#the two idiots and their random musings

[mischievous-thunder]

Bonus:

[ravstars]

Bad date (ᗒ⩊ᗕ)

⌇Wanderer/ Scaramouche x Reader.ᐟ

જ⁀➴Smut: Your usually stoic and ignorant college roommate seems abnormaly engrossed in the date you had planned with a mutual friend, insisting on giving you advice on how to dress, etc. When you come back that same evening, all pouty and disappointed, telling him about how bad it had went, he can't help but show you what you're missing out on with him.

a/n: Careful, this is smut! If you do decide to read it, i hope you enjoy! This is AFAB and Scara does refer to the reader as a good girl. I am still kind of figuring this whole layout thing out as I go so I might change some stuff up sometimes. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Scaramouche was very annoyed.

As if you weren't insuffrable enough, having a date with some imbecile, who you both knew from some party you forced him to go a few months back, made you even more intolerable than before. Why would you go out on a date with some ugly idiot anyway? He huffs, deciding to check in on your pathetic state of getting ready for an immature frat boy.

You were sitting down on the floor infront of your dresser, messily looking through every dress you had. Scara doesn't hesitate to put his hand on your head, making you flinch away and complain about ruining your hair.

''I don't understand what your issue is, just pick a random dress, why are you being so peculiar about this? It's quite frankly pitiful." He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as you don't even look at him once.

"The white one or this navy one?" You hold two options up, one navy denim dress and one classy white dress with intracate details. He looks at both and decides to indulge himself for this once. It's not like he gets to take you out anyway, so he might as well make you work for his opinion.

''Try both on.'' He simply states, his expression unreadable. You hesitate but agree nonetheless. Getting up with an exasperated sigh and kicking him out until you try the first dress on. You decide to indulge him and show him the first dress — the navy one. You step out of your room, spinning for your roommate, waiting for a reaction.

“Well?”

“It kinda makes you look weird.” He says, suppressing a smirk. You looked ravishing in his truthful opinion, yet he would never admit that.

You huff, wordlessly turning back into your room and trying the other dress on. A pretty basic white dress, fitting for any occasion.

Stepping out once more you’re greeted with complete silence. You spin suspiciously, brows furrowed

“Wear the other one.” He simply says before turning on his feet and leaving you be.

Did this one look that bad? If only it did, Scaramouche thought.

Due to the uncertainty he had left behind, you do decide to wear the navy dress, getting ready as usual. Time had finally come and you couldn’t wait to meet your date, you couldn’t be blamed for being so excited, could you? You walk out that door and leave to the restaurant, Scaramouche unenthusiastic in his goodbyes, the only thing him having said to you being a mumble of ‘…you better stay safe… I don’t want to be responsible for anything later’.

Apropos later… well, it wasn’t an ideal date.

“Look, I arrived there and, first of, he was 10 minutes late. It’s not like that’s a big deal in itself but considering how he didn’t have any manners, it just adds to everything. He kept asking invasive questions and even asked me if I was interested in sleeping with him 30 minutes in. Who does that?” You groan, taking another sip of your energy drink, now a few hours later and at home again, in a big T-shirt as you vented to Scaramouche, who hadn’t said a word the entire time.

“It was horrible, Scara. Why do all the men interested in me have to be such douchebags?”

“Hm,” He mused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, “Maybe because you’re the one choosing those idiots.” He was a selfish man, he knew that, especially when he felt great gratification when he found out your date had gone terribly. He only offered an energy drink in consolation and an ear, though, he was just an actor like that.

“Oh, and where are those non-douchebags I’m supposedly not choosing then?” You sigh, putting the drink down

“Tch. Dumbass, right here.”

“Huh?”

You turn to him, seeing him with a determined look, his eyes seeking out yours.

“You heard me.” He simply says, as if challenging you to make sense of what he’s telling you.

“Stop saying things like that, Scara…” you grumble, looking down.

“And what if I don’t, hm?”

You feel both of his arms encasing your body, having semi-crawled on top of you. You look up and your noses almost touch as you do. He looks different to you from this angle and you see the faint blush on his cheeks. You look into his eyes and he meets yours the same way. It’s as if he’s asking for permission as he bumps his nose against yours, your lips gaping in silent consent. His eyes flicker down to your lips before he closes them and finally leans in.

His lips press softly against yours, testing the waters with how far you’re willing to take it tonight. As you make no move to pull away he lets his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours in a passionate dance of growing arousal. His hands have found their way to your waist, his nails softly digging into the soft skin of your sides.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” He purrs out, breaking the kiss to look at your flushed expression

“Watching you go out with these weird, undeserving dimwits…” He kisses along your jaw before trailing gently down your neck. You can’t help the sound at the back of your throat when he sucks particularly hard at one spot on your neck. He chuckles under his breath before continuing his work on you. His hands trail down to your thighs and squeeze gently, parting them slowly settling in between

“Are you sure about this, Scara?” You ask, looking up at him from underneath. His lips are shiny, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting your saliva on them, so sweet, he thinks to himself.

“Are you sure about this, princess?” He answers with a question back, eyeing your expression with smug curiosity, making you gulp. You have never been this close to him before, what did you even feel for him in the first place? All you knew was you wanted him and you craved his touch deeply.

“I am, I want this.” You reassure shyly, earning a light chuckle from the man above you.

He responds by pressing his lips against yours again, this time more powerful, grinding up against you slowly. He hums at your reciprocation, your hands flat against his chest.

“Mm, may I?” He mumbles into your mouth, hands itching up to play with the hem of your oversized T-shirt. You hum, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. He dares to slip his hand under your shirt for the first time, losing his mind at the feel of your skin. You were always perfect to him, there was no doubt, but right now - this has to be his favorite way of seeing you. He feels you up, hands roaming your hips, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of your underwear on your hip.

“So perfect… haah…” He pulls away with a gasp, his free hand on your jaw “You’re so perfect.”

You can’t comprehend what’s happening, the words coming out of his mouth. He hooks his two fingers under the fabric, startling you. He waits for you to adjust before tugging the fabric down your thighs.

“I can’t wait anymore.” He admits and you nod, closing your eyes. “No, no, look at me, open those eyes, keep your pretty eyes on me.”

Pushing up your shirt he feasts upon your anatomy, kissing and tasting your warm and flushed skin. He groans, growing needy at your gasps and moans.

His fingers find your cunt, gently rubbing your clit, as he relishes in the noises you make, squirming against him.

“I can feel you getting wetter and wetter, hm?” He’s breathless, trying to appear calm and collected, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“It’s unfair…” you start, making him stutter in his movements “You have to take your clothes off too.” He chuckles at your complaint, taking his hands off you momentarily to pull his shirt off. Your hands find his bare skin, smoothing over him, over anything you could see - beauty marks, scars, anything and he swears he could die, drowning in your touch, in your attention, in your love.

You begin to feel your core aching, longing for something of him, a fragment, a piece, anything you could get.

“Please,” you urge and he immediately knows what you want. So he enters one finger into you and opens you up, preparing you gently. Your eyes flutter shut in response, squeezing closed.

His eyes are trained on you, watching every reaction and every expression you made. He leans down to kiss the spot under your ear, feeling you shudder against him.

“Can I put in another one?” He asks, feeling that you were ready for it. He doesn’t hesitate when you nod, groaning as he feels you around his fingers.He grows impatient soon, pulling his fingers out of you just as you were about to cum, making you whine at the loss of contact.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, working on unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down to his knees. Your eyes fixate on him, straining painfully.

“Are you okay?” He makes sure one last time, as he tugs down his boxers and you can barely nod, not trusting your voice.

“Ah, shit,” he lubes his cock up with your juices, grinding up and down your folds for as long as he can take.

“Put it in, please,” You force out, hands reaching out for his own. As he intertwines your hands he pushes his tip in, both of you panting in pleasure and maybe overwhelming emotions. He bottoms out quickly, leaning down to be close to you, yearning for more and more and more of you.

Whimpering, he starts to set a pace fitting both of you. He’s never felt so vulnerable before. Being so intimate with you, of all people, it made his heart ache. He liked you - No, he loved you, but he could only express that through his actions right now. He starts to go faster, hitting that spot in you making you roll your eyes.

“Oh, good girl, such a good girl- ah,” he kissed you desperately, the pleasure burning in his veins. He felt so good, it was all he could think about. The feeling of you, hot and a mess under him, was pushing him further and further to the peak of pleasure already.

“I’m close,” he pants, “are you close?”

“Mhm, I’m so close…” you hold onto him tighter, feeling each other.

His hold on you suddenly tightens before his hips stutter against yours, burying himself to the hilt as the pleasure takes over both of you, your orgasm hitting you right where you needed.

“Fuck,” he heaves, eyes searching yours, “are you okay?”

“Ye- hahh, yeah, are you?” your pupils dilate, your body shaking

“Yes, yes, I’m…” he trails off, slumping against you. Mind too dazed for anything else, you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion catch up to you.

You wake up the next day that Saturday, surprisingly in your bed, in fresh clothes and unsurprisingly sore. You sit up in bed, recalling the previous night when you hear a knock on your door.

“Yeah?”

“I made breakfast, get up, sleepyhead.” Scaramouche opens the door, and his eyes soften seeing you in bed

“You good?”

“I’m sore, you dumbass.” You groan with a smile

“You weren’t complaining yesterday.” He scoffs, walking into your room and pulling you up, helping you

“Don’t be so dramatic, my god.” you both laugh, and you hit his shoulder, making him scowl playfully.

[fum1ku]

Hi there!! Can i request for akaashi, iwa, and kenma noticing another side of an outgoing reader? Etc: reader is secretly very quite or lonely when they are actually alone..

ANOTHER SIDE OF AN OUTGOING S/O - HQ BOYS

ft. keiji akaashi, hajime iwaizumi, kenma kozume

thank you so so much for the request !! hopefully i did okay <3

KEIJI: he was more than okay with the fact you were outgoing—even if he wasn’t the most outgoing guy himself. you got along well with his team, especially bokuto. and he was happy with that. he could listen to you talk for hours about anything, even if he’d never tell you that.

you had been waiting for him after practice. and, finally, after what felt like hours, practice had ended. bokuto and akaashi made their way out of the gym. bokuto was going on about his spikes, something about akaashi paying more attention. you laughed to yourself quietly, listening to the both of them.

“hey hey, y/n!” bokuto called after you.

you smiled, looking over to akaashi and waving.

all three of you began making your way back home; bokuto the loudest of you all—you could hear him excitedly rant about a few different topics, and the nonchalant responses from akaashi, as your mind drifted off.

akaashi immediately noticed the silence that came from you. normally, at this time, you’d be going back and forth with bokuto about random things. but you had been so.. quiet.

bokuto eventually gave you both a quick goodbye and jogged the last few minutes home, leaving you and akaashi alone.

“y/n?” he finally spoke up.

you hummed in response. you glanced down at the sidewalk, then to the few houses along the street, and then in front of both of you to look at the soft orange sunset behind the hills.

“are you.. alright?”

you perked up at his response. “of course, keiji! why wouldn’t i be?”

“you’re just quiet, that’s all. you and bokuto normally talk your heads off on the way home. but today it was just him.”

you softly laughed. “yeah, i know. i think i’m just a bit tired. like, tired of people. y’know?”

he nodded in response.

you took his hand in yours and picked up the pace of your steps to match his.

“i could never be tired of you though, keiji. never,” you smiled.

was it a bit cheesy? sure. but you couldn’t have meant anything more than that.

HAJIME: oh he’s absolutely head over heels for you and your outgoing self. he wasn’t necessarily introverted, but definitely not a certified yapper like oikawa. but iwaizumi was the most loving person when it came to you.

even though he wasn’t the biggest fan of it at times, with your outgoing personality, you got along well with oikawa. you both would go back and forth about whatever topic you two landed on, and hajime was there to keep oikawa in line. but, today was different.

oikawa had tried making conversation with you, only to find that you’d hum in response to whatever he said or give a short response. you weren’t mad, per se—just quiet.

you three were waiting for the train home. after tooru’s failed attempts to start a conversation with you, he finally brought up the fact you were so quiet.

“what’s got you so quiet, y/n? cat got your tongue?” he mused.

you giggled at his antics. before you could say anything, hajime intervened.

“c’mon, shitty-kawa, leave ‘em alone. they’re probably just tired of listening to an idiot like you.”

“iwa, c‘mon! i thought we agreed no more crappy nicknames?”

this started a bickering session between iwaizumi and oikawa.

eventually the train arrived. oikawa hurried ahead of the two of you, but you stayed planted on the bench you were at.

“catch the next one?” you softly asked, glancing over to hajime who stood in front of you.

“alright,” he agreed.

the train doors closed and hajime made his way to sit down next to you.

you let out a soft sigh and rested your head on hajime’s shoulder, grabbing ahold of his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

“thank you,” you whispered.

he only nodded before finally asking, “are you.. okay, though?”

“yeah,” you started. “just feels like a quiet day today, y’know?”

“yeah.”

you kept your head rested on his shoulder. you could smell the soft scent of laundry detergent from his uniform. you smiled when you felt his thumb graze over the back of your hand comfortingly.

you lifted your head off his shoulder and look over to him, smiling. “tell me about practice?”

“alright,” he agreed.

KENMA: even if he’d never admit it, he loved that you were outgoing. if anything, he admired you for it in a way. opposites attract, right? you were all the things he wasn’t—outgoing, loud, and bubbly. or so he thought.

it was late one day after practice and kenma had invited you to his place to hang out while he played video games. you agreed, excitedly.

the walk home from the gym was.. quiet. you walked alongside him, all smiley as usual. but you weren’t talking.

kenma was always full of thought—analyzing every situation to its full extent. and this? well, it irked him in a way.

finally you two had made it to his house. he opened his bedroom door for you and you silently plopped down on his bed. kenma sat down at his desk chair and set up his game. glancing over at you, he saw you sprawled out on his bed with a book in your hand.

did he.. do something wrong? was it something he said? he shook it off and got back to the game in front of him.

after an hour of gaming he finally shut everything down and put it away.

you glanced up from your book. “you done playing, kenma?”

he walked over to the bed and sat down next to you. he looked over the page you were on and let out a soft sigh.

“you’re so..” he paused.

“so what?” you questioned, placing your book down on his side table. you leaned towards him more, patiently awaiting his response.

“..quiet.” he slightly winced at the word—it felt almost hypocritical coming from him.

you laughed. “yeah.. i guess so. being so social all the time, it’s kind of..”

“draining?”

“yeah, draining,” you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder. “does it bother you that i’m quiet?”

he stayed silent for a moment, thinking. “no.. no, it doesn’t bother me. i guess i’m just not used to it. but quiet it okay too.”

