#there’s something so. I can’t even put my finger on it they’re like a mirror looking at yourself the boy abandoned and he’s you and

[lovscb97]

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy! 

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd? 

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you. 

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your jeans, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room. 

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift. 

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid. 

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“ 

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you. 

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself. 

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin. 

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax. 

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration. 

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them. 

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night. 

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then. 

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could. 

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now. 

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter. 

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting. 

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too. 

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires. 

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you. 

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said. 

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?” 

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions. 

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction. 

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief. 

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips. 

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

© all rights reserved to @/lovscb97, do not plagiarise, translate, re-upload, etc 

[sensationallysangwoo]

𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢, 𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢: 𝙲𝚑𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚐-𝚠𝚘𝚘 𝚡 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎!𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝙲𝚑𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚐-𝚠𝚘𝚘. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 he 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕���. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚐-𝚠𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚡 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

🤍𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃. 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸. 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚙 (𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝), 𝚙𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢/𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐🤍

🤍𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @trashk1tty , @torasgfreal , @dilfismz , @pulparindos , @reddead-salem . 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 @reddead-salem 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝/𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!🤍

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You stand in front of your mirror in yours and Sang-woo’s shared bedroom. Tugging at your shirt collar, you are more than ready to get into your PJ’s for the night.

Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you’re unhappy with what you see. You tend to put yourself under a metaphorical microscope quite often. There’s a flaw here, a flaw here, a flaw there. You can barely look at yourself without nitpicking something. You often think to yourself, “Why did Sang-woo even choose me to be his girlfriend? There’s so many other beautiful girls out there in the world.”

It didn’t help when this afternoon you ran Sang-woo’s lunch to him at the office and you couldn’t help but notice his female coworkers, so beautiful and polished in their business attire. “He could’ve easily settled for one of them.” You thought to yourself. Seeing them makes your stomach drop like you’re on a rollercoaster. Your anxiety gets the best of you and you imagine them making him laugh, flirting with him and putting on a show to get his attention. The pit in your stomach grows stronger.

You curl up in bed and look at your phone for a little before you hear Sang-woo’s heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs. He walks in the bedroom, flashing his beautiful smile at you.

“Hello my love. I’ve missed you so much today. What’s my princess up to right now hm?” He leans down and gives you a sweet kiss on your lips. When he pulls away he notices you are not your usual chipper self. One thing about Sang-woo is that he can read you like a damn book.

He kneels down on the floor next to the bed so he is eye level with you. “Something is bothering you princess. I know it. Will you tell me please?” His tone is sweet and gentle with you. It always is.

He grabs your hand softly and interlocks your fingers with his as he studies your face, trying to so hard to predict your response.

“Sang-woo….” You start. You try to continue speaking but your throat chokes up and you feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes.

“I just….I feel so…this is embarrassing. I can’t say it.” You stammer. Sang-woo gently cups your face in his hand, stroking your soft cheek and wiping away your tears. “My darling…we have been together for 4 years…you can tell me anything and I will never ever judge you. You know I love you.”

“I feel ugly Sang-woo, okay? You’re so handsome and perfect and I know you can go get any other woman you want. Why are you even with me? I see those women you work with. They’re practically models.”

Sang-woo’s gaze softens a little and he tilts your chin up to look at him. “My dear, I love every part of you. Every single part of your body. I love your mind. Your soul. Your personality. I love you from head to toe, princess. We have spent 4 perfect years together and you’ve made me the happiest man on this planet. I want to spend forever with you, dear. No other woman has what you have and I promise you that.”

You smile softy and sniffle. You know Sang-woo loves you truly and he practically worships the ground you walk on. He’s obsessed with you. It blows his mind that you, a sexy, beautiful younger woman, even bothered to look in his direction 4 years ago.

Yes, your anxiety and intrusive thoughts get the best of you sometimes, but reassurance and extra love from him is all you need to bounce back.

“Thank you so much sweetheart. I feel better.”

“You better believe me darling. I’ll show you how much I love your body, okay? Do you allow me?”

“Of course.”

He crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you gently and softly. Slowly, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you feel shockwaves being sent to your pussy from just this alone.

His hands grab onto your waist and he pulls you onto his lap. You’re now deeply making out with him, sucking on his tongue and tangling your fingers in his hair. You feel his clothed bulge pressed up against your own heat and it drives you wild.

