane as he stepped in)

Hyrule: “Unfortunately my body doesn’t understand the difference between being held at gunpoint and presenting in front of a class”

Four: One of those videos where funky music is playing in the back and the camera keeps getting really close to the person’s pets, and he would do this with his mice

Wind: “I told the geese what you said. Good luck getting to class tomorrow”

Time: (to be clear he would not have tiktok, nor would he be caught up on trends, but for the sake of the post) he’d get some comment from someone who saw him mention he was trans that’d be like “you’ll never be a woman” and he’d respond with a video of him falling to the ground screaming in slow motion like “NOOOOOOOO” (he’s a trans man)

Twilight, pt 2: “I never even considered Dr. Pepper could be a woman… Maybe I’m part of the problem??” (he would then follow this up with a video like “LMAO WTF NO I ALWAYS REFER TO MY DR PEPPER CANS AS ‘SHE’”)

Hyrule, pt 2: It’s just a video of him trying to pet an opossum he saw out in the wild. All the comments are “DO YOU HAVE NO SURVIVAL INSTINCTS”

Wild, pt 2: “The devil couldn’t reach me so he gave me the talent and the passion but not a body that could continue to do the sport I love”

bonus Sun: “using my scary dog privilege to walk around at night” and the camera pans to Twi, War, Sky, Athena, and Linkle walking in front of her, and no one in the comments can figure out who the scary dog is because War is an immediate no, Athena is a solid maybe, if you don’t know Sky you wouldn’t assume it was him, Twi LOOKS scary but you can see the sad wet dog in his eyes, and Linkle is an absolute wild card

[fangbanger3000]

a last note on the ai-fic bullshit

a couple days ago, a person i had never spoken to before shared my call-out post on x with the earnest intention of spreading awareness of the issue. she was attacked and harrassed so harshly by the same group of people who have been dragging my friends and i through the mud that she ended up having to deactivate.

this group of perpetrators then did their very best to turn this whole conversation on its head by accusing the poster of being anti-solavellan, of sharing the post with malicious intentions of dividing the fandom and tearing down amateur writers, and grouping her and i/my friends as antis and what not.

my thoughts on that development aren't any that i can express with any diplomacy or maturity whatsoever, but @drakonmo herself did a wonderful job at gracefully carving out the very important conversation we, as fans, need to have within our communities. whether you observed or participated in the conversation surrounding the silence and the song and the following shitstorm, i strongly urge you to read her post (here) (on x).

tldr/to those who might be in a rush, let me pull out some highlights:

by deleting the evidence and refusing to acknowledge the public claims were ever made, these people who despise me and wanted to foment discourse could succeed, armed with the trust and respect of loyal followers.

suddenly, the entire wall of text of explanations, of signs, of concerns were reduced to nothing but one portion of the whole. people began to attack OP and me and write threads, posts, etc, saying we were insulting all creators everywhere and we were - singlehandedly - the reason people didn't share their artwork.

clearly, these people argued, this insult and injury to all writers everywhere was a sign of these posts being a hate campaign. suddenly people could completely ignore the fact that the OP is a HUGE shipper, and i have been the world's most vocal proponent of shipping the particular character with anyone and/ or everyone.

i saw some people ask questions - what's happening, what's the drama, what's the situation? and they believed blindly the first things said to them without even trying to seek the truth or sources for themselves - and i truly mean this was an issue on both sides, for both people who ultimately agreed with me and people who did not.

the people that deliberately misrepresented what was being said, who nitpicked so that they could justify choosing "us versus them" - i ask that you consider, if you can and you would like to, to internalize and reflect how you may be susceptible to situations like this happening OFFLINE.

if ONLINE FANDOM misinformation can rouse such a level of discourse, hatred, fear, and anger over a fanfiction or ship ...what are the implications for REAL LIFE?

are you possibly reading a headline and believing it without reading the full article?

are your political and personal opinions swayed heavily by your peers, rather than being shaped by information and political education?

are you well informed and checking for bias from your chosen news sources?

do you exist in an echo chamber that has actively harmed your ability to understand other perspectives and worsened your capacity for allyship?

we best fight FASCISM when we recognize how we approach the people and issues around us, no matter how small. supporting artistic integrity in your fandom is a low rung on the ladder, but your approach to a sense of community and how news, conflict, and opinions form and spread IS vital.

thank you for reading, and thank you to those who have stuck by me (and by mo) despite the backlash it might have caused you. this has been insane and i look forward to never discussing that fucking fic again, but that doesn't mean we get to turn our heads on how this all turned to shit in the first place.

as a self-proclaimed safe space often characterised by escapism, we owe it to one another to make sure this community is as safe as can be and remains one where we care for one another despite which fictional characters we think should kiss.