“okay,” you smiled. even if kenma didn’t know it—he was your peace; a way to recharge your social battery. your comfort.

you spent the rest of the night telling him about your day, taking breaks inbetween to ask him about his day.

so much for quiet.

© fum1ku 2024.

⁂ taglist: @chloiyoomi @eashn @spicana @mikauraurr + let me know if you want to be added! 💌

[withleeknow]

how he would take care of you during shark week. ⤷ chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

pairing: jisung x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, mentions of periods bc duhhh erhm note: ok so i'm REALLY not sure what this is lmao but i switched up entirely compared to the first installation (with minho) and i think this is the format i'll be sticking with for the rest of the members. i'm still just experimenting and trying to figure how i want to approach doing drabbles/drabble series like this so pls bear with me a little for now lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / blurb masterlist / ko-fi

jisung, who can't be trusted with even the simplest of tasks. you should've known better. (and honestly? you did know better, which probably makes the whole thing so much worse.)

jisung, whom you ask to run to the store just because you were too lazy to brave the evening chill yourself and get the shit you need.

jisung, who texts you what size pussy u wear? while he stands in the middle of the aisle, feeling like he's illiterate as he's surrounded by products of different colors and shapes and sizes and wings.

jisung, whose eyes catch a specific pink packaging with pretty flowers that makes him pull out his phone and snap you a picture. this one looks better. yours is boring, he'd text you, to which you'd replied with a dozen question marks before calling him an idiot and telling him to leave the fancy pads and hurry home with the ones you usually use.

jisung, who returns about thirty minutes later holding two large bags in his hands, which definitely contain a lot more than what you had sent him out for - just a pack of overnight pads and some sweets.

jisung, who kisses you in greeting as your eyes narrow suspiciously, then he'd proudly show off the goodies that you didn't need - an assortment of sour candies and chocolates, chips, ice cream bars, your favorite cookies, and lastly, a random purple pouch.

jisung, whose love language looks a lot like making you get diabetes whenever your time of the month rolls around.

jisung, who beams like a kid in a candy store when you ask him about the pouch with a brow raised. "look!" he'd beam, holding the little thing up like it's the most magical invention he's ever come across in his entire life. "it holds your pads! and it has unicorns on it!"

jisung, who doesn't deflate at all when you tell him that you already have one, but instead, he'd tell you to ditch the one you have because it's too "boring" (re: it doesn't have unicorns.)

jisung, who volunteers to carry the pouch for you the next time you go out together, musing to himself about whether or not he should add a little strap so he could wear it like a crossbody bag, not even batting an eye when you stare at him and gape in disbelief.

jisung, who really uses your shark week as an excuse to buy dumb shit for himself and stuff you full of treats.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 25.04.2024]

[mockerycrow]

I DON’T WANT THIS NIGHT TO END (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist

summary; Kyle would do anything to relive these moments with you. 881 words.

authors note; this is EXTREMELY rusty writing in my opinion, but roommate!gaz deserves another chapter before i have to leave. i hope you guys enjoy anyway and let me know how this is. also, the car is not the convertible gaz owns!! i just needed a pic lmfao

[WARNINGS; fluff, pining, gaz is a half oblivious idiot, and a half “i don’t want to face my feelings like a man”.]

KYLE ADORES HIS convertible, but he certainly loves how you look in his convertible more. You’ve both fallen into an accidental routine of taking late night drives almost every night you’re together whilst he’s on leave. Sometimes, all you get as a warning that he’s home is when he sends you a text—sometimes you want to ask him if he even considers spending his leave anywhere else, but you’re not sure if you want to direct his attention away from you.

He knows his eyes should be glued to the road. Kyle knows the rules of the road intimately, especially due to his job and what he has to do—stuff you would consider reckless behavior. But may whoever is above forgive him for his eyes wandering because the big ol’ grin on your face with the wind rustling your clothes and brushing against your face is a picture he would pay money to be framed.

Kyle keeps glancing between you and the dark road ahead, knowing how dangerous it is to look off the road, but holy shit.

“I love this song.” You murmur, reaching forward to turn his stereo up louder. You tighten the seat belt and raise your arms up, feeling the wind thread between your fingers and feel it beat against your face. The feeling reminds you of where you are—with your best friend in his convertible, riding down some random dirt road. “Do you even know where we are?” You muse, glancing over at Kyle. However, you’re not worried. You never are. You don’t doubt your safety with him for a second.

Kyle hums and glances around; honestly, he doesn’t. It’s a shitty dirt road with trees. The road probably has pebbles and sizable rocks, judging by how the car jerks around a bit, but the price of a tire replacement is the least of Kyle’s worries. “No,” Kyle shouts over the music, glancing between the road ahead and you. “But we’re safe, yeah?”

You glance around, your eyes darting around the darkness. You’re sure if you were alone or with anybody else but Kyle, you wouldn’t be agreeing, but you find yourself nodding. “Yeah.” You echo him with a smile, mumbling the lyrics to the song on the stereo. Your arms lower, one of them hanging out the side of your car door, the other resting comfortably against your own body with your fingers tapping your knee to the beat.

“I do wonder how we will get home, though?” You question, your voice just loud enough over the music. Kyle can hear the amusement in your tone. He huffs as his eyes struggle to stay on the dirt road ahead of you two, his fingers tightening on his steering wheel. “GPS, sweets.” Kyle shouts with a snort. “Is this a marked road, though?” You respond—which makes Kyle go quiet for a moment because goddamn it, why do you have to be so smart?

Can’t you see he doesn’t want this to end?

“True,” Kyle eventually utters out loud, nearly drowned out by the low rumbling of the music. There’s a forming ball in the base of his throat, an anxious feeling that remains stuck. He can’t help but let his eyes drift from the dirt road and trees to you—and God, every glance is like the first time. You’re grinning like an idiot and you’re having so much fun doing something relatively mundane with him. And you’ll never know how much that means to him.

Kyle’s fingers twitch with want—but he looks back to the road and sighs, taking a quick glance at the clock on his dash. It’s late, he knows he should slow down and find a way home. It’s getting a bit cold, and he can feel the tiredness seeping into himself. He can tell you’re beginning to feel it, too.

The ball in Kyle’s throat lodges itself in his chest instead, right near where his heart remains. He isn’t too sure what to make of it. How can he even consider driving home when you’re glowing in the faint light of the dash, of the moon? He is never sure when he’ll get another moment like this with you.

Kyle’s eyes flicker to his gas tank meter; he has a pretty good amount left. Without thinking, he utters—“Let’s stay up all night.”

His eyes glance to you, and you’re looking back at him with a soft, closed lip smile, contemplating his suggestion. You eventually murmur, “It’s 3:35, Kyle. Are you sure? You’ve been quite tired since you’ve come home.”

His chest tightens—home?—“I’m sure.” He responds with a firm tone, shrugging as he glances back to the road ahead of him. Kyle forces himself to relax, one hand on the wheel and his other arm hangs out the side of the car, mirroring you in a way. “Why not? We have the whole night and a full tank, hm sweets?” You can’t help the laugh, turning down the music a bit.

“I get to choose the music.” You negotiate, reaching for his phone, but Kyle’s already handing it to you without looking. “Always.” He responds in a soft manner, your fingertips brushing against each other. Kyle glances at the dash clock again; 3:37.

Please don’t let this night end.

🏷️; @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @ornateorchid @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @talooolalolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff @tipsykeen

this taglist is my overall taglist from here. if you are wrongly tagged or don’t want to be tagged anymore, let me know! no hard feelings.

[grinnames]

Godbox AU Lore 0: The Entity and the 0rigin

It was such a strange feeling. One moment ago, it was so chaotic, so loud. There was a blinding flash that had engulfed him, followed by a split second of white hot pain that swallowed his body before everything became nothing. Now, it was so quiet, so dark, and he felt nothing. What had just happened to him…?

SMG4’s thoughts collected. Before his eyes, darkness spread in every direction. Floating aimlessly around him a random assortment of destroyed objects, all ranging from broken earth, cake, stardust, and bone. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, and he couldn’t tell up from down.

“Those must be the broken pieces of destroyed universes,” he mused to himself. “Wait a second, DESTROYED UNIVERSES!?”

The revelation came back into his mind. He remembered now. He remembered the overwhelming grief and rage overtaking his soul as SMG0 swallowed Melonie whole. He had grabbed SMG3’s hand, and used anti-memes to create a penetrating blast that went cleanly through the eldritch demon’s head. The sadness within him was so strong that he had forgotten to go mad with power. He was completely in control.

He remembered pulling Melonie out from the bowels of SMG0’s corpse, and making a break for the exit to escape the Godbox.

He frowned. Usually, that meant that they had beaten the bad guy, and that he should be returning home in triumph by now. 

“Oh hey idiot. You’re finally up.”

“AAAAAAAAH WAIT WHAT?!”

SMG4 whirled around, finally noticing SMG3. “Dude! You’re okay!”

SMG3 scoffed. What a tsundere. “As much as I’m disgusted by your concern for me, we have more serious things to worry about right now.”

“Well duh!” said SMG4. “We have to find a way to get back home! We’re still floating in the vacuum of the Great Beyond!”

SMG3’s face froze as he took a second to process what SMG4 just said. “SMG4… DO YOU SERIOUSLY NOT REALIZE WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO US?!” he asked incredulously.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…no?”

SMG3 gave him the biggest “are-you-kidding-me” expression ever, and then his face suddenly fell. He looked… sad? “SMG4… we’re dead.”

“...Eh?” SMG4 couldn’t quite process what he had said. Surely this was just SMG3 pulling a cruel prank?

But SMG3 wasn’t smiling. He actually looked like he might cry. “Look down, man.”

He looked down. He immediately wished he hadn’t looked. There, floating beneath his feet, were two mangled and charred corpses. The one wearing a torn blue shirt and ragged white overalls was missing a chunk of its right side, and most of its limbs were gone, leaving bloody and messy stumps. It had his face, mouth open in an endless silent scream, and one eye missing, leaking bloody tears. 

The other corpse was wearing a dark blue shirt and ruined black overalls. It was missing a lot of the flesh that used to cover its torso, neck and mouth. Its damaged organs were exposed, and the jaw was completely gone. It was also missing most of its limbs.

Finally, he looked at his own hand. It was glistening, almost glowing, and he could see through it. He waved his trembling other hand to it, and it passed right through with no resistance.

“...What went wrong…?” his question breathed out.

“We didn’t escape the Godbox before it was blown up. The lid closed on us suddenly, trapping us all inside.” SMG3 said in a monotone voice. “But if it’s any consolation, before you uh… gained consciousness? I floated around to look for Mario and Melonie. I can’t find their bodies, so I can only hope that they survived.”

“... Welp. Guess I won’t be buried in that giant grave that I bought some time ago, ehehe…”

“You commissioned a fancy grave for yourself?”

SMG4 laughed embarrassedly. “Some strange girl gave me a coupon for it, I think she was the head of the… Sheng Wang Funeral Parlor…? I couldn’t pass up on the deal!”

“Ugggghhhhhhhh, I can’t believe I have to share my afterlife with you!” SMG3 groaned. 

“O h, y o u  w o n ‘ t  h a v e  t o.” whispered a new voice. Despite it only being whispered, the words echoed through the void, and chilled the two SMGs to their very cores.

Multiple red eyes lit up in the darkness, surrounding the two with their stares. A terrifying, looming presence filled the very atmosphere. 

“H-hello?” SMG4 called out into the darkness. “Who’s there?! What do you want with us?”

“Huh… let me guess, are we in hell? Are you the devil?” asked SMG3. Then he smirked, albeit nervously. “Are you here to give me a seat of honor?”

“Oh god I don’t wanna go to helllllllllllll….” moaned SMG4.

“I am the entity that calls itself the END.” 

Silence. 

SMG4 piped up. “Uh-”

“Your friends have destroyed my vessel. Gone, blasted to smithereens. I will miss my old box.”

Their souls ran cold. The thing they were speaking to, the thing that had them at their mercy, was the Godbox. Well, what used to be the Godbox.

“Be not afraid. I will not take my wrath out on you.”

“However, in order to continue my purpose, I need new vessels. Your bodies, despite being made to combat my power, were also perfect conduits of channeling it.”

SMG4 felt his stomach plummet. He and SMG3 really had wielded the power of the anti-memes. It felt so seamless, so natural channeling that wild, untamed force with a clear mind. And now they had caught the attention of the origin of that power.

“You are worthy replacements to that box I once resided in.”

SMG3 suddenly shouted, “Waitwaitwaitwait hold up! You just can’t take our bodies like that! What’s going to happen to us?! What are you going to do with our bodies!? If you’re taking our bodies, we deserve… uhhh… compensation! Y-yeah! You… four-million eyed eldritch freak!”

“What are you doing?!” SMG4 whisper-shouted.

“I’m trying to stall!” SMG3 whispered back. 

“I suppose you have the right to know.”

“Oh it actually worked-”

“Ever since I came into existence, I had one purpose. I corrupt and consume. Soon you will also corrupt and consume. It will be the new purpose of your bodies. Your minds. Your souls.”

In a flash, the two souls were impaled upon jagged crystals of black and red anti-meme energy. SMG4 cried out in shock, and SMG3 hissed in pain.

“Not only will your bodies fuse with my essence, but your souls will be devoured as well. It will be my first meal, to mark my rebirth.”

The jagged, pulsating darkness began to crawl across the very culminations of their beings, gnawing and eating away at their essences. They tried to scream, but what came out instead of their own voices were primal, unnatural howls. 

“I must have perfect vessels. I intend to become you, in body, mind, and soul. And you will become me, in body, mind, and soul.” 

Red strings dragged their writhing, corrupted souls back into their ruined bodies. The entity funneled the rest of itself into every nook and cranny, entering its new home. Black, glitchy flesh began to seal their wounds, and replace what was lost.

“As for your compensation, I will return you two home, safe and sound.” 

Man I really hope I don't think of something cooler than this later, this origin story took so long to decide on!

Seriously I have five other origins written out and I was spiraling trying to think of the best one-

[darlingofvalyria]

❝You don't think I can please you?❞

part 05 | we're really in it now, darling

chapter summary:

[ Everything comes ahead at a hedge maze because. . . hedge maze. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,517 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader, aemond x alys rivers

contains— angst, a lil smutty but no full whorishness, ya'll good - i should really put idiots in love as a tag shouldn't i - nsfw: grinding + some sexy, sexy second base lmao - no kingslayers, no rogues, no betas.

a/n— i hope ya'll forgive me. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You don't really know what you were expecting come Sunday. Once you started to 'ehh' 'hmmm' and 'maybe's your way through random moments with Helaena after the radio silence from Aemond— your best friend put her foot down.

"Fuck him," Helaena grumbled. "You've been going to Sunday dinners before he was even born, you are not backing down now."

 You snorted. "That's wildly inaccurate."

"Point still stands. Fuck. Him. You deserve my mother's tiramisu cake. He doesn't get to take that from you." Her eyes widen as if trying to instil her determination into your system via eye contact. "You are not going to let him take that from you."

You nodded. That's at least a point to pro you can stand by. Though she can't cook to save her life— Alicent's words, not yours — the woman sure can bake. It became therapeutic for her, she once said. How measuring ingredients and kneading dough to patiently folding cream after another kept her mind quiet and her hands busy.

"My faith strongly does not advise rage shooting, you know?" Alicent once hummed.

"Did you mean 'range' shooting?"

"Oh?" she nodded absentmindedly, smiling. "Yes, that too."

"That's true," you mused. Tiramisu cake was her mother's specialty. Every Sunday, she has all attendees pack up at least one cake per person and you and Hel usually stave off bites throughout the week until the next Sunday comes.  "I deserve some tiramisu cake, gods be damned it."

"Plus, if you come with me, we'll get two cakes to take home instead of one." She wagged her finger. "We count as two separate entities with one fridge, it's our greatest privilege."

"Daeron calls it preferential treatment."

"I am her only daughter, of course I get preferential treatment."

"As you should, bestie."

Even when you've stopped struggling with choosing if you were going or not, your mind is never faraway from thinking about Aemond. You wonder if he's finally gotten back with Alys was a bad train of thought, while an even worse train of thought is how soft his lips were and how he holds your hair to pull you close when his tongue glides across your bottom lip.

You blink, shaken from the thought. Bad. Bad brain. Stop it.

And repeat. At this point, it was safer to think about Alys and Aemond.

According to previous cycles, by this point they'd be at the height of their newly blossomed relationship— all sweet kisses and heated looks, unable to stop touching each other much less act a little bit better when they're trying to leave a group function to fuck their brains out — so you wouldn't be surprised to see come Sunday that he arrives with Alys— both of them tall, gorgeous with just enough undertone of smirky, smarmy tension that would make you want to stab your own eye out — pointedly ignoring you or whatever happened between you and him.

It hurt to think about sure, but what else did you think was going to happen?

That call made a space the size of a puddle that turned into a lake, welled deep with unresolved feelings and untouched topics. More questions than answers, drawing lines both of you were too scared to tug and see.

It's big enough to notice, and both stubborn enough not to anything about it.

You tried. Well, you almost did. In the weird hours of the day when your brain and body are more physically disjointed so rationality gives way to adrenaline. Most of the time, this is during working hours. You, checking your phone, running around his profile with your thumb a few times, biting your lip as your mind blanks and your body fights to call him. Or leave a message.

Before your mind and body reconnects and you fling your phone as far away from you as possible.

It's weird. You've never fought with Aemond before. If this was considered fighting. You've been disappointed in him, gotten angry and annoyed with him, but someone always, always offers an olive branch.

Every time you think about that call, you close up, your annoyance flares, and you shove your phone away.

In your amicable defense, this was primarily his problem. You weren't truly dating. He made it clear every choice he was making was en toward the agreed conditions were of making his ex jealous enough to take him back, yada yada yada.

Even if, possibly, you wanted more, he made no actual steps to make it known that he was considering it too.

Funny stares on your lips don't count. The only sabbatical from sexual adventures Aemond got were the breakup round with Alys, and as established before, they got it on pretty frequently.

Another thought bubble about Aemond's lips pops in your head, the mint from his toothpaste and the coffee from his black with no sugar, no milk, the way he seemed to suckle on your sighs—

Gods. Damn. It.

Focus.

That last call?

You're a grown ass woman. You're allowed to do whatever you want with whomever you want, and you're not going to make Aemond Targaryen's steely silence of what— disappointment? Of your choices? Of your choice in Cregan Stark and Cregan Stark Jr? Of what you were doing? Sure he was faithful to the Seven, a good old religious boy raised by his momma, but it doesn't make him a saint. Just because he's clinging to the vestiges of first love thinking it could very well be his last doesn't make him holy, or warrant enough to judge you for getting your little you some good dick.

Life is hard. Good dick is hard to come by!

So. Yeah. Days leading up to Sunday was radio silence and way too many thoughts circling your head like vultures, eating away at logic and rationality, and stubbornly still, you refused to make contact. If it's not out of pride, it's out of hurt.

Because he could apologise, but Aemond wasn't known for his apologies.

But then you remembered the flowers, the tulips, and now you just felt sad. Moping, getting annoyed, and trying to get through work without breaking your phone speeds the week in a blur.

Come Sunday afternoon, Helaena was coming to pick you up from her shift at the vet— the beauty of having a vet bff is the Russian roulette of pictures; you never know if you're about to get cuddly new patients with big, sad eyes and pouty snouts or her newest c-section win without any attempts of a blur — so you could get to her mother's house together, you decided to go for the nines with your outfit.

A sweet summer dress later, some gold gladiator sandals half off from your favourite but largely can't afford shoe boutique that you swear you were always going to wear to make up for the insane price (thank the gods Alicent didn't have a no shoe policy because it takes fifteen minutes to get them on and you cannot be on the floor, on her house, with Aemond around, rolling around like a hot potato on the entry way trying to get a fucking shoe on), dusted and prepped in you're fancier version of makeup, and was just finishing off your hair— using the good mousse whilst blaring Disney epics — when knocking came.

You freeze.

On one hand, it could just be Helaena, forgetting her keys again somewhere as she had done so numerous times before, but there hadn't been a slew of expletives or her impression of a cool, clinical voice saying, ''Tis I, the Stranger, have come for thee soul! Open up I gotta pee, woman!' so you got a pretty good guess on the alternative, sending your heart into a stutter and get smacked with a well deep of yearning.

You miss Aemond. You miss hanging out with him, even just having him on video call whilst you prepped a late dinner and he's working out his thesis defense, too late for either of you, but catching another's eye in the tiny phone and sharing a comforted grin. You miss being called my lady in a language that means so much to him, miss bumping shoulders and smelling his crisp scent of cologne and laundry.

Miss his lips, his very soft, very delicious lips—

"Gods damnit, woman, keep it together," you murmur to yourself. Another series of knocks, ever patient, and you're moved by body not mind as breathless giddiness yanks the door open—

Only to fall flat.

"Oh." You can't hide your disappointment at the curly blond with the smirk for centuries. "Aegon. I didn't know it was you."

"Yes, the expressive disappointment in your eyes could bring a man on the edge to his downfall, I must say," he jokes hoarsely, a little hurt. "Not even a hi Aeg. I've missed you Aeg, or— hey Aeg! You look good enough to eat!"

It's Aegon. Not Aemond. Or Helaena. Helaena and Aemond's older brother, Aegon. Party rocking, cocaine hiding, sweat and someone's lipstick smelling Aegon. You like him despite his whorishness because he's funny, because he's sweet when he wants to be, and he always, always gets you a funny mug when he comes back from wherever he came from.

You blink a couple of times, laughing awkwardly as you give him a quick hug. He still smells the same, with the lightest tint of sun in him from his days at the beach not so long ago no doubt.

"Sorry, sorry. Hi Aeg, I've missed you Aeg, and yes, you do look good enough to eat, Aeg."

He hugs back tighter, smothering you in the denim jacket he's wearing and the curly edge of his white blond hair. He's got a new piercing and smells of new perfume.

"So do you, princess," he says as you step back and he appraises you appreciatively. "Those shoes can step on me any time."

"I will never."

"You will never," he says chirpily, moving back with a teasing grin. "Let me guess, you were waiting for my uglier version to come by and got too overwhelmed by the majesticness of me."

'"Majesticness isn't even a word." You snort. "And Aemond is not your uglier version, you don't look that alike."

He raises an eyebrow as you blink. Fuck. "Dear me oh my, I meant Helaena, babe. When did Aemond get into the mix?"

You shove his shoulder, huffing as you pick up your keys and bag, forcing him to step back as you lock the apartment, trying to give yourself grace from his burning, teasing stare. "As if Helaena didn't tell you." You finally turn to him, lips pursed at his faux innocent pout. "Helaena tells you everything."

"She might have mentioned a thing or two about a thing or two." He bumps your hip as you both get into the elevator. "Imagine my surprise when Lae-lae tells me of a wondrous development between her two favourite people that involved a breakup, some gift-giving shenanigans, and kissing." He gasps dramatically as you groaned. "I leave for what— a month or two and suddenly you and Aemond are making out? Babe, I must say, you're doing the tongue tango with the wrong brother."

 "He's not the wrong brother, also the tongue tango? Really?" you snap suddenly. The wrong brother comments always irk you because you understand that it's a sensitive issue to Aemond, as well as Aegon himself.

But it's a bait you realise too late because Aegon Targaryen enjoys hauling truths from people in steps and tricks, uncaring if he takes a stab or two to get there as you meet his gaze against the reflective wall, positively smirking.

"Really now?"

"Why are you even picking me up? I thought you were in Oldtown."

"Already sorted. Hel wanted to make sure you get there in time, she's going to be late... After all your earlier ride backed out didn't he?"

Your mouth pursed, annoyance prickling at your edges as the elevator pulled into the lobby. "I don't want to talk about it, where's your car?"

He whistles, languid and all the time in the world on his shoulders with just the hint of smug. "It's a thirty minute ride, babe, you're going to spill."

You shoot him a withering glare. "Not if I have say in it." For emphasis, you yank his door and slam it. Fuck his new Maserati.

"Mature!"

Thirty minutes is more than ample time for Aegon Targaryen to weed his way into your brain like the worst case of earworm (like a stupid ass commercial jingle that just. Won't. Stop) that by the time you reach his mother's, you were ranting.

"—like I get it, saying I'm going out with another guy to get some good dick after confirming that we're going to your mother's for Sunday as a date is bad, but we're not really dating! He said so himself! He pressed the issue of it not being a real thing! And he didn't attempt any—"

"— any communication at all," Aegon echoes, stretching his legs as he stood. "Not a sorry or anything."

"Anything!" you bolster, slamming his door again that is less about him and more about the aggressiveness. "I know that he's bad at apologising, or facing things that are hard, choosing to stew in it and act all shitty to people, I just... I thought he'd at least tell me. Doesn't that warrant our friendship?"

"Hm. Ever think that's precisely why he struggles with you?"

"What does that even mean?"

"That he cares about you, so he struggles more with expressing himself."

You turn to him, cocking your head. "When did you get so wise, oh Gandalf?"

"A Seven focused rehab facility can do that to you," he muses wistfully. "There was this nun that says verses when she orgasms."

You make a face. "Love the fun fact."

"You're welcome. But back to point, isn't the issue also the fact that you never tried to make contact with him either?"

"Well. Yeah. Because..."

Aegon squints at you sympathetically. "Because you're scared of rocking the boat because of how much you like him?"

"Not, well," you hesitate. "Not like that precisely..."

"How much you're capable of liking him?" Aegon smiles wryly. "You had a crush on him, I remembered that at least. When Hel first introduced you to him, you couldn't stop teasing him until he lit up like a Christmas tree. I knew you liked him since then. You called him pretty half the time, and I started to realise it was less about his reaction but how you actually see him, and speaking as the naturally cherub, pretty boy of the family, I find this highly, highly offensive."

You pinch his cheeks, wounding your arm over his shoulder. Aegon was built like a linebacker with less muscles that aren't postern, with wide shoulders and a strong body that's too easy to lean against.

"You're pretty too, Aeg," you coo. "But he's just..."

 "If you say ethereal, I will vomit right in my mother's petunias." He makes a face. "How about this. The problem is that you think Aemond doesn't like you back."

You frown at him. "I know Aemond doesn't like me back."

"Oh, sweetie," Aegon coos, sympathy and pity swirling in his smug, smug smile. "I'm so glad you're pretty."

You pinch his sides until he squirms. "Fuck you, what the hell?"

"What I'm saying is, let's test that, you know? Because that's the only variable you aren't sure with?"

You sigh. "Aeg, even if he does, I'm not going to pounce—"

The door swings open, and there he is, of pretty boy face and good boy posture because his mother raised herself a good, devout boy who doesn't know what a slouch is because he's not an ape— and is he wearing his leather jacket? Of course he's wearing the leather jacket and you know that smell, that spiced cologne with the leather and his natural scent and fuck, Aemond is looking at you, looking at his brother, and the open expression, the shock, that smidge of relief— shutters to an icy politeness.

Aegon because he's Aegon, pulls you closer, his mouth curling into a grin that only says trouble, forcing Aemond to straighten up his already perfect posture in preparation for whatever his brother has in mind and his stare is white-hot on the conjoined appendages between you and his brother— and Aegon lands a wet, smacking kiss on your cheekbone.

"Had to pick up your girl, baby bro, I mean what kind of—" his blue gaze finds his mother descending the stairs, peering out to see on who it was, and you're frozen, waiting for the bomb to drop and simultaneously unprepared for it, "— boyfriend has his brother pick up his girl? Good thing you got a good excuse, huh? Oh, hey mother dearest! Your favourite son has come back!"

As Aegon leaves your side with a cheeky little wink, you bit your lip at the frosty look on his face that makes you feel like an absolute idiot and fills you with rage all in one go. Because Aemond has never looked at you like that, like you were at fault and acting like a child, but that you also want to jut a finger against his chest.

"Did you have a nice talk with him on the drive over?" he says, jaw hard.

"I didn't tell him," you hiss, taking the hem of his leather jacket instead of his hands enough so you can pretend to kiss his cheeks because his mother is right there, eyes wide at that two of you as Aegon gave you a discreet thumbs up.

"Helaena did. Get over yourself, your mother's—"

 "Aemond?"

As he freezes and Alicent calls your name, you plaster the best smile you can make as you twine your fingertips with his.

"Smile."

"Hm."

When you leave his side to greet Alicent, you make sure to stomp on his stupid shoes.

As soon as you've finished your mandatory greetings— even with Otto Hightower, Aemond's grandfather, who merely raised his eyebrows at the apparent new status of you and his grandson, Alicent having to blink multiple times, wrangling positives as she kept shooting her son looks while he stood like a block of ice behind you — Aemond takes your hand by his own volition, tangles your fingers too tight, and starts tugging you along like a bouy.

"Are you a child?" you hiss, trying to pry your hand as insistently without outright yanking, Alicent already sending you both concerned looks at a news that she called 'oh, that is wonderful!'

"I am younger than you," he murmurs back, holding you tight.

"Oh, fuck you."

With a defeated huff, you take longer, heavier strides and stomps so you're the one dragging him.

It's all illusion of control built on pettiness because you're still being navigated, it's more just pride at this point, but you don't care, and when he scoffs right back, you felt at least a pinch of a win.

And then he, of course, matches your strides so fucking easily.

"Freaking horse-legged motherfucker," you mumble. You don't know if he catches it, or you're imaging the soft, surprised noise that's both a snort and a laugh.

He winds you around the hallway, an unbreakable trajectory to the backyard, dragging you past an easy eye view from the dramatic, floor to ceiling windows and trespassing straight into the hedge maze because of course they had one of those.

"Really? Here?"

"Do you want to be ogled up by my mother?" he says in a nauseatingly chipper voice. "Is that what you and Aegon are planning with all this, hm?"

You twist out of his grip, walking deeper on your own until your eyes are swallowed by the darkness. When you turn to him, your eyes adjust, only seeing the silver of his hair, so different from his black leather jacket and dark green jumper. You don't see his expression or his sharp gaze.

"Planned this? Seriously? Nothing since coming here had been planned, Aemond," your voice has bite and if your eyes had adjusted faster, or if you could see better, you would see the flinch he makes, "if it had been, this certainly would be the last of my fucking choices. Or do I have to remind you of the fact that we were supposed to go together? Oh right, things change when you drop a call out of fucking nowhere!"

"I—fuck." He moves around, a hand through his hair as exhales in frustration. "I didn't... think you'd want to go with me. That Sunday plans had been cancelled."

"And you didn't think to message? I mean it's not like we're friends in literally every social media." You try not to sound hurt before taking a deep breath, offering your palms up. "I didn't—don't even know what the issue is, Aemond. Were you so offended that I was sexually active that you just had to rudely drop the call and not talk—"

It's maybe the darkness, or intuition but you can bet half yours savings that Aemond Targaryen is blushing.

"It... gods, no it's not... I wasn't offended that you were sexually active," he says softly, evenly. He clears his throat. "I don't... mind that you're... sexually active. I actively... support it. Even." He coughs. Swallows. Curses.

If you don't feel like your heart is pounding in your throat you would have laughed. You had never seen the boy this flustered before that it's affecting his words, because Aemond has always been the most well spoken person you know.

"Is it about Cregan? Do you have something against Cregan?"

His eye flutter close. "No... and yes."

"I don't understand, Aemy," you whisper, defeated.

He sighs. In the dark, you notice a movement. His hands flex. It's a habit he's had since you've known him. It's instinct. The way you reach out, finding a piece of his leather jacket until you find your way to his hands, running your fingers over the bones and ridges, his sinew and skin. There are callouses from his fencing, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He's frozen first before he sighs, melting through the warmth you share with him.

 "I have nothing against Stark," he finally says. "It's the fact that you were still having sex with him that I found unfair." He steps closer until you can see his face better, the struggle in him can be told through the furrow in his brows and the press of his pillowy lips, red and wet as if he had bitten through it. "I... understand that we're not really together, but I couldn't... not feel as if it wasn't right. As if I wanted it to be me."

His hands finds your arms, eye closing and gently placing his forehead against your own. At first you panic, your body trying to make your brain decide do you like this or not but it's Aemond, and he's warm, gentle, sweet almost. It's familiar and new at the same time. It's warmth you recognise, skin you will know anywhere, but in a way that you've never felt him before.

You close your eyes and breathe with him.

You know that this is rare. That this Aemond is reserved for people he loves and cares about, but with his forehead against yours, with his hands holding you steady, rubbing a comforting thumb over your skin that felt just as for him as it was for you, breathing you in and exhaling you out. A single breath between two bodies.

"I don't know if I can agree to that, Aemy."

"What?" He pulls back, hurt pulling taunt your favourite pair of lips. "Do you like Cregan more? You don't think I can please you?"

"That's not—"

His hands closes on your face, cupping it in his palms as you stare, wide-eyed at the blue fire lit up in his eye. His breath brushes your lips, making them tingle.

"Push me away if you don't want it," he says before his eye closes and he takes your mouth against his own, swallowing your gasp then pulling you away again, eye glinting.

"Push me away, ñuha riña." His voice is so soft, words crisp while your body thrummed in a single, frantic heartbeat. When you don't move, too shock, thoughts tangled, he smirks.

With his teeth, he captures your bottom lip, grazing it. When he feels you shudder, eyes fluttering, he chuckles meanly.

"Push me away as if you don't want me." He tilts your chin up as he looks down on you, eye confident in its lust. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. "As if you don't feel everything I do."

"Fuck you," you manage to exhale as you grab the back of his head and devour him just as you did at the restaurant. He groans, using his other hand to feel your side, pass your one breast, giving it a firm squeeze that makes you gasp, tongue clashing, legs tangling as you push and push and he pulls you to him, his back hitting the prickly hedge. It's teeth and tongue, breaths twisted in one air as you used each other like lifelines, like enemies in a swords match.

It's feverish and passion, infuriating want that gives. Because when you dominate the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own, yanking him down and down as if you want him to reach every part of you inside, he bends and follows. And when he pulls you, tangles your hair and takes every gasp and breath, you surrender.

He groans when you suck on his bottom lip, pulling away just enough to spit out, "You taste so much better than my dreams." His mouth moves down and down, leaving a path of heat as he suckles at your neck, practically ripping the buttons of the top of your dress as he slides down and grunts in pain.

"A-Aemy?" Your eyes flutter. "Your back, shit—"

"Fuck that." He tugs you down until you land with an oomph! on his lap, your chest at his eye level before he drags them back to your gaze. "Tell me to stop."

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair. "No."

"Good."

Your back arches, supported in his hold, as he starts sucking the skin lower and lower, another hand massaging your tit that pools hot down your core until his hand, warm and solid, sinew and bone, and Aemond Aemond Aemond, slides between your bra and cups your breast and his hand is so big, and it feels so good that you start grinding on the hard length you feel right at your—

An ear-splitting shriek freezes the both of you. You and Aemond pull back, hand still on your tit.

"Wha—"

"Ew, ew, ew! Mom said you were fighting! FIGHTING DOES NOT EQUATE FUCKING IN THE MAZE, YOU FUCKING CLICHES!"

TAGGED: @snowprincesa1 @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr @astroswift @queenofshinigamis @helaenaluvr @kaetastic @jxdegodfrey @laniii-on-your-left @watercolorskyy @microwaveallthedemons @kazuyatokue @herfantastyworldd @averyyreads @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bellstwd @jiminie-08 @ttkttt @nockerin @backyardfolklore @random-ocity @hc-geralt-23 @vendettasblog @cicaspair418 @malynn @anehkael @schadenfreude-and-sarcasm

[faithst]

WAKING ZB1 UP WITH KISSES

pairing zb1 (ot8) x gn!reader

genre fluff

note omg my first emoji anon ⁉️ thank you sm for liking my works and congrats on being my first emoji anon !! i hope you enjoy this 💕

masterlist<3

— zhang hao

there’s two types of people in this world; one that’ll get annoyed if you wake them up and one that’ll be absolutely fine to be woken up

and then theres hao, confused 😦

his head is in another universe right after waking up

where, who, what? he doesn’t know either

you decided to kiss him awake cuz why not <3

hao sat up, hair messy and sticking up to random places

he takes a glance at you, slowly taking in the fact that he was easily woken by kisses

knitting his eyebrows together, his facial expression perplexed 🧐

“why were you kissing me when i was asleep? i can’t kiss you back like that..”

— sung hanbin

so HECKING happy

wakes up instantly ‼️

but he acts like he’s still asleep just for more kisses

it worked for a bit until he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot

he can’t even muster out a sentence without giggling

insists you wake him up like this every single day

he also does the same for you 🫶

“i’m still a bit sleepy, you should give me another kiss.”

— seok matthew

this man is a 50/50

maybe he’ll wake up, maybe he won’t ; let’s test the chances today !

you place a kiss to his forehead, his nose, his cheek–

suddenly, you feel strong arms pull you towards him and both of your lips connect

jokes on you ! he was already awake

he’s grinning so hard rn

right when you thought he was gonna actually wake up, he falls right back asleep

holding you in a tight embrace so you are forced to sleep with him

“that was fun. okay, time for bed!”

— shen ricky

he’s confused at first

once he realises you were kissing him awake, it’s over for him 😊

his entire face and ears covered in hues of pink

ricky tries keeping his cool, acting annoyed and pulling the blanket over his head to avoid embarrassing himself

“don’t do that, it’s too early!”

when you do actually stop, he’s becomes a bit sad

he finally sits up and looks to you whom has a bright smile

a bit hesitant but he musters up all the courage he has to ask for more kisses (in his own way ofc 🤞)

“…ugh, fine. you can keep kissing me..”

— park gunwook

another shy one !

but he’s mostly giggly abt it

he won’t let you stop, he WILL ask for more and will not let you miss a single spot on his face

“one more kiss, please!”

he’s too cutie patootie for you to decline 🥹

also, he doesn’t want to be woken up by any other way now

he might take naps on purpose just for kisses

his whole day is made and once he feels like he can take on anything for the rest of the day 💪

“you missed a spot here, kiss it please!”

— kim taerae

if lovestruck was a man; it’s him

you are literally his muse 🎼

the moment your lips fall onto his face

his eyes flutter open to see you infront of him

to others, you may look a bit messy, face somewhat puffy from just waking up

but to him, you were the equivalent of an angel that fell from heaven

+ you kissing him awake; god, he was so inlove..

his dimples showing as he smiles from your soft touches, the natural light from the window shining over his delicate features

“please keep waking me up like this.”

— kim gyuvin

he’s a bit difficult to kiss

only because he sleeps face flat on the pillow 😭

so you’d have to move him to the side a bit and USUALLY he accidentally wakes up by then

but in the minuscule chance he doesn’t

he gets annoyed that you woke him up 😦

only for a bit tho !

he has a very very very soft spot for you

so when he finally stirs awake and realises you are kissing him

he pulls you into his arms and gives you kisses on both of your cheeks

“what a nice way to be woken up by!”

— kim jiwoong

wakes up instantly

the moment your lips touch his forehead, he immediately sits up

if you ask him why, he doesn’t know either cuz he’s just as confused as you 👍

stares at you for quite a while before retracing his steps and realising you kissed him

and suddenly he’s a blushing mess

it’s really sudden tho 😭

like, he was staring blankly at your face earlier and now he’s giggling like a kid

“i like your kisses..”

© keiwook | 2023

tag @bruhiamistake @trashydez @chxrrymxxnlight @haesunflower @big-uwu-stan @gnwookie @yjhcloud @kpoprhia @channiesprincess @blaycke

here if you want to join the taglist !

[dearest-tobio]

“what’s your favourite moment of our relationship so far?”

you pose the question to iwaizumi against the backdrop of huntington beach. the sun dips the sea in hues of orange, a vibrant see you tomorrow to end the day. activity on the shore fades out with the waves: families packing up, surfers swimming back to land. you and iwaizumi are almost the only two left—his hand around your shoulder and your head on his chest as you both lay on the picnic blanket.

“favourite part?” he inquires back. “it’s hard to choose.”

you playfully hit his chest, shifting closer in his embrace. “oh come on, don’t give me that generic answer. there must’ve been something that stood out.”

in the brief quiet that follows, your eyes drift to the palm trees gently swaying in the wind. “well,” iwaizumi muses, “i do mean it. i don’t have a favourite part.”

his fingers reach up to caress the side of your hair: warm, tender, loving. “i loved meeting you for the first time. we were both clumsy as fuck at orientation.”

you laugh, thinking about your first day at uc irvine. absorbed in figuring out the campus map on your phone, you ended up bumping right into another student. the impact of the collision threatened to knock you off your feet—if it wasn’t for the other student’s steady grip on your hand.

you immediately uttered countless apologies, getting back on your feet and letting go of his grasp. the student shook it off. he wasn’t watching where he was going either, he claimed. you shared a smile—little did you know then, one of many more to come—before you introduced yourself to him.

he returned the courtesy, and you almost missed his name because of the way his dark spiky hair seemed to gleam under the california sun.

“hajime iwaizumi. nice to meet you.”

back in the present, iwaizumi laughs in tandem with you, a deep timbre you’ve always adored. “yeah, we were kind of stupid. great story to tell though.”

iwaizumi glances up at the seagulls flying up ahead, disappearing from his view not long after. “i also love our first anniversary. just stargazing at some random trail. and our second with the build-a-bears. and our third at the fair.”

“oh, and you meeting everyone from back home. especially those three idiots.” you laugh louder this time, recalling the first video call you had with iwaizumi’s old teammates at aoba johsai. “honestly,” he continues with apparent amusement laced in his tone, “where oikawa, makki, and mattsun are, chaos is sure to follow.”

“i loved meeting your friends!” you exclaim, beaming ear-to-ear. “can’t wait to meet them in-person someday.”

you feel iwaizumi’s chest rise and fall as he scoffs. “they’re a handful, baby. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“going back to the question,” iwaizumi continues, “do you really want to know why i don’t have a favourite moment?”

“go ahead. i’m waiting.”

“i don’t have a favourite moment…” iwaizumi pauses, and you feel his lips pressing a quick kiss against your forehead.

“i don’t have a favourite moment, because any moment with you is my favourite.”

masterlist

[jenosbliss]

pairing. fem!reader x jisung | genre. fluff | wc. 0.6k | warnings. the reader is short, few cuss words

[8:36 pm]

Late evening supermarket runs weren’t a usual practice for you and your roommate. While showering, she suddenly realized that she had run out of pads and it was that time of the month. After a thorough search, a lone pad miraculously appeared.

Exiting the sanitary aisle, you mused about snacks. “I’ve been craving Cheetos,” you said languidly. “You’ve mentioned that five times this week,” your roommate retorted with an eye roll. “No one knows me better than you, my love,” you teased, blowing her a kiss as you dashed to the snacks.

The excitement was short-lived. Not because they were out of Cheetos stocks but because they had decided to place them on the top most shelf, which was far out of reach.

“Are they for real” with hands on your hips you scoffed. Despite several leaps toward the tantalizing orange bag, it remained just out of grasp. “Y/n, I’ll order them online, or we can check another store. Or let’s get Doritos!” your roommate suggested picking up the said snack which was kept on a lower shelf.

“I will get this Cheetos only.” Settle for less? No way! You weren’t a quitter, no matter how bad a situation was or how tough a challenge was, you won’t give up. People may think of this as stubbornness but you weren’t raised a quitter. If you want something you will get it.

“You can’t get-” before she can complete you cut her off mid sentence, “No. Please find a staff member who can probably help us.” Maybe they have a ladder or something as there’s no way an average height human could reach that!

When she went to find help, not being able to wait for someone you contemplated more creative solutions to get the Cheetos. One idea that came to mind was to throw a shoe at it and knock it down, which was stupid, but desperate times call for drastic measures.

Hence, the left shoe was removed, target was set, and shoe-missile was launched at the enemy territory –the Cheetos packet laughing at you– after careful calculations. There was just a minor setback… the shoe missed the target and went all the way to the next aisle.

“Oww! What the fuck” was followed by quick shuffling and footsteps leading to you. The flight and fight mode kicked in an instant, flight was the best option but you needed your shoe back, therefore you settled for the latter… fight.

A young man, wearing a grey hoodie which covered his forehead along with black hair falling in front of his eyes, looking absolutely breath taking without any effort appeared in your aisle holding your shoe.

“This belongs to you?” He asked swinging the shoe on two of his fingers and was that a smirk?God he was hot. “I’m really sorry… I was trying to get that packet,” you explained, pointing to the Cheetos.

He seemed tall enough to easily retrieve the bag, just a stretched hand and there he is giving you the packet without any issues! Well you hoped he would voluntarily help you but maybe that wasn’t what he had in mind.

With a perfect aim unlike yours he tossed the shoe back at your head making you yelp. “Hope your brain starts working now.” Men open their mouth and ruin everything, he along with his actions ruined it. “Hey! Are you out of your mind?” He let out a dry chuckle at your words.

“You think so ‘Miss who goes throwing shoes at random people�� huh?” He taunted, leaning against one of racks looking at you unamused. “I said it wasn’t intentional, but what you did is dumb!” Huffing loudly at his casual attitude, you crossed your arms over your chest.

His icy voice filled the area as he spoke “Watch that pretty mouth of yours. Throwing stuff around like a careless idiot doesn't make you look smart.”

“Ugh! What’s your problem dude? I apologised already and if you can’t help me then please leave for god’s sake.” Not expecting his help, you returned your attention to the Cheetos packet.

He smirked at your stubbornness. “I’d rather watch you struggle.” he said, amused, his eyes following your movements. Choosing to ignore his presence, which was anything but easy, you focused on your target.

Again an idea struck you: the racks seemed sturdy, so if you stepped on the bottom shelf, you might reach the goddamn packet. Without hesitation, you climbed onto the bottom shelf. Still, you were unable to reach the top one, hence, you decided to step on the next one, gripping the upper shelves for support, both feet off the ground.

Jisung watched the whole scene unfold in front of his eyes. Not budging at all to help eben though he knew how dangerous this could be, finding this entertaining or so he thought until he saw one of your foot slip, causing you to lose balance.

As if on cue he rushed to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to support you. He didn’t expect you to fall completely, landing on top of him. The chaos ended with him on his back, you in his arms.”

“What an idiot” he groaned in pain. “Do you think you’re Spiderman, climbing the racks, thinking you won’t hurt?” Wincing, he spat out his words. Maybe it was the closeness that made you not argue back, but all you could manage was a timid “sorry.”

A red hue crept up your face realizing how close you were to his face, his arms still wrapped around you securely, this was both embarrassing and exciting. "Y/N! Oh my god, what happened?" A concerned voice of your roommate pulled you out of your thoughts.

Stumbling, you stood up and pointed accusingly at the boy still on the ground. “I fell while getting the Cheetos, and he,” you cleared your throat, cheeks still flushed, “he saved me.” Jisung, hissing from the pain in his back, stood up too.

"Jisung?" She asked recognising him. "Oh hey neighbour." He said surprised. Neighbour? Whose neighbour? Her parent’s? “Is she your friend?” He looked you up and down with a disdainful look. Your roommate nodded her head in slight surprise. “She’s such a pain in the ass, how do you even put up with her?”

“What the-” The audacity of this Jisung boy. You were about to defend yourself when your roommate put a hand over your mouth and pulled you out of the aisle and the store. “See you later, Jisung.”

“What was that?” you huffed angrily once you got home. “God, Y/N, Jisung is our new neighbor! You met Chenle and Jaemin, right? Well, Jisung just moved in yesterday. I didn’t want you to start a fight with him,” she explained.

Chenle and Jaemin were so sweet and humble, they even help you carry stuff whenever you ran into them at the parking lot, always had the warmest smiles while greeting you and this Jisung guy on the other hand… let’s not get into it. You practically hate him already.

Jisung wasn’t like his friends, and knowing he was your neighbor, he’d make sure your life wasn’t easy. But still the next morning you found a packet of Cheetos on your door with a note reading “For the Feisty and Stubborn one. Nice to meet you neighbour ;)”

mastaerlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

navigation.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Seven: All Dressed Up @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // Part One // Part Two // AO3

Doesn’t fit in with today’s prompt, but, I did finish this story one year later so...I think that counts for something.

Warnings: nothing major, ~3.5k words

The Words We Share--Part Three

Rowan Whitethorn grew up on the stories of his homeland.  Little myths and legends that fueled his imagination since he was a child.  It hadn’t taken him long to learn how to create his own stories, how to twist tales and give a voice to his musings.  He just never thought it would get him to where he was now.

He stared at the projected numbers for his new release, already there had been two calls for reorders and the official publication date was still a month out.  It was set to be his biggest release yet.

And still he felt…unsettled.

If that was even the right word.  He could spin a villain’s origin story that could chill anyone’s blood.  He could paint the Scotland highlands with vivid accuracy and enchanting detail.  He’d won awards and been featured on dozens of sites and bestsellers lists.  He’d even been offered an adjunct professor position at the local state college to teach creative writing.  But he couldn’t put a name to this emotion roiling through his chest.

Nothing came.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text on the table beside him and Lorcan’s name flashed on the screen.

>>u see this?

A link to the comment section on a website followed.  Aelin’s website.

Rowan’s stomach dropped as his thumb hovered over the link.  He tried to imagine just what he was getting himself into.  He’d experienced his share of feedback in the form of book reviews and he’d seen plenty of other comments from other shows he’d been a part of.  But this…this felt different.

He clicked the link before he could second guess himself.  And he opened himself up to hell.

It ranged from the usual notes from his fans, those that kept up with his books and how he wrote.  And then he found the comments from Aelin’s fans.  Which was where he found the crazies.  The TikTokers, the influencers, the people who absolutely devoured any form of content with their theories, their headcanons, their passions.  Rowan never begrudged a person their hobby, in fact, he encouraged finding something that brought you joy.  But this…this…

xxgalaCREWfan99xx: ok but was no one going to tell me ROWAN WHITETHORN HAD A SEXY VOICE?? Do I have to change my reading habits now??

Readingbaebe: Does he write romance at all?? I refuse to read anything else.

TheMidnightBookClub: to much historyyyy YAWN

BOOKS4LIFE: but y wuz there banter so on point?? Talk about sxxxyy!

Letsreeeeead: @BOOKS4LIFE: I KNOW RIIIIGHT? Tlk abt meet cute??

Jdashbywriter: would love to hear more of your craft Rowan! Thanks for your books.

Some of the commentors were not as crazy as others.  There was a reason he refused to get a TikTok account no matter what Dorian tried to tell him it would do for his sales.  And there was a reason he’d hired an assistant so he didn’t have to deal with any of this.

He reached for his phone, fully prepared to call Aelin and see if she’d seen any of this.  He stopped himself.  He couldn’t let himself do that.  Not after everything that had happened.

Just as he pulled his hand back from his phone, the screen lit up.  His heart made an uncomfortable leap until he saw the name.

“What, Fen?” he demanded.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were dating Galathynius,” Fenrys said from the other line. “Congrats!”

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop reading random comments on the internet.”

“But they’re so entertaining!  Probably doing my job better than I can,” Fenrys replied.

Indeed, Rowan had made the remarkably stupid decision to let Fenrys be his media manager.  It wasn’t that Fenrys couldn’t do a job properly or was stupid himself (an idiot, sure, but that was different) he could.  It was only that Fenrys had a different vision for just about everything when it came to his books.

“Please don’t let the TikTok win,” Rowan said.

“It’s just TikTok,” Fenrys said.

Rowan cursed. “I hate you.”

“I’m just saying,” Fenrys continued, utterly unaffected by Rowan’s disdain, “you’re getting more hits on your recent Instagram reels and followers.  This whole thing will be good for you.”

Rowan wasn’t sure about that. “Is that the only reason you called?”

There was a pause from Fenrys and Rowan felt a distinct rise in dread.  Nothing good came from a silence like that.

“Remelle St. Moore wants you on her podcast,” Fenrys said, the words coming out in rapid fire.

“Oh for shits-sake,” Rowan muttered, “no.”

He remembered the last time he had interacted with the book influencer at a launch party for one of his fellow writers.  Between the alcohol and suggestive comments on her part, he’d barely made it out alive.  Really, it was because of that experience he preferred to keep to his own group of fans, or too himself.

“That’s what I thought you’d say, but she’s got a lot of viewers,” Fenrys said.

“Which is why I agreed to the podcast with Aelin,” Rowan groused, “at least she didn’t try and grope me at a party.”

“No, you just tried to play hero and save her from being stood up.” Rowan could practically hear the grin growing on his friend’s face. “Which must have worked out really good for you based on some of these comments.”

“I’m hanging up,” Rowan said, “no more podcasts.  Or interviews.”

“What if Aelin’s the one asking?”

He hung up before answering.

Leaning back in his office chair, he tried to ignore what Fenrys had said.  Especially the bits about him and Aelin.  He knew that nothing had happened between the two of them.  And nothing ever would.  He’d known it even before he stepped in to help Aelin save face after being stood up.  That hadn’t stopped him from stepping in though. 

He didn’t know what had come over him that night at the restaurant, only that he couldn’t believe someone had stood her up.  He hadn’t known it was her, at first.  Only that Lorcan and Fenrys were commenting on the fact a woman was dining alone and they were taking bets on what she would do.  When he had finally grown tired of their antics, he’d turned to find Aelin swirling a glass of water in her hand looking utterly dejected.

It was a far cry from the Aelin he’d gotten to know over the years.  Headstrong and stubborn, wild and untamed, charismatic and independent.  Something had shifted over the last eight months, though.  He’d been sure to keep his distance, relying on the illusion of finishing his book.  It was mostly a lie.  His book was going along well, remarkable even.  But then Aelin had gotten a boyfriend.  And from the sounds of it, it had been everything she’d wanted.

Pining after women had never been something Rowan did, but after Aelin and Sam had gotten together it felt like that was all anyone ever talked about at the office.  The only response Rowan could think was to take his work elsewhere.  He went back to Scotland to visit his mother, he travelled the continental U.S. He did everything in his power to put some much needed distance between him and Aelin Galathynius.

Which did absolutely nothing.

She had already wormed his way into his manuscript.  And like a fool, he’d insisted she read it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised she never caught on to his rather blatant illusions.  She didn’t like him, made it clear.  Which was another reason his stepping in at the restaurant was psychotic. 

But she was Aelin and there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore or let go.  And seeing Sam stand her up?  Hell, it made him angry.  And Rowan didn’t even know Sam.

Rowan shook his head and shut down his computer.  He was being foolish.  On so many different levels.

He knew he wasn’t going to get any writing done.  Instead, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet.  He needed to get out of his apartment even if he didn’t have a destination in mind.

.*.

The manuscript stared innocently up at her.  The Times New Roman font was evenly spaced, paper fresh and crisp from the office printer.  She’d used Dorian’s own code to print all these pages out so no one would trace the mass printing back to her.  Technically she shouldn’t have done this.  It was a lot of paper and she wasn’t even on the editorial team for this author.

But Aelin never did like listening to rules.

I thought it was obvious.

Rowan’s words from earlier that afternoon rang in her head.  They bounced around in a relentless beat and refused to be dismissed.  Because they meant one thing and one thing alone: she had missed something while reading his book.  And she didn’t miss things.

So, red pen in hand, fresh coffee on her desk, and a newly printed manuscript before her—Aelin set to work.

Just like with the first time reading Dead Man’s Game, she was drawn into the world immediately.  The setting, the characters, the subtle tones of magic all worked to create a plot that gripped her by the throat.

During this reread, Aelin focused more on Celaena.  Celaena who was reckless and selfish.  Celaena who put her life on the line too many times.  Celaena who loved fiercely and didn’t let anyone hold her back.  Celaena who killed witches and broke curses. 

She stopped reading somewhere around chapter five when something started to prick the back of her mind.  Something she’d tried desperately to stamp down all these years.  Even the past few months.

Though, it had been easier as of late because Rowan had disappeared into whatever writers’ nook he had.  That night at the restaurant had been one of the first times she’d seen him since learning about his new book.

She took a long drink of coffee before she fired a text off to Elide.  She needed someone to rant to about this because she had no idea what was going on or how to put into words what she was feeling.

When her phone rang a few minutes later, she picked it up on instinct. 

“Elide, did you see what I sent you?” she demanded, still staring at the cliff hanger of chapter five.

Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t her friend on the other line.  It was Sam.

“Aelin.”  He sounded relieved, which only made her blood pressure boil. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, baby.”

Aelin glanced at the Caller ID.  He must have gotten a burner phone and she’d been too distracted to make sure she knew the number.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.  “I broke up with you, end of story.”

“You didn’t even let me explain—”

“Explain what, Sam?” Aelin demanded.  All the pent-up anger she’d been trying to ignore and push aside rose too quickly to the surface. “That you stood me up again without bothering to try and call, hell, even text me?  Instead, I was left alone. Again.”

The anger burned away the tears she might have shed.  He didn’t deserve her tears; he didn’t deserve anything from her.

“You’re blaming me?” Sam scoffed. “I have a job, Aelin.  I’m a lawyer, I don’t get to sit around all day reading books—”

“Lose my number, Sam,” she said, eyes squeezed shut, “or I swear I’ll give your lawyer ass something to work over.”

She ended the call before flinging her phone across her office where it clattered against the wall.  The pain that ripped through her chest was more than just anger, but sorrow and pain.  She’d wasted so much time over Sam that coming out of it she felt like she was drowning.  She was barely treading water, she was—

“Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

Aelin nearly jumped out of her skin at the deep, careful voice coming from the doorway.  She spun in her chair, nearly careening out of it at the force, and found Rowan standing there.  How much had he heard?  How would he laud this over her head?  Did he judge her at all for the things she’d said?

“Rowan,” she said, far softer than she meant to.  Her skin was blazing over the phone call with Sam and she felt the flush deep in her cheeks, horrified that she was actually on the verge of crying now.

He jerked his chin over to where she’d tossed her phone. “Bad call?”

Aelin huffed a breath. “Sure, if you wanna call it that.”

Rowan stepped into her office, slow and careful as though he expected her to toss him back out.  He was dressed far more casual than Aelin had ever seen him.  With a pair of dark washed jeans and gray sweater, plain leather jacket—he seemed relaxed and at ease.  Not at all how she’d imagined him on a regular week day.

And then, because he seemed to know her so well, he made another comment. “Your boyfriend really seems like a keeper.”

“Not my boyfriend, not anymore.” Aelin didn’t look at him as she grabbed her coffee.  It was shocking how good it felt saying the words, like a weight was lifted off her chest. “Just doing some late-night reading, right now.”

Rowan frowned glancing at the manuscript.  The title page was tossed to the side so it was obvious what book it was.

“You already gave me your edits,” he said.

“Yeah, but I thought I was missing something.”  She shrugged and set the coffee aside.  “What about you?  Why bother coming here?”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair, messing the easy style it had settled into.  He didn’t answer her question immediately, choosing instead to fall into one of the chairs before her desk.  The movement was so easy, as though he’d practiced it a hundred times, as though he belonged right in that chair.

“Did you see those comments on the podcast?”

Aelin’s brow furrowed.  Then, startling not just him, but her too—she laughed. “Oh, Whitethorn, you don’t actually read those comments.  Those people are insane.”

“A warning might have been nice,” he grumbled.

Another laugh tore through her, dispelling the sick feeling roiling in her gut. “Oh, poor little buzzard.  Are you traumatized?”

“Yes.”

Dissolving into another fit of giggles, Aelin clutched her stomach.  She couldn’t catch her breath as she kept laughing.  It didn’t help how affronted Rowan look, how confused.  It was…it was actually cute.  Not that she’d tell him that.

“What’s the madhouse got to say this time?” she asked once she’d gotten a hold of herself.  She also reached for one of her desk drawers and pulled out a bag of chocolate she only saved for rainy days.  She popped a truffle in her mouth and shook the bag at him.

Rowan declined the chocolate.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re blushing,” she said, leaning towards him. “Oh, I’ve got to see these.”

“I’m not—no—” he tried protesting but Aelin was already motivated to see what had gotten him so riled up.

It didn’t take long to get the gist of what he’d gotten so riled up over.

“Oh, these people need to touch some grass,” Aelin muttered.  Many of the insinuations and comments were…out there.  Far worse than when she’d interviewed an audiobook narrator known for his smut and spice scenes.  And that was saying something. 

“You deal with this a lot?” Rowan asked.

Aelin looked at him. “And you don’t?”

“Fenrys filters a lot of them,” Rowan said absently, he paused just a second. “You think I get a lot of these types of comments?”

“I—” Aelin only then realized what her comment sounded like. “You’re a famous author, the crazies exist everywhere.”

She fought down the heat rising in her cheeks while Rowan only smirked.

“That’s it?” she asked, tightly, “you wanted to compare notes on comments?  You could have called.”

“Seeing what you do to your phone, I don’t think the call would have gone through.”  He met her gaze, green eyes intent.

Hell.  He must have heard more of that phone call than she’d have liked.

“Yeah,” she said dryly, “I guess I don’t like phone calls.”

They sat in silence together for far longer than Aelin would have thought possible.  She couldn’t help but shake her head at the fact.  Drawing a finger over the last few lines she’d read of Rowan’s manuscript; she snatched another truffle.

“So,” she said, “can I ask you something?”

Rowan raised a brow. “As long as it’s not gonna make it on another podcast.”

She rolled her eyes. “No need to fear, buzzard.  This is off the record. It’s about Celaena.”

Rowan shifted in his chair. “Why?”

Was he annoyed?  She couldn’t quite tell.  He wore a frown, that charming shit-eating grin long gone.  It was replaced by something guarded.

Aelin drummed her fingers on the manuscript, wetting her dry lips. “She’s based on someone close to you.”

“Close enough,” he shrugged, but Aelin had long ago learned how to read people.  He was tense, worried. 

“Does she know?  The woman she’s based off of?” With far more bravado than she felt, Aelin rose from her chair and came around the table.  She leaned against the desk, facing him, and crossed her arms.

“Aelin—”

“Or is she just supposed to figure it out along the way?”

She wasn’t mad, really, she wasn’t.  More, shocked than anything.

“To whatever end,” Celaena said, pointing the sword to the horizon where the ship holding her captive lover could be seen retreating. “I will find you.”

And Aelin remembered the last time she’d reviewed Rowan’s book.  Where she’d told him to raise the stakes, to let his characters face the unspeakable, to let them be reckless, to let them love.  And here was Celaena.  It wasn’t just that, but Aelin had shared those exact words with Rowan. That had been eight months ago.

Romance, Whitethorn, should be consuming for a character.  Let them have a purpose, let them have a duty to fulfill, to whatever end.

“To whatever end, Rowan?” she asked.

“I’m not allowed to find inspiration in real things or people?” He was still sitting, looking up at her the almost perfect picture of innocence.

She nudged his foot with her own. “Rowan.”

“Why does it matter?” he insisted.  He rose from his chair and it struck Aelin then how big Rowan was.  He was practically a tree—broad shoulders, thick muscles, at least six feet, probably six-four.  Aelin had never really felt small before, delicate, or breakable.  But next to Rowan? 

She lifted her chin to meet his gaze.  She didn’t want to hedge around this question, this tension brewing between them anymore.  She would wait out his answer no matter how long it took.

Rowan leaned closer to her, close enough that Aelin could smell the pine and salt on his skin.  He was close enough that she could see the flecks of deeper green amid the light in his eyes.

Her heart rate picked up.  It would have been embarrassing if she thought about it a little more.  But now, all she wanted was for Rowan to answer her.

He shook his head, just barely, and muttered something under his breath.  It was something in Gaelic if she had to guess.

“You really don’t get it,” he said.

“I want to hear you say it,” she insisted.

“You really are impossible, you know?”

“So I’ve read.”

A small smile quirked his lips and before Aelin could say anything else, he reached out to run a thumb down her jaw.  A shiver ran down her spine with anticipation. 

“I like you, Aelin,” he said, thumb still tracing her skin, “and I have for a while.”

Something clicked in her mind at those words, an understanding of sorts and she furrowed her brow.

“Is that why you disappeared for seven months?  You were here practically every day and then you just weren’t—” she trailed off slowly as the pieces fit together. “Sam.”

Rowan shrugged as though her words had no effect on him, but she felt the barest hint of pressure as his fingers tightened along her jaw.

“I had a manuscript to finish,” he said, “didn’t help that you hated me and then you were happy with someone else.  So, yeah, I left.”

As if on instinct, Aelin reached out and fisted a hand in his sweater.  Somehow in the last twenty-four hours since the podcast, the last week since the pseudo-date—she’d gotten attached.  Which was both hilarious and terrifying.  But was she surprised?  No, no, she really wasn’t.

“I was going to tease you for writing romance into your book,” she began, head tilted to the side, “but I think being the brilliant inspiration behind Celaena will be a lot more fun to hold over you.”

Rowan cursed, shaking his head. “I’m never going to live it down, am I?”

“Nope.”

They moved at the same time, coming together in a kiss that Aelin would later describe as the best first kiss she’d ever had.  One of Rowan’s hands delved into her hair, the other dropping to her waist to pull her closer.  Aelin wrapped one hand around his neck, just as desperate to keep him close. 

His lips were hard, bruising against her own, but Aelin couldn't find it in herself to care. All she could think about was the fire burning within at the feel of him, the taste of him.

“You gonna take me on a date first, Whitethorn?” she gasped, breaking the kiss.  She shivered as on of his hands slid along the bare skin of her thigh. Wearing a skirt did seem to have its perks.

“Already did that,” he replied.

She gaped at him, ready to tell him off. He cut her off with another kiss, which Aelin supposed was just as well.

In the end, no one would get the real story about what really happened that night or how it happened.  But maybe, along the way, a future book would hold some of the details.

end.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Ex-Wife!Reader

♡ Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it. (warnings will be added as story progresses).

…

“Alright! They’re here.” Maverick drops the curtain back into place and turns back towards his granddaughters. “Be cool.”

Peyton looks up, scrunches her nose just a fraction — she takes a moment to analyse what this might entail. Maverick sits back against the couch and opens his book up, picking a random page a couple of chapters in, settling into his position. Parker settles in equally easily, she drops down so that she’s sitting cross-crossed and immediately gets to work penciling in answers on her worksheet. Peyton inhales, then almost forgets to exhale, her mind racing as the sound of footsteps on the porch ring out over the top of Maverick’s soft soul album playing.

Finally, she drops down next to her sister and grabs a pencil.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Mav,” You muse, breathing out softly as you follow Bradley up onto the porch. It’s been forever since you’ve even been here, you’ve only seen Maverick a handful of times since you divorced Rooster. He was always kind to you. “He might not even recognise me.” You joke.

Rooster almost scoffs. Recognise you? — He hardly ever shuts up about you. It’s a good thing, probably, that his friends and family are so fond of you. It means he picked a good person to share his life with. It just makes things even more difficult now that the two of you have decided to go your own ways.

“He’s not that old.” Rooster settles with instead, keeping things lighthearted as he turns the door handle and opens the front door. He steps in first and holds the door open behind him for you. Taking a few steps forwards, he has a good view into the living room on the left.

The girls are both sitting on the floor, working on some school work together. Peyton’s helping her sister with math. Maverick is reading a fictional romance novel. One of Penny’s. Peyton is way worse than Parker at math. Damn it.

Maverick glances up from his book and even through the suddenly blurred lenses of his reading glasses, he can see the disappointment on Rooster’s face. Busted. But, as far as Rooster knows, this just means that the three of them spent the afternoon having fun and watching TV. Which isn’t entirely incorrect.

“Hi, Mav.” You step around Rooster sheepishly and lift your hand, waving it at him. Rooster looks you up and down, brows scrunching slightly. This is the man who drove you to the hospital when you were in labour and Rooster was an hour away in traffic. The same one who held you whilst you sobbed at the thought of not being a good enough mother and told you it was all going to be okay. The first person that the two of you told you were expecting.

And here you are, acting like he has become a stranger.

There are lots of aspects of divorce that hurt more than Rooster was expecting them to. Those hour long gaps in his Sundays now that he doesn’t have to go and put gas in your car. Getting home from work on a night that the girls are with you and his home being empty.

Now, Rooster doesn’t have much of a family. It was just Mav for a little while, and then Penny and Amelia came along. But, then he had you — and the girls, and you were all a big family. Now, Maverick is someone that you can only awkwardly say hello to. No longer family.

“Hey, honey! How’ve you been?” The book is discarded and Maverick is pushing himself up off of the couch, arms opened and walking towards you. Your body unstiffens, exhaling quickly as you let him envelope you in a hug. It takes everything in you not to rush out a pained ‘oh my god, I thought you hated me’.

Your mind jumbles, searching for the right words as Maverick squeezes you. He’s greyer than the last time you saw him, he still smells like the same cologne he wore when you met him. That means Penny’s still unsuccessful in making him stop buying the same pine scented spray that he wore in the eighties.

“Good! I’m — busy, but I’m good.” You manage out. He pulls back to look at you, catching your arms like you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t ground you right here with him. He looks over your face fondly. Both of you a little bit older, probably none the wiser.

Pete grins and nods his head. “I’m glad, I’m so glad.”

Rooster looks between the two of you, then back at the kids looking up at them curiously. As he glances back to Maverick, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the old man starts spouting off some crap about how the two of you would probably be happier together.

“Mav, could we have a second alone with the kids? — We still have to get them home before their bedtime and stuff.” Rooster reminds his uncle gentle. Maverick jumps to his senses and pulls back nodding.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll — I’m going to go and start making dinner for Penny. I’ll be in the kitchen.” As he turns, his back to the two of you, his eyes on the kids, Maverick gives them an overzealous wink. It’s up to them from here on out. Then, he leaves and heads for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Bradley moves first. He walks calmly into the living room and sits down in front of the two of them. You follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, the four of you looking at each other.

Finally, you’re the first to speak. “First, your dad and I just wanted to say that we’re glad you two can talk to each other, and that you wanted to help out your sister. But you know that this was completely the wrong way to go about it. Right?”

“We know…” Peyton agrees dejectedly, guilt in her tone and her body language as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.

You do your best not to make it a lecture, knowing that they’ll just zone out if you drone on at them too much. They’re still little and long lectures can be draining on their developing minds. You do your best to engage, asking them questions, keeping them involved.

It’s clear that they know what they did was wrong. You’ve got a sneaking feeling that this probably won’t be the last time they do something like it, but for now it’s resolved either way.

They’re going to write an apology to their teachers for switching classes again. You and Rooster had been texting about this all afternoon, you’ve considered making them write an apology to William — but he’s kind of a little asshole and his mother is even worse.

You check your watch and it’s already a little after seven. Their bedtime is eight. Luckily, Mav gave them dinner, so all you have to do is get them home and into bed. Then, you can get started with the mountain of work that you have left to do tonight.

“Alright, go say goodnight to Grandpa Mav, we should get going.”

“Can I drive home with Dad?” Parker asks suddenly. A quick glance towards your ex-husband, clearly tired after the day, relaxed back against the couch. He moved a while ago, complaining that sitting on the floor was hurting his back. You shake your head quickly.

“No, not today. It’s out of his way, and you two need to get to bed soon.”

“I just wanted to talk to him about the stuff with Billy,” She turns those big brown eyes towards Rooster and looks up at him, guilt filled and sorrowful. “I feel bad for not telling you about it. Can we talk?”

You open your mouth to correct her. Rooster, already suckered, sits forwards and nods his head. “Yeah, Peanut. We can talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, it’s—“

“It’s alright, I can take them back with me and we’ll just meet you at your place.” Rooster decides, running his fingers through his auburn hair and sitting up, readying to stand.

For the millionth time that day, your children catch you off guard. Peyton looks up, scowling, completely serious as she shouts, “No, I want to go with Mom!”

Rooster glances across at you, then back at her. Ultimately, he shrugs — it has been a long day and the twins’ favourite parent switches up routinely, he has learned to just take it in his stride. “Alright, so we’ll take one each. Just me and you, Parks.”

You’re more skeptical of this behavior, and your daughters recognise it immediately. You squint as you look between the two of them, and their sweet little faces. They’re probably up to something, but like their dad, you’re exhausted and don’t have time to investigate.

“Okay. One each.” You agree with a tired shrug, pushing yourself up from the floor. The girls rush off to say their goodbyes to Maverick, Bradley thanks him for watching them, then you’re all bundling out to the cars. You pause at the realization that Rooster has his bronco.

He catches your scowl as you pass him one of the booster seats. “She’ll be fine, I’ll drive slow.”

“I can take her, it’s not a problem.” You shake your head at the thought of her climbing up into that almost fifty year old, mostly metal, box. Rooster has always defended that truck to you, insisting that it’s safe. Still, you had made him buy something safer for when he has the kids. Their booster seats are still in the backseat of the fourth gen dodge Ram on his driveway, he never takes them in this.

“I’m going with Dad.” Parker insists. You both turn, looking up to find her already climbing on the side of the truck, having lifted herself up onto the step, now struggling to get the door open.

“We’ll see you at your place.” Rooster nods. With that, he turns away from you and wraps and arm around Parker’s middle, scooping her off of the side of his truck and opening the door with her under one arm.

You swallow softly and slide into the driver’s side of your car. Before you’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Peyton pipes up from behind you. “Was it weird being at Grandpa Mav’s house? — Did you guys used to be friends?”

“Alright, you buckled in?” Rooster looks up and checks his rear view mirror, finding his daughter’s smiling face looking back at him. He misses seeing those faces every day. She nods calmly and tugs at the seatbelt to prove it. Rooster nods, turning the radio down a little so that he’ll be able to hear her. The soft top cover will help, since the wind won’t be in their ears.

“Did you see that Mommy got her hair cut? — I like it like that, it’s pretty.” Parker comments, dragging her backpack across the seat towards her and starting to rifle through it as Bradley pulls away from the curb. He glances up at her through the mirror, brows scrunching just slightly, lips quirked.

“I thought we were going to talk about this Billy kid.” He reminds her.

“We are,” She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her notebook from the backpack, along with a blue pencil. “I’m just saying, Mommy looked really pretty today, don’t you think?”

“Your Mom always looks pretty. Just like you, Peanut.” At first glance, it’s a nice thing to say. But, it’s what he always says. With the two of them sharing so many of your features, he’d never dream of saying anything bad about the way you look. Not that he has anything bad to say anyway. Still, Parker is looking for something a little better than that.

She stares at him, squinting for a moment, then persists. “Yeah. But don’t you think she looks especially pretty now?”

Rooster glances up again, lips quirking more, brows scrunching in amused confusion at the serious expression on her face. “Yeah, I guess. — What’s this about?”

“I’m just asking. Don’t you think about Mom when you aren’t with her?” Parker frowns, folding her arms over her chest. Rooster pulls to a stop at a red light and looks back at his daughter, baffled. He always knew that getting a divorce was going to bring up some questions from the kids, he just wasn’t expecting this level of interrogation today.

He gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I think about you guys all the time. Y’know, how you’re doing, if you’re safe—“

“No, not us. Mommy.” Parker interrupts. Rooster glances back again, finding her staring back at him with her pencil resting on the page, her expression impatient. He pulls away from the now green light and shifts in his seat, completely confused.

“Um… yeah, I guess I think about her when we aren’t together. Parks, where’s all this coming from?” He frowns.

“Nowhere. So, anyway… Billy.” She tosses the notebook to the side and rests her hands in her lap.

Peyton twirls a curl around her finger, bopping her head to the lyrics of a song from the noughties. “I just think it’s cool that Daddy gets to fly planes. Did you think it was cool when you met him?”

When you met Rooster, you were still a bartender, working part time in a local boutique. You worked for Penny back then. You were somewhat young, especially impressionable — and he was perfect. Tanned skin, sunglasses and sea-salt tangled curls, asking you how your weekend was going every week.

Listening to your stories, asking you out, telling you about his adventures. It was all so quick in the beginning and yes, he was so cool.

“He was alright.” You answer back, glancing up into the rear view mirror with a soft smile toying at your lips. Peyton grins, she knows what that means.

She’s heard this story a million times and yet she asks again, “What was your first date like?”

Things with Rooster had never been exactly traditional. You’d already slept with him a couple of times before he finally murmured into your skin that he wanted to take you out for real, that he needed to know more about you.

But, that aspect obviously remains between just you and Rooster. You tell your kids about the date by the beach, him trying to impress you with somewhat of a picnic. Pushing him over in the water, him carrying you back to the car when you cut your foot on a rock by the shore.

He was so attentive in the beginning.

By the time you’re pulling onto the driveway, you check the rear view mirror and Peyton’s got her head leaned against the car door, lips parted, dead asleep. You smile softly, shaking your head as you unbuckle yourself and let yourself out.

Rooster pulls up as you close the door behind you. He turns off the ignition and hops down from the truck, standing under the glow of a streetlight.

“Parker’s asleep, I’ll carry her in.” He calls to you, already walking around to grab her door. You shake your head fondly as you turn back towards your car.

“Peyton too.” You chuckle.

Rooster unbuckles his daughter and lifts her into one of his arms, grabbing her backpack from the backseat with the other. He tucks her in against his side, her head lulling onto his shoulder, not stirring from her sleep in the slightest.

You groan as you hoist Peyton up onto your hip, struggling to balance her and shut the car door at the same time. It tugs at your heart strings as you realise out loud, “They’re going to be too big for us to do this soon.”

Rooster chuckles and steps around you to shut the car door for you. He makes it look so easy. “No, they’re going to be too big for you to do this soon. I’ve got a couple more years.”

You hug her closer to you, struggling to keep her tight against you, wondering when she got so big as you fumble for your keys in the tight back pocket of your shorts.

“I’ve got it.” Nudging your wrist out of the way, Rooster dips his hand into your back pocket and takes the keys. It’s a quick interaction, probably not him trying to cop a feel — it’s too fleeting for that, but it leaves you stunned nonetheless. He works the door open and glances back to check that you’re coming, still balancing your daughter with ease as he sets the keys on the end table inside.

Realising quickly that you must look like an idiot just standing there and staring at him, your feet carry you forwards and you kick the door shut behind you. He carries Parker up the stairs ahead of you. It hasn’t been that long since he lived here, it looks kind of different — the pictures on the stairway wall are different, but not unfamiliar.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door to their room open. Now, this is different. White walls dotted with little painted blue flowers, big-girl beds. Long gone is the nursery and toddler furniture that the two of you had filled this room with. It makes sense, their room at his place isn’t that different from this one, but still, he wonders why you didn’t ask him to help.

He sets Parker down on the bed closest to the door, slipping her shoes off of her feet and dropping them down to the floor beside her bedside table. The room would be bigger if they had bunk beds, but after last summer’s top bunk fight, you had forever abandoned that idea.

“I’ll go switch the car seats back over, if you wanna get them ready for bed.” Rooster says gently as you walk past him to set Peyton down in her own bed. You lift your head and nod gratefully at him across the dark room. Leaning forwards, you flick the switch for Peyton’s nightlight, it’s soft white glow illuminating the room enough for you to see the smile on his face.

“Thanks. Could you come back in afterwards? — I wanted to talk to you about something.” You’re busy unlacing Peyton’s tennis shoe and so you don’t notice the elated smile that’s on her face as she feigns unconsciousness. Rooster nods calmly.

“Sure. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Getting them both into their pyjamas, tucking them safely under their covers and slipping their respective stuffed animals in with them, kissing them both goodnight, it’s all part of the usual routine. Rooster’s leaning against the kitchen counter when you return back downstairs, arms folded over his chest as he frowns at the sink.

Slowly, you come to a stop a little bit away from him, unsure of how to say what comes next. You inhale, fiddling with your hands in front of you. He isn’t even looking at you, it’s like he knows already.

“Does it always drip like that?” He asks, pushing himself up and crossing the room to inspect the faucet. Your lips part, brows furrowing slightly. You hadn’t even noticed. He cranes his neck to get a better look. “You should’ve said, I can fix it this weekend or something, if you’re around.”

“Um… I actually wanted to see if you were free this weekend.” You explain calmly. Parker’s mouth gapes open as she and her sister huddle together at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to the soft conversation happening a room away. Rooster glances at you over his shoulder, just as taken back by the idea as his kids are. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

Rooster turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on the wooden countertop. “Me? — Who would you want - Oh. You’re seeing someone?”

Realisation covers his face; it’s neither a good or bad reaction, and after years of knowing him as intimately as you do - did - you wish you could tell. You try to act as natural as he does about it.

“Well, I’ve been on a few dates with someone,” You explain gently. It’s a sensitive topic, telling your ex that you’re trying to move on. You’re not naive, you know that Rooster has hooked up with people since the divorce, you have too. But it’s different now, it’s bigger. “I really like him, and I’m thinking of introducing him to the girls. But I want you to meet him first.”

Parker slaps a hand over her sister’s mouth to contain the gasp, both of them ducking behind the railing by the stairs, like they won’t be seen through the gaps. They exchange looks, a thousand thoughts at once, plans being drawn up internally already.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, bar the sound of the faucet dripping behind him. His eyes, a dark hickory, search over your features. It’s unclear exactly what answer he’s searching for in your expression, but it doesn’t take him long to find it.

“Alright,” He nods his head. He signed those divorce papers just like you did. He was there for the custody hearing, the division of assets, explaining it to the kids. Rooster’s been present and aware of what this divorce means every step of the way. It’s been two years of pretty much radio silence. Neither one of you have exactly hidden the little flings you’ve had in the meantime, but you’ve kept that from the kids and you haven’t made a point of telling each other either.

Rooster’s trusted your judgment for as long as he has known you. If you think you’ve found someone worth introducing to the kids, then he should be happy. It wouldn’t be fair to hold you back.

He gives another curt nod, “That’s… it’s great. Congratulations.”

Your racing heart settles just slightly at his approval. Its pace slows but the pounding remains the same as you slowly raise your eyebrows at him. “So, this weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m free.” He agrees, nodding his head slowly. He taps his fingers on the countertops and glances around the home that the two of you had bought together just under a decade ago, silently wondering if your new boyfriend has been over.

It’s nothing to be upset about, the divorce was for the best, you both agreed that there shouldn’t be any hard feelings about it — these things happen. But, still.

“So, what’s he like?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet. “Um… well, he’s a carpenter, and he owns a DIY place down the street from my store. His name’s Chris, he’s about our age. He’s nice, I think you two would get along.”

Not a convict, not too old or too young for you, owns his own business. Rooster can’t find much to complain about. Peyton’s brows furrow as she waits for her dad to fix this, to tell you to stop seeing that guy and be with him instead. Rooster’s face softens as he nods his head again.

“He sounds great,” He decides finally, his voice gentle as he takes a step towards you and opens his arms. “I’m really happy for you.”

You exhale deeply, relieved as he wraps you in a loose hug, every fibre of the interaction platonic. Just as quickly as you’re tucked in his strong, warm arms, he lets you go again.

“Text me a time and a place, the three of us can do something this weekend,” Rooster brushes some loose curls back off of his forehead and squeezes your arm as he steps past. Parker sighs, leaning her head back, crushed. He’s doing it all wrong. “And… um, thanks for keeping me in the loop about all this. I really appreciate it.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile as you nod at him. His footsteps grow closer, reminding the girls that they’re supposed to be in bed. It’s a quiet scramble, trying not to trip over each other as they race back to their bedroom.

…

@fadingbelieverexpert @jessirosebud @cowboybarbie @pinkpantheris @thedroneranger @a-serene-place-to-be @xoxabs88xox @unordinare

[nerdieforpedro]

What do I tell you?

Lucian Flores x plus size female reader

This fic if for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 507

Summary: You reflect on your relationship with Lucian, what led the two of you here and how it's going.

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual activity, that gold chain, infidelity mention, Nerdie keeps seeing this man peep around the corner at random times

Notes: I was supposed to be working on another challenge but this happened. It's not beta-ed. It's a follow-up to a Lucian Drabble I wrote called "What I want from you." I'll do a third part because I can't leave it alone. 👀

Special Note: I edited this one too and stuck a new graphic on it. I like it. ☺️

Main Masterlist / Lucian Flores Masterlist/ What we’ve always wanted Masterlist

He asked you to marry him. To think about it, consider it. “Just if you ever wanted to. I know I always said I wouldn’t but for you I would. Just us side by side.”

It’s a promise that you’ve always hoped for, long before you married your ex-husband. Lucian’s doing much better now. His films are well received and profiting greatly. He also wanted you both in a new house, the one you were living in reminded him of the past. 

“I want to move forward with you. Forget everything, focus on me. On us.” His large hands cup your face and you look down at his chest, buttoning one of his favorite silk floral shirts. He was supposed to be gone an hour ago, but you walked out of the shower naked and enticed him. You found that Lucian couldn’t say no to you, especially when it came to sex, not that you would say no to him either. 

Your fingers ran along his trademark gold chain after you slipped a robe on and walked him to the door. His kiss was a promise to come back before he left to the car waiting for him. “You’re well worth the later flight cariño (sweetheart).”

These past six months Lucian always comes back to your home. Took you out to meals and on a few trips with one overseas. 

It was new and good, your ex-husband eventually stoped taking you places and going on more business trips alone. That’s why you allowed Lucian in, at least that’s what you told yourself. It wasn’t true, you’ve always wanted Flores. At different points, you didn’t think he wanted you as more than a friend, but then you both became more to each other. Neither of you were in the best of places to make it work. 

The night you first had Lucian within you again, it was at one of your husband’s functions. He wasn’t paying attention to you again, leaving you to flutter around the room and listen to idiot financial guys talk numbers that you didn’t understand.  You don’t know why Lucian was there, but he was.

Outside, slightly cool. The air electrified your skin as he held your leg up, your hands in his fluffy hair while your bodies rekindled their connection. Lucian had you keep your panties on and watched as you walked back over to your husband. Hair slightly messy, hickey on your chest - hidden under part of your dress and the indentations on your ass and the back of your legs from the siding of the house. “Mi chica sucía (my dirty girl).” Lucian called after you before going back to the party himself, you two exchanged numbers later, things continued from there. 

Now you feel you may be trapping him. Not that he knows. Ever since that party. When are you going to tell him? It can’t wait. 

Lucian Flores wants to marry you as you are now. He won’t want you to change, what will you do?

Part One. Part Three

Cuddlers of the silk shirt: @trulybetty @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @readingiskeepingmegoing

@yorksgirl @harriedandharassed @maggiemayhemnj @tinytinymenace @fhatbhabiee

@megamindsecretlair @magpiepills

[xiaosonlybeloved]

They'd be alright~ Soukoku

featuring:- Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, briefly- Fyodor, Yosano warnings:- angst, hurt no comfort, implied major character death a/n:- wheee im back from the dead with a random angst idea for my most beloved couple <3 this was written based off the events of ch 114.5 of the manga, so beware of spoilers for fyodor's ability anyways enjoy hehe <333

wc:-1.2k || masterlists

Chuuya takes deep, exhausted breaths as he looks at the defeated form of the tripolar singularity. Verlaine is right beside him, as are Atsushi and Akutagawa. ‘We actually defeated it, huh?’ Chuuya thought, tired. There were honestly moments when he thought they wouldn’t be able to do it, but the others had his back. And he had theirs.

However, his musings are cast aside immediately when he hears a cry resound from somewhere behind. Where Dazai is.

‘Shit, dammit!’ he cursed for forgetting for even a moment as he ran towards the brunette, who was hunched on his knees near a body. It was Fyodor’s body, unmoving, face distorted the way it had been for his other body in Mersault. And lines of blue light emanated from Dazai, the way they did when he used his ability. Chuuya had a fair idea of what was happening, Dazai had warned him about this when he had hastily told him the plan he made. Chuuya didn’t like it, not one bit, but it was the only option. It was either that, or the whole of Yokohama would be destroyed, and maybe more too. 

He carefully knelt down in front of Dazai, taking hold of both his hands in his own. He felt his own ability getting nullified, but he didn’t care. Dazai’s eyes were squeezed shut, face contorted in agony. “Oi Dazai, I’m here. Can you hear me?” He only get the barest of nods as a response, but that was enough. 

Atsushi and Akutagawa had run over to him by then. “What’s happening to Dazai-san?” The weretiger asked in a panic. Chuuya began to explain as calmly as he could. “He should be alright soon… As you know, Fyodor’s ability allows him to occupy the body of whoever kills him. But since Dazai is an ability nullifier, Fyodor should be unable to get resurrected in him. Right now, I think his ability is actively trying to expel Fyodor. His ability is absolute, there are no exceptions-” Dazai’s eyes shot open.

Except that they weren’t Dazai’s. They were Fyodor’s, coupled with his smug grin.

Fear gripped his heart in an ice-cold hold. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible. 

The face of the man in front of him flickered back to being Dazai, scrunched in torment, and Chuuya exhaled in relief. 

It’s as if the two geniuses were fighting for control. Fyodor’s face flickered again, now worried. Dazai’s body was still radiating his ability. A minute passed. His face flickered a few more times. Another agonisingly long minute. Dazai stayed as Dazai. Then finally, finally, his ability’s flare up receded, the blue light slowly disappearing.

The man in front of him was still Dazai. Not Fyodor. His ability was also still being nullified to serve as further proof. That Dazai really had defeated Fyodor, both physically and mentally. The brunette took several deep breaths to ground himself, looking as weary as he felt, before he slowly blinked a few times. “...He’s gone?” 

A wide smile broke out on Chuuya’s face, the (short-lived) relief filling him, his own exhaustion vanishing for the moment. Yes, he was relieved about his ex-partner being alive, despite everything that happened, what about it? Even more surprising, he does something he’s rarely done before- He hugs Dazai. Gently, but still in a firm hold. “Yes, Dazai. Fyodor’s gone, for real. You defeated him. I’m so proud of you, mackerel.” 

“And the singularity?” He asks weakly, and Chuuya responds, “Done and dusted, don’t worry about it idiot.” He knows that Dazai can see Atsushi and Akutagawa behind him, both of whom are muttering incoherent sentences that sound reassured and thankful. Fukuzawa has also come over. He’s scolding Dazai for being so reckless with his life and doing stuff without telling any of them, but they all can hear the undertone of relief that he’s still alive. He knows that the annoying blonde and that annoyingly smug detective would be fussing over Dazai too if they were awake. Too bad they’d been knocked out by the blast from the tripolar singularity.

“Thank goodness” he muttered, then gave them all a small smile. Chuuya couldn’t help but be struck by how genuine it was. 

Yeah, they were going to be alright. Maybe not immediately, but they’d get there.

Dazai blinks slowly at them. He himself sounds a bit surprised as he says, “Oh.. sorry.” Confused, Chuuya starts to reply, “Huh? What for-”

Dazai collapses into Chuuya’s arms, motionless. (Chuuya refuses to acknowledge that for some reason, Dazai’s skin feels even colder than it usually is.)

His eyes widen as panic instantly claws its way up his throat. “Dazai? What the hell Dazai?” He’s shaking Dazai now, to no response. Someone is running towards them from a distance, but Chuuya can’t care to identify her as the Agency doctor. “Osamu, answer me, dammit!” Something in his gut tells him to press his hands to Dazai’s wrist, anxiously searching. Yosano has reached them, ordering the few panicked people awake and crowded around them to move.

Chuuya feels nothing from Dazai. Just an inexplicable coldness, growing, in contrast to his white-hot fear. (It could be explained, but he didn’t want the explanation.) 

Everything feels too silent and loud at the same time. He’s still holding tightly onto Dazai, refusing to let him go. (‘Please, god.’ he prays silently, begging. He’s never been much of a believer, but he still prays, desperate. ‘Please, don’t take him from me too. Not him.’) He doesn’t register anything until he feels his hands roughly dragged away from Dazai’s by a firm hold. A doctor’s hold. Someone was talking to him.

“-uuya, I need you to let go of him.” “No. Never.” he mumbles, voice cracking. Yosano kneels down beside him and the motionless body in his arms. There’s urgency in his eyes. “Chuuya, he can still be saved. His heart can be restarted. There is plenty of medical equipment inside the airport, we need to get him there and then move him to a better hospital. If you don’t let go of him right now, you’ll need to let go of him forever.” Her words are the harsh truth, and they cause him to loosen his hold on Dazai, still staring at the closed eyes and unmoving face framed by brown. (The thought of losing him forever was something Chuuya couldn’t bear to entertain. Not now, after so much had happened.)

He numbly lets Yosano take Dazai, getting up to follow her into the airport. Because there was no way in hell he was letting her take Dazai anywhere without him. He needed to be with him, make sure he was alright. He still had a debt to repay the bandaged mackerel after all. 

But a small, cruel part of his mind incessantly whispered, replaying Dazai’s mumbled apology, the way he seemed almost resigned when he said that, the way he slumped into Chuuya’s hold. 

That terribly cruel part of him told him that he couldn’t do anything. That he had already lost Dazai.

That he was too late.

gods writing this killed me can you tell im devastated by ch 114.5 anyways votes reblogs and comments r very appreciated and do yall want a part two to this :D

[oh-nostalgiaa]

Writing Prompt Masterlist, Part Ten

Masterlist of Writing Prompt Masterlists

The Prompts

12 Days of Smutsmas Prompts

30 Top / Dom Prompts

A Collection of Five Times Drabble Prompts

A Few Various Sentence Starter Prompts

A Random Act of Kindness Prompts

Abilities & Super-Powered Themed Prompts

Affectionate Prompts

Affection Sentence Starter Prompts

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Physical Contact / Tickly Prompt Collection

Another Kiss Prompts

Around the World in 80 Prompts

Asking for Permission Prompts

Bed & Sleepy Prompts

Caring for Sick Muses Prompts

Casual NSFW Conversation Sentence Starter Prompts

Christmas AU Prompts

Cuteness Prompts

Different Ways to Hug Someone Prompts

Dirty Talk Prompts

Distracted by the Sexy Starter Prompts

Domestic Bickering Sentence Starter Prompts

Emotional Starter Prompts (Anger)

Even More Stuff Based on Personal Experiences Prompts

Febuwhump 2024 Prompts

Fictional Kiss Things That End Me Prompts

First Meetings Prompts

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts

Fluffmas List Prompts

Fluffy & Cute Prompts

For a Lover's Reassurance Prompts

Friends with Benefits OTP Prompts

Gentle Touch Prompts

Grumpy x Sunshine Prompts

Heartbreak Prompts

Heroic Intervention Prompts

Holiday AU's for the Christmas Spirit Prompts

I Deserve Better Than This Prompts

I Love You But I Can't Say Those Words Prompts

I Miss You Dialogue Response Prompts

I Really Want to Kiss You Right Now Prompts

I'm Sorry Starter Prompts

Idiots to Lovers Romantic Starter Prompts

It's So Fluffy! Sentence Starter Prompts

January OTP Prompts

Just Like a Pillow Prompts

Kisses Prompts

Levels of Intimacy Prompts

List of AU's That Aren't Themed At All Prompts

Lyrics for Unconventional Ship Dynamics Prompts

Marriage Proposal Starter Prompts, Part One

Marriage Proposal Starter Prompts, Part Two

Miscellaneous Action Meme Prompts

Missing Them Sentence Starter Prompts

More Touch Starved Prompts

Non-sexual Acts of Affection Prompts

Non-Verbal NSFW Prompts, Part One

NSFW Muse Reaction Prompts

NSFW Sentence Starter Prompts

Oddly Specific Sensual Touches Prompts

Only One Bed Prompts

Pinned Against a Wall Prompts

Powerful Prompts

Prompt List, Fluff Edition

Prompts for Fake Dating & Going Undercover

Prompts That Hit in All the Right Places

Question Sentence Starter Prompts

Random Sentence Starter Prompts

Random Settings Prompts

Reassurance Starter Prompts

Sacred Romantic Moments Prompts

Sacrifices Sentence Starter Prompts

Setting Prompts

Sexual Sounds, Words, & Actions Prompts

Sexual Tension / Attraction Prompts

Smut NSFW Starter Prompts

Smut Oneliner Prompts

Smut Starters & Symbols Prompts

Smutty One-Liners Part VI Prompts

Soft Action Prompts

Soft Fic Prompts

Soulmate & Significant Connection AU Prompts

Spots to Kiss Prompts

Starters for Quiet Muses Prompts

Stoic x Cheerful First Kiss Prompts

Sweet and Intimate Actions Which Make Me Go Feral and Have Me Folding Like a Folding Chair Prompts

The Enormity of My Desire Prompts

The Five Senses Starter Prompts

The Intimacy of Hands Prompts

The Sweet, Early Morning Things Prompts

Things You Said Prompts

Touch Starved Prompts

Touching Tenderly Prompts

Undercover Sentence Starter Prompts

Underrated Affectionate Gestures Prompts

Unspoken Fluff Starter Prompts, Part 2

Violent Starter Prompts

What We Almost Had Starter Prompts

Wisdom Teeth Removal AU Prompts

Would You ... ? Prompts

[sanctissimx]

get to know the mun ! repost, don’t reblog.

——— BASICS ! ♡

NICKNAME : Saint !

PRONOUNS : they/them !

ZODIAC SIGN : Cancer sun, Aquarius Moon, Gemini rising

TAKEN OR SINGLE : single parent to a sweet himbo cat, adopted parent to Hawk's shitty cat son and adorable booger princess daughter

ANYTHING ELSE? : uppity Southeast Asian danger queer who talks too much shit for someone wearing pastels, except I can fight. And bake.

——— THREE SERIOUS FACTS ! ♡

Quality of writing is all I really care about, so if I followed you, it's because I want your writing on my dash !

I am not here to be normal about ur muse. I want to know everything about them, I need to know them profoundly so I can love them in the waythey deserve !

I don't require constant activity of my partners in terms of replies. Sometimes life is too much to be able to get in a writing headspace, and that's totally fine! I love talking about our muses even when we can't write, and I have no problem writing drabbles or fics whenever I can for my partners, just so we can have content !

——— THREE RANDOM FACTS ! ♡

I can sing in like ... 20 languages?

I am obsessed with stars and moons, and got stars tattoed on my hands for my birthday IT SUCKED

I once picked up a huge dirt disc that looked like it had constellation patterns in it and held it up for my classmates to see. My chem teacher said, "that's a cow pie," and I got so flustered i dropped it on my foot and it shattered

——— EXPERIENCE ! ♡

I got into RP because my best friend wanted a dedicated RP partner on tumblr, and I decided to do it with zero writing experience. I've been stuck here ever since.

I'm really blessed to have writing partners I've been mutuals with for years (momo is the longest at 8 at this point). I'm pretty loyal to writing partners, so if we connect once, we connect like through time and space and beyond the confines of mortal comprehension, so I'm never forgetting you, sorry

Plotting is a must on this blog, unfortunately. I struggle to just wing it, and do need some basis of understanding about your muse's personality and motivations in order to feel comfy about writing something successful for you.

Please also do not feel shy about plotting ! I like to think I'm good at leading the plotting if you're not comfortable with it. I'll always ask clarifying questions about your muse, and offer suggestions for a plot/verse,etc. I just need you to be open to communicating answers !

I've had extremely possessive RP partners in the past who have been emotionally abusive to me on personal levels, and I can be quick to nope out if I feel like people are getting weird, even just postig on dash

I have no issue approaching first for interaction, but if there's no reciprocation, I'll probably never approach again LKSJDHFLJSDF my anxiety will just assume you're not interested

——— MUSE PREFERENCE ! ♡

My muse type is typically "chaotic bisexual who loves their wife of any gender" and that's really the only fact anyone needs to know about me

I also generally love writing emotionally intelligent characters, and conversely the worst people you've ever met?? The psychological aspect of writing is arguably one of the reasons I love writing, so I'm ready to yap about any of these muses

Like 85% of my muse lists end up being male muses, but I really love writing female muses and especially wlw !

I write top-leaning switches and am rabid about writing with other switches. Share the love, you know? Battle for dominance with ur mouths and whatnot ... throw each other around ....

I do tend to take up characters for friends, so that's also the reason for the stupid range of idiots I take up

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT ! ♡

FLUFF : I love fluff! But there has to be a balance, as with anything. Fluff is great because it's usually vulnerability between two people who trust each other enough to be soft ! But building up to that trust is important ( and challenging that trust ...)

ANGST : I adore angst but I need to build up to it— set the stage, watch it crash, pick up the pieces, then aftercare. For the muses. And me lskdjhflksjhdljsf I'M SENSITIVE

SMUT : I fucking love smut in the sense that it's an expression of muse chemistry and history, but I don't do it often only because it requires way too much brain power and life's got me fatigued. Unfortunately, I'm a bit of a sloot when I get comfortable enough to smut, so I probably go a little overboard, and you're not allowed to look at me or perceive me when I do lkjsdhflksjhdljshf

PLOT / MEMES : PLOTTING, PLEASE! I like to get comfortable with my knowledge of your muse, but more importantly, I want to lose my mind over them. As for memes, I tend to go overboard with memes, and everyone's free to continue them or not. I'll say I write my best memes with at least a little discussion beforehand. I generally don't send memes in unless I have a decent idea of who you'd want to interact with because I'm weirdly anxious about it

TAGGED BY : idr, it's been in my drafts for a hot minute ... TAGGING : (my mains and newest mutuals) @telndas ! @infernaelis! @tearenola ! @tragedicn ! @xianqu ! @morrias ! @bearratic ! @kaerinio ! @yishuns ! @sil3nth1lls !