Sang-woo moves down to kiss your neck, gently biting and sucking as you let out small noises. Every noise you make just makes him harder and harder. He loves hearing you squeal and squeak and moan. He thinks it’s adorable.

He gently removes your shirt, then your bra, and he trails his hands up and down your body.

“Princess…look at yourself. Look at this body of yours. So, so beautiful. All mine, too.” He places soft, barely-there kisses down your chest and stomach. He tugs off your pants and gently rubs his thumb over your panties, causing you to slightly jump at the sudden pressure on your clit.

You gasp and grind into his touch. “Ah ah princess. Relax. Let me do all the work.” He slides your panties down, revealing your soaking pussy. Absolutely sopping wet from all the sensual touches given to you by your handsome boyfriend.

His warm, wet tongue flicks over your clit and your legs twitch involuntarily, eliciting a chuckle from him. He continues to gently lap at your clit while looking up at you, once again interlocking his hand with yours.

Your insides are on fire. Deep, deep lust fills your stomach and you just wanna fuck his face til you squirt. But alas, you need to lay back and relax as per Sang-woo’s request.

“You taste so sweet, darling. I love watching you squirm. What about if I do this?” He says before jamming his tongue directly into your hole. You squeal out a moan. He’s holding your thighs down as hard as he can while your hand found its way into his hair.

You look down at the beautiful sight of Sang-woo, plunging his tongue in and out of you, looking up at you, eyes full of lust and love. You feel your first orgasm approaching. Suddenly he slams 2 fingers into you as well, your walls clenching around them as his tongue works at your clit. Your stomach tightens and the head rush ensues. You’ve soaked his face with your juices.

You’re panting, gasping, letting out breathy moans as Sang-woo cleans you up with his tongue. He gets on top of you and deeply kisses you allowing you to taste yourself. “My beautiful beautiful princess…can I fuck you now hm? You want it? Let me make you feel good my love.”

“Yes please fuck me Sang-woo. Please. Show me how much you love me.”

He teasingly rubs his tip at your entrance, causing you to blush bright red and moan out in response. “I want it so bad please.” You practically beg him. He smiles coyly before slowly sliding himself into you. You immediately feel your eyes roll back at the feeling of fullness.

He slowly thrusts his hips, causing you to squeak and moan with each prod of your G-spot. He fits into you so perfectly that you wish he could just be inside you all the time.

He fucks you slowly, gently, teasingly, watching your every expression, soaking in every sound you’re making under him. He gently grabs your cheek with one of his large hands.

“Look at me. Look at me, my love. Look into my eyes while I fuck you.”

Your eyes are half open as he begins to pound you faster and harder. “My beautiful girl. Taking my dick like such a good good girl. You look like a goddess right now.”

He leans down and kisses you deeply as he fucks you. “Sang-woo” you moan into his mouth.

He slides his dick completely out of you, leaving your pussy on fire. “Who do you belong to baby? Are you mine? I want you to say it.”

“I’m yours Sang-woo. Just please…ahhh…please…I’m yours…just fuck fuck me some more please.” You whine pathetically.

He chuckles deeply before slamming his whole length into you all at once. You scream at the top of your lungs. You’re certain the neighbors can hear.

“Good girl…”

He’s pounding you harder than ever now. The sound of skin on skin and juices sloshing fills the room as well as your lewd screams and Sang-woo’s breathy moans.

The muscles in your stomach tighten. Your walls clench around him. Your vision goes white as you cum harder than you’ve ever cum before. Sang-woo’s cumming too. He throws his head back and moans out your name as he grips your hips so hard you know there will be bruises later. He fills you to the brim with his cum. The warmth seeps out of your hole, onto your thighs, and you feel way happier than you did an hour ago.

Sang-woo slides out of you and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder like it’s nothing. “SANG-WOO!!” You half scream half laugh.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up, my love.”

Sang-woo runs a shower for you both. You get in with him and slowly wrap your arms around his torso. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

He presses his forehead against yours. “That was fucking amazing darling. Just promise me one thing yeah?”

“What?”

“Don’t you ever think you are not enough, my pretty girl. You saw how worked up you got me! Really through princess. You’re beautiful inside and out. I love you.” He kisses you deeply once more, and you relish in this feeling. Hot water against your skin, Sang-woo’s body pressed up against yours, post orgasm, being told you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“I love you too Sang-woo and I promise, l’ll love myself, too.”

“That’s my girl.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Well there ya’ll go!! I can’t get enough of Sang-woo and I fucking love writing for him. Now onto da next request!! Next one will be a shower fluff with Sang-woo also requested by @reddead-salem!! Sorry if he’s a little ooc, I just think in an AU where there’s no games and Sang-woo’s financially stable he’d be a lot happier ofc. Aaaannyways see ya in the next fic!!! ✌️🤍

[jankwritten]

I will never be normal about Ox and Gordo’s relationship actually. Thinking about them makes me insane. Like imagine being abandoned by everyone you love everyone all at once they’re all dead or gone across the country or fucking banished to prison and they left you alone, ON PURPOSE, and you can’t do a damn thing about it because if you leave you abandon your home, their home, you lise what feels people you have left and is it even worth it when they left you so easily and

There’s a little kid hiding behind his fathers knees and he’s never had root beer and you watch him grow into this intense strange boy who doesn’t understand that his father isn’t coming home his father left him and god don’t you know how that feels and you watch him learn his way around a car and you remember the man who taught you who gave you a chance who listened when you said what was wrong and

He needs a job and you’re the only one who cares so you help, god, of course you help, you can’t let him or his mom lose what little they have left so you let him work for you under the table, he doesn’t need to but he demands it even though you paid off their debt as soon as he asked. It’s the money of those fuckers who abandoned you, anyway, and Ox needs it Ox and Maggie need it and

He’s everything to you he’s your son your brother your life and he’s fifteen and he’s your fucking tether, he keeps you human, and you think finally, finally you’re healing. You both had shit dads who dealt you shit cards but you’ve got each other and you don’t need anyone else and

Then they come back and it’s not for you. They come back and they don’t even speak to you.

But they speak to him. To Ox.

They need him. Just like they needed you when you were barely a teenager when your father leveled that town when he killed your mom when you had to become their witch because the pack needed it your Alpha needed it because Thomas-

But Ox chooses them, over and over. You try to make him understand that they’ll only use him and hurt him and he doesn’t care. He chooses them. The damned wolves.

Imagine the man you loved hated needed despised dies and his son makes every imaginable mistake and you follow him because he is your Alpha he needs you and you leave. You leave Ox behind and you hate yourself every day, for three years, you know how this feels you know exactly how this feels and it’s bitter in your throat because you hate him him Mark him for this choice you’ve just made and you understand and you hate it and it’s vicious and you can’t forgive him so how can you forgive yourself and

You come home and he’s not a boy anymore he’s not a kid but a man and he’s tall and strong and he’s the Alpha, somehow, and he doesn’t need you anymore.

But he forgives you. Easier than you’ve ever forgiven anyone in your life, he forgives you because he loves you and you love him and you came home.

[ivy-elle]

How they tend to you after getting injured

Feat. Albedo, Childe, Kinich, Scaramouche

A/N: Slightly suggestive in Childe's part, more so in Scaramouche's

“Move it a bit for me?”

You couldn’t help but grimace a little at that prospect. “I’d rather not.”

That promptly earns you a disapproving look from the alchemist. Which is quite an unusual sight for him, you think. He must be really concerned then.

“Slowly.” A soft musing laced in his voice as his fingers gently wrap around your wrist to move your hand at a slow pace.

You hiss quietly at the sharp pain. “It’s not broken,” you state, trying to convince yourself more than actually being sure of that.

“No,” Albedo attests, touching up your wrist, careful not to hurt you further, “it’s fortunately not. Yet, your wrist is in a less-than-ideal state.”

You raise your eyebrow and reply in a flat tone, “Really.”

Albedo’s eyes meet yours, unaltered. “Positive.”

Then his brows furrow as his gaze falls on something next to you on the table. He reaches for the bottle of painkillers you took earlier, inspecting them with concerned incredulity. “My love, I hope you didn’t expect to cure a sprained bone with these pills alone?”

 “Well…I mean, maybe?” you fumble with your words. “They’re good.”

Albedo can’t help the sigh leaving his lips as he shakes his head and grabs the pack of bandages, he prepared. “I will bring along some more profound remedy later if that’s alright with you.”

Carefully, he starts wrapping a string of bandages around your hand, making sure it sits steady and firm but not enough to be painful.

“Does that feel comfortable enough?” He shifts his eyes back to yours, observing closely for any indication of pain on your face.

Somehow his soft-spoken words seem to soothe the pain on their own Your heart tightens along with the last string of bandages as he seems to be so utterly tender and gentle with you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Thank you. I’m sorry, for the fright earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Albedo gently lifts up your now bandaged hand and presses a feather-light kiss against the cloth. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re slacking more than usual. Where’s your fire today?”

The sounds of clashing swords against each other halt for a moment when Childe stems his sword into the earth beneath. He tilts his head as his arms sneak under to support his chin against the grip of his sword. A boyish grin on his lips as wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Long night?”

You huff, mirroring his position. “Shut up, you shithead.” He knows damn well who’s to blame for your lack of sleep recently.

But Childe only snickers, like that smug ass he is, giving you a once-over. “Oho, we have a sore loser here I see.”

“You just want me to pay for the dinner tonight.”

“Precisely.” His smirk widens. “There is an evening waiting for you full of relaxation, notorious meals and of course the best company Liyue has to offer.” Childe takes a few steps back, widening his arms out in a dramatic manner. “Me.”

“See, I’d actually beg to defy that statement,” you start as you put your sword away. But when you look back up, the single head movement causes a sudden spur, your vision adorned by black dots for a moment. “Damn,” you huff, holding onto a tree for some support.

“Woah, there.” Within a second Childe is at your side, his hand reaches out, holding you in place. “You okay?” His tone has shifted into a more serious one.

You blink and your vision clears one more. A sort of sheepish, perhaps slightly embarrassed grin settles on your lips as you meet his eyes. “Yeah. That treasure hoarder must’ve gotten me a bit harder than I’ve assumed.”

But Childe doesn’t join in on your amusement and frowns instead. “What treasure hoarder? On your way to Liyue earlier?”

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair as you get reminded of the events earlier that day. “Unfortunately.” An annoyed scoff escapes you. “Please, it was embarrassing enough as it is. Don’t make me live through that again.”

Childe’s eyes slightly darken and he’s quiet for a moment. Contemplating. As if settling on some plan. Then from one moment to the other, his expression immediately clears up again and he ruffles your hair in an affectionate way. “I suggest, we let the food deliver to us instead and you’re gonna tell me exactly what happened, hm?”

Disgruntled, you push his hand from your head. “Childe, it’s-“

“Ah-ah, no. Concussions should be treated seriously. Off you go now.” He shoos you forward gently, but now his arm is draped around your waist, just to make sure you’ll stay on your feet. “Come now.”

“You’re walking funny.”

Confused, you turn your head back around to where Kinich is walking behind you, raising your eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Kinich’s eyes are focused on your feet, analysing. “Did you sprain your ankle?”

“No,” you turn back ahead, “it’s not that bad.”

His fingers take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “May I see?”

You frown. “My foot?”

“Your ankle,” he corrects, his face unchanged.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” It’s obvious he isn’t up for any kind of discussion.

You look around the jungle you’re passing through. Quite the inconvenient setting.

“Kinich, I swear it’s-“

“Please.”

You nearly crumble. Both at his touch as well as the tender look in his eyes. So you relent with a sigh. “Alright, just-, “You look around for something to sit down. “Let’s get somewhere closed off, yeah?”

One settled on a nearby rock, Kinich crouches down in front of you, one hand on your calf the other on your knee. He sure seems like he’s done this a couple of times before. Well, in his line of work…

“Can you bend it?” Kinich asks then. Some strands of his hair fall into his face and you’re tempted to reach out and gently brush them away.

You blink. Focus.

“Sure. Well, I think I’d rather not bend it though.”

He hums, contemplative. “I’d rather you not as well.” After carefully checking up upon your skin and bones he looks up again to meet your eyes, a bit of a stern look on his face. More so than usual. “You realise this is swollen, right? Surely you must feel that?”

“Mayhaps,” you admit more hesitantly than he’d like.

Kinich frowns, sighs and then stands up. “Come on. I carry you. It’s not far off anymore, anyway.”

At that suggestion, your heart skips a beat. “No way.”

He crosses his arms. Then one eyebrow rises. “You think I’d dare to drop you?”

“I have dignity.” You explain and prop up your elbows as you lean back against the rock before you add, “And pride.”

“There won’t be much left of your pride if you continue to walk that way in the open.” He takes a few steps back with a glint in his eyes. “I’d put that into careful consideration as well if I were you.”

You squeeze your eyes at him. “You’re playing dirty.”

Kinich lips curve into a smile. Then he adjusts with ease and lifts you up into his arms. “And yet I win.”

You are in heaven. You could swear it.

It has been weeks now, where missions, the fatui or simple life have kept you away from each other, getting barely any time to spend.

And while Scaramouche might not outwardly admit that he’s missed you (or your touch), it is now quite evident in the way his lips adorn your skin, his fingers trailing along your body like he has to physically assure himself, you’re right here. Right beneath his very hands.

His hand slides down your midriff and his fingers grace the skin beneath your shirt, causing goosebumps to spread there. “Your fingers are cold,” you murmur dazedly between kisses, yet a slight amusement has found its way into your voice.

Scaramouche simply captures your complaint with his lips, a slight tug on his mouth. “Don’t tell me we have a temperature problem on our hands?”

“Not for long I hope,” you reply with a teasing grin and return the kiss again with more fervour. He obliges immediately.

But just as he’s about to slip your shirt over your head he pauses. You bite your lip to stop a few less-than-dignifying words from leaving your mouth and open your eyes instead. “What’s wrong? Too cold after all?”

Scaramouche’s hand tethers your waits as his gaze is locked on someplace on your ribs, the reverence from moments ago completely vanished. Now there’s a grim expression as his eyes dart down to you. “What happened here?”

You follow his line of sight where sure enough, the gash from one of your fights greets you. One, that you have perhaps pushed back farther into the depths of your mind for the sake of the moment.

“It’s nothing bad,” you explain. You feel somehow caught, trying to overplay the situation by mumbling on. “Seriously, just a stupid cut from days ago.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” There’s an agitated tension in the room now as Scaramouche’s annoyance level rises and his expression darkens. “I know for a fact this hasn’t been here for a few days already. It’s fresh. And you’re aggravating it further.”

That prompts you to prop your elbows on the bed, frowning. “It’s not bleeding, it barely even hurts. It is fine. Absolutely. Can we just…?”

His eyes narrow at your words, jaw clenching. “Perhaps you’re the stupid one then.” He clicks his tongue in irritation and gets up from the bed, muttering some disgruntled curses.

Slowly, you sit up on the bed and pull your shirt back down to cover your midriff again. You watch him roaming around the room, gathering some utensils from the shelf at his side of the bed before he returns to sit beside you. Scaramouche doesn’t look at you. In unbent silence, he pushes you back down on the sheets to give him a better angle to the wound on your side. You swallow a grunt at the sharp pain and his grip on your waist tightens for a moment.

You observe him quietly as he works, eyebrows scrunched with his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Obviously, you’re aware that his irritation stems from the desire to keep you safe, from his protective nature, and his destined grief of you one day inevitably slipping through his fingers.

“Scara-“

“Shut up. I’m done already.”

His gaze meets yours once again and for a few silent moments, you just stare at each other, with unspoken emotions swirling around on both of your faces.

Then he suddenly scoffs and puts the utensils away. As if trying to shake off his sense of irritation. “Who risks their health in such a way just to get laid?”

You can’t help the grin spreading on your lips. “Hey, at least that’ll leave a sick scar.”

“I’m gonna murder you, y/n. I’m serious.”

He isn’t.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[fawnhart]

bambi taking over drew’s apartment ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

You walk into Drew’s apartment, and something’s different. It’s warmer, more...you. The white walls that once felt so sterile now feel like they’re holding something—like they’re waiting to tell a story.

Drew’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his eyes flicking over to you with that smile you can never quite resist. You glance around, taking it all in.

“I see you’ve been busy,” you say, a grin tugging at your glossy lips as your eyes land on the new shoe shelf. Your shoes are neatly arranged in cubbies. High heels, white Mary janes, those sparkly flats you can never find in your own closet at home. “when did you do this?”

He shrugs, trying to act casual, but you catch the way his eyes light up when he watches you react. “I figured you needed space for your stuff. You know... the stuff that’s been taking over my man cave.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the vanity in the corner of the room. “You really went all out.”

“I told you I’d build you one,” he says, crossing his arms, clearly proud of himself. “Had to make sure it was big enough for all that makeup you insist on carrying around”

You roll your eyes playfully, walking over to the vanity. It’s exactly what you wanted—romantic, wooden, with a row of little fairy lights around the mirror. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection, and for a second, it feels like you’re in your own little world in his home. “It’s perfect, baby,” you say softly, fingers tracing the edge of the mirror. “Thank you.”

He walks over, standing behind you and looking at the vanity too. “It’s nothing. You’ve got a lot of stuff to keep around, might as well put it somewhere”

“No more shoving my shoes into the closet?” You gave him a fake pout

He smirks. “Yeah, pretty much. You know I’m terrible at organizing.” He says rolling his eyes

“That you are” you tease, but it’s clear there’s no real tension between you. It’s light. Comfortable. You look over at his side of the closet now, which has been slowly claimed by your clothes, a section devoted to mini skirts, low waisted jeans, and designer tops you begged him to buy you last summer. You grin, pleased with your progress.

“You’ve basically moved in, Bambi” he says grabbing your hips

You laugh and grab a mini skirt from the closet, holding it up to your body and changing into it. “you’re not complaining.” You turn back to him, feeling the soft buzz in your chest.

He watches you with a small, amused smile. “I can’t even remember what the apartment looked like before you started leaving your stuff everywhere.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you tease, but you can’t help feeling a little proud. “But, seriously, do you like it?”

Drew looks around, running a hand through his messy hair. The walls are covered in posters now—your movie posters, photos of the two of you, a framed quote you found on some random blog that you liked . It’s chaotic in the best way. “Yeah..I didn’t expect pink pots and pans in the kitchen,” he says, giving you a sideways glance suddenly getting “serious”

You grin, hopping over to the stove where your pink heart-shaped pots now sit, taking up space next to his old, practical, and ugly ones. “What? You said you wanted to cook, and now you can really impress your friends with your new kitchen aesthetic”

He laughs, there’s a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You’re turning my apartment into... well, whatever this is.” He waves a hand at the room, gesturing to the mix of colors and stickers, you scattered all over the place. “You know, my friends are gonna ask me about those.”

“So?” you say with a grin, as you jump on his kitchen counter. “Let them wonder.”

“not too eager to get on their good side?.”

“Never!” you say, kicking his growing bulge with your foot. “But I think they’ll get used to it eventually.”

“doubt it” he replies with a head shake, you reach out to pull him in by his belt loops. He settles in between your legs and finds the familiar curve of your hips, a place that’s beginning to feel like home —atleast for him. “But it’s alright, pretty girl. I like it this way.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, tipping your head forward to meet his forehead. There’s a softness in the way he looks at you, like everything in the apartment

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, something that feels so natural now. “you’ve got me now, and I’ve got you” You lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips “right?”

“Yeah, I do” he says softly, his arms tightening around you and chasing your lips again

Even if Drew’s and your friends don’t totally get it, it doesn’t matter. He’s yours, you made sure that was evident. Your little evidence loud and clear in his apartment

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[oceantornadoo]

ch4 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: some mild dubcon groping but reader is into it she just hates him. (or does she????)

masterlist | next

Your mother doesn’t come to your wedding, understandably so. Her lack of presence makes the day seem less real. However, one Johnny MacTavish decides to become the Scottish mother hen you’ve been missing.

“Everyone decent in ‘ere?” A chorus of yeses ring out. Johnny opens the door to the bridal dressing room with a smile, looking suave in his tuxedo. “Shite, was hopin’ to sneak a look.” He winks at your nearest cousin and she flutters her eyes. Even as a married man, Johnny likes to flirt and fluster women. It helps hide his marriage to Simon and provides you with much entertainment.

“How’s the blushin’ bride?”

He walks over to your vanity, taking in your bridal makeup and hairdo. Johnny whistles low, reaching out to ruffle your hair, which you stop by smacking him. “The bride is hungover and not in the mood.” He shrugs, then takes a sip of your champagne on the vanity desk. “Y’r fault fer doin’ a hen do the night before. Nice job slippin’ the hag, though.” It’s your codename for Aunt Riley. She’s always been suspicious of him and Simon, making little comments here and there that have put her on his shitlist over the years.

“Thanks. I can say, the London nightlife didn’t disappoint. I might throw up at the altar though.” He snorts and takes a seat in the empty chair next to you. “Price was pissed last night. Called Simon while we were mid-” You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t finish that sentence. As far as I’m concerned, you guys haven’t even kissed.” Johnny licks your hand, making you squeal. “Can’t believe he called Simon like I’m a little kid and not a grown woman.”

Johnny doesn’t answer, instead popping a chocolate-covered strawberry offered by a passing waitress into his mouth. She’s been the one supplying you with Gatorade until you switched the champagne half an hour ago. Can’t believe the bridal suite has a waitress. John Price is too rich for his own good.

“The Shepherd family’s gettin’ bolder. Can’t blame ‘im fer not wantin’ ya to die before the weddin’. Would be bad publicity.” You scoff. It might be true, but John has never seemed too concerned about your health. Except that night in the park, when- never mind.

“Ya nervous?” Johnny asks. You shake your head. “Trying not to think about it. I’m more focused on not tripping in front of multiple mafia families. I’d never live it down.” He smiles, then squeezes your knee over your white dressing gown. The look he gives you is too knowing and you hate it. Instead of holding his gaze, you turn to the mirror and will any stray tears away. “You probably need to go soon. I think they’re putting me in my dress in a few minutes.” He nods, dark eyes full of understanding.

“Ya look real bonnie, doe. Gonna make a beautiful bride.” You nod, swallowing down the thickness in your throat. “Thanks, Johnny. You look handsome in your pink bowtie.” It’s the same color as the bridesmaid dresses, a horrid shade your aunt insisted on. He winks, then rises out of his chair. Johnny squeezes your shoulder, then kisses the crown of your hair like Tommy used to do. “Simon’ll walk ya down the aisle. I’ll see ya on the other side.” And just like that, he’s gone.

-

“You know you’ve turned my life upside down in only a week, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know a small part of me will always blame you for it?”

“I know.” Simon sighs.

It’s five minutes before the ceremony. You’re all dolled up in your poofy dress with perfect makeup and a bouquet in hand. A phantom weight is heavy on your left finger, waiting for the ring you tried on only a few days ago.

“Ya know I’ll always be sorry yer father is mine.” Simon murmurs. You nod stiffly, swallowing down any emotion as you look at the closed church doors in front of you. The ones that will open in a few minutes, leading your path down the aisle and to your new husband.

“I didn’t have to come back. I could have hung up on you all those years ago.”

“I know.”

“I think a small part of me wishes I had.” You whisper, like a confession. He takes your free hand and wraps it in his own. “But I think a bigger part would do it all over again.” Simon squeezes your interlaced fingers.

“Best thing tha’ ever happened t’ me, ya know that?” Your smile is weak, eyes watery as you catch his gaze. “What about Johnny?” He smiles under the mask. “Tha’s a different category, love.” You laugh, small and hollow. 

This feels like goodbye. You know it’s not, you’ll only be 200 miles away, but you’re both aware of the new boundaries around this marriage. London will be your home now, and any visit to Manchester will have to be approved, and probably accompanied, by John. That’s all it’ll be - a visit. A few days at most, doing the rounds and seeing friends and family. You’ll never live there again, never run your bookshop, never chat with regulars, never- you stop that line of thinking before you ruin your makeup.

“If he hurts ya, you call me.” You nod, but that’s not enough for Simon. A gloved hand tips your chin in his direction, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll call me. An’ Johnny if I don’t answer.” You nod again, firmly, which finally satisfies Simon.

“C’mere.” You hug your big brother with all your might. He’s careful, turning your face to the side so you don’t ruin your makeup. His hands tighten around your shoulders while yours can barely wrap around his torso. He’s always wearing suits but this one feels different, more structured and finely woven.

“Simon, are you wearing designer?” He stiffens, pushing you off him as you start laughing. “‘M alway wearin’ designer, comes with the job.” You shake your head vehemently. “No, you’re always wearing Fred Perry. This fabric is fancy, it’s like Dolce and Gabbana.” Your brother decidedly does not answer.

“Simon! Are you wearing Dolce to my wedding? Are you trying to upstage the bride?!” Only you, his all-knowing sister, would be able to tell he’s blushing under his mask. In an uncharacteristic move, he scratches the nape of his neck, looking off to the side like he’s suddenly interested in church architecture. “Johnny picked it out.” You slap his arm and he moves to ruffle your hair, before remembering it’s in a fancy wedding do. “You’re an absolute git, this is completely unfair. I demand you go to the nearest mall and pick something off the rack.” That comment finally dismisses the dark cloud that’s been hanging over you, sending you two into a laughing fit. 

“I wish Tommy was here. He’dve torched that suit.” His eyes crinkle in a sad smile. “I know, love. I know.” Simon kisses your forehead and you lean into his shoulder, wishing the moment would never end.

But all good things must.

A frazzled assistant, one of your Aunt Riley’s minions, practically sprints over to you. “Doors,” he wheezes, “doors opening in thirty seconds.” And just like that, he’s gone. Probably a cake emergency or something of the sort.

“Do I look okay?” You take one last glimpse in a nearby mirror. You’re wearing a traditional veil, something Simon turns up over your head to hide your face. Despite the hideous dress, the rest of your look turned out quite nice. The flowers are decent, your makeup looks great, and you were even allowed to pick out your own jewelry. A win is a win.

“Most beautiful bride th’ church’s ever seen.” Simon puts out his arm like a gentleman, letting you wrap your own around it. “I love you, Si.” He takes a second, and you swear he’s holding back tears. “Love ya too, kid.”

-

Most of the ceremony passes in a blur.

Lots of flowery words, preaching about commitments you’d rather not think about. Some scripture or Latin thrown in there, but you’re really not paying attention. You’re more concerned with the man in front of you.

Your veil is a little sheer, allowing you to see him in all his groom glory. His eyes are dark, fixated on yours, and you’d be an idiot not to notice how handsome he looks. His tuxedo is sharp, and he’s got a flower tucked into the pocket. A heliotrope, a purple that matches well with the pink bridesmaid dresses. A half memory comes to you, something about heliotropes and eternal devotion, but you tuck that away under your might be mad box.

Finally, it comes to the vows. You haven’t written any and neither has John, instead deciding to use the olden ones. It frightens you, to have this surly man swear you such promises.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

He takes off your veil and you swear his breath hitches. It’s just a split second, but the muscle of his throat freezes and you’re captivated by how manly he looks. All bitter thoughts of enemies can be paused for a moment, you reason.

“You may now kiss the bride.” And he does.

It is not a polite kiss. You don’t know why you thought it would be.

He’s hungry. He catches the small of your back in one hand and your waist in the other, dipping you back in a picture perfect moment. His lips devour yours, delivering small bites and licks before pulling back so suddenly you think you’ve imagined it. You blink and you’re standing, your hand wrapped in John’s, as you look out at the cheering crowd. Mr. and Mrs. John Price.

-

You try to avoid John during the reception, which takes place in the backyard of the local country club. It’s hard to do when you’re supposed to thank everyone as a couple. You greet mafia and community leaders and business owners and politicians, all with the same sweet smile and John’s hand on your back. Do they know this was arranged? It’s hard to tell from the venomous sincerity dripping from their foaming mouths, eyes scanning the four-carat rock on your hand like it’s a prize to be won.

At least you’ve been allowed to change into a lighter dress. The reception dress is shorter, falling respectably right above your knees with long sleeves and a low back. Not low enough to show off the temporary tramp stamp smudged on your back. You keep the veil in, a cute detail that the inner little girl in you adores. If only this was a wedding you wanted.

Thankfully, champagne is in constant supply. You must have drunk at least four flutes now. That, plus your lack of food due to your hangover, makes you sway. John, who has not spoken to you directly at all since maiming your lips at the altar, notices. He tugs you away from the crowd, finding a secluded bench tucked away behind a tree. It reminds you of the garden you met him in a few nights ago.

“Thank god. One more sweaty handshake and I would have keeled over.” You murmur, mostly to yourself. He grunts, taking a seat next to you on the bench and loosening his tie.

“Who said you could sit next to me?” Uh oh. Drunk you is talking.

“‘S gonna be like that? We’re barely five minutes in, sweetheart.” He drags a hand down his face in an exhausted and adorable manner. No. This is the enemy. You must remind the both of you of that fact.

“You’re the enemy.” You poke him sternly in the shoulder, which sort of ruins the effortless effect you were going for. “You finally gonna tell me wha’ I did t’ you? Or is this our next ten years?” You frown at his words, crossing your hands over your chest. He’s acting like you did something wrong, not him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see John avert his gaze as you inevitably (and accidentally) push up your tits. Interesting.

“You ruined my life.” He barks out a laugh. “‘Ve ruined a lot of people’s lives. Need ya t’ be more specific.” Instead of answering, you slide down awkwardly into the grass beneath you, leaning your head back on the bench. It’s nighttime now and the only thing in the sky is the North Star. John’s star.

“You told my father I was a weakness and,” you hiccup, “and you told him to send me away. And lookwherethatgotme…” You trail off, eyes fluttering. Your eyes feel a thousand times heavier than normal, and everything hits you at once. Your lack of sleep from your night out, the stress of the day, the emotional conversations - they all boil over like a pot on the stove. “Think I’m gonna sleep now…” John hums, still next to you, and you drift off to the sound.

-

When you wake up, your head is throbbing. Why are you sitting on grass? There’s a suit jacket covering your front, keeping you warm from the night’s chill. Your neck throbs from laying back on the stone bench. There’s a stink in the air, a nasty