[writing-zelda-brainrots]

Can you, maybe possibly do more winx club/fairy! Reader with the chain drabs- 📍(idk if any anon has this emoji but I want it.. whatever they mean)

Yeah, you can have that emoji. Of the people who have asked to be certain anons, none of them have used that emoji. I haven't come in contact with these emoji anons that much, but from what I can gather, they're used to mark a recurring fan who prefers staying anonymous.

--

“I think I see your problem here.”

Now you were by no means an expert on teaching magic, but when Hyrule came to you asking for advice, how could you possibly say ‘no?’ In a way, you were the best person for him to ask. While all members of the Chain have come into contact with magic - and even used it themselves - it was through magic items or fairies (which you were a little horrified to learn they often caught in bottles). Hyrule was the only one to actually harness magic and cast spells.

The two of you were similar in many ways: both of you learned about your magical heritage much later in life than others like you, there was the fact that both of you could transform (even if, like all other fairies of his world, he was much smaller than you), and the fact that you both felt different from the people you grew up around due to your magic.

“You’re trying to force the magic out, but at the same time you’re stifling it.” You spoke as you came closer, letting Hyrule relax his hand. “That kind of polarising pressure doesn’t allow the magic to flow correctly, which could lead to your spell backfiring on you. Believe me, it’s not good for your ego.”

You laughed a little at a memory of some of your first spells going wrong. You have no idea how, but you somehow messed up a spell that would change the colour of your hair. It was literally the first - and easiest - spell they taught you at Alfea and you managed to turn your hair into a technicolour nightmare.

But it seemed like your impromptu magic lesson had to be put on hold.

"[Name], my grappling hook got stuck in a tree and I can't pull it loose." A whiny voice caught your attention. "Can you fly up and get it?"

You know, sometimes you wondered if it wasn't such a good idea to tell these boys about your powers.

"Can't Wild climb up there and get it for you?" You ask a little annoyed. "I'm a little busy right now."

"But I wanted to show Wild a cool trick with it. If I go asking for his help, it'll be embarrassing."

You couldn’t say ‘no’ to that pleading look. Wind’s expressive face had its funny moments, but his puppy dog eyes were like weaponized guilt. Shooting Hyrule a look that said “sorry,” you received a small “it’s fine” in return. You’ll continue your training later.

You let out a sigh, looking up at the tall tree Wind was pointing at, “alright. But if this happens again, you’re on your own.”

“Deal!”

In just a flash of light you had transformed into your fairy form, wings out and fluttering to lift you off the ground. Following the rope, you found the hook stuck high in the branches, not only caught by the tree, but also by the rope itself. The whole thing was a giant knot looping around itself, one that you found hard to see where it began and ended. “Geez, Wind, how did you even manage this?” You groaned as you began pulling the problem apart.

“I was practicing a trick, but it went south.” The boy shouted from below as both he and Hyrule watched you work.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

After what felt like half an hour, you finally managed to untie the thing. Letting out a sigh of relief, you grabbed the metal hook, looped the long rope over and around your shoulder and flew down onto the ground. “Here.” You handed the grappling hook over to a very enthusiastic looking Wind.

“Thanks!” Wind then immediately turned his head away, rushing off somewhere else. “Hey, Wild! I can show it to you now!”

“Kids, am I right?” You laughed to yourself.

“Yeah.” Hyrule chuckled. “I don’t know where he gets all that energy from.”

“Now, where was I-”

You hadn’t even had the chance to detransform before someone shouted your name again. This time it came from Four’s corner of camp, where he, Wars and Legend were busy at a makeshift forging station. “We need a stronger, more stable fire over here.”

“I was doing just fine.” Wars shot back at the small smith. “You asked for a stronger flame and I gave you one.”

“I said a “fire,” not a “blaze!” You nearly singed my eyebrows off!”

Guess Wars really wasn’t quite as good with his control with the Fire Rod as he thought. Whose brilliant idea was it to use a weapon meant for combat for forging, instead? But then again, who asks an Enchantix fairy, a fully fledged Guardian Fairy, to be a living furnace, as if that’s somehow better? Probably the same kind of person who asks that same fairy to get a rope unstuck from a tree.

And the smithing group had devolved into a petty argument while you weren’t paying attention. Maybe this could be your out, let you finally get back to Hyrule. But if you were a betting girl…

You turned your eyes to Time, Sky and Twilight who were sitting around a small fire, watching a kettle of water start to whistle. “Let me guess, you’ve got a request for me, too?”

The oldest thought for a moment before giving you a cheeky smile. “No, but I’m sure Wolfie would appreciate an eye-in-the-sky helping him during his patrol.”

Yeah, it was definitely a mistake to tell them about your powers.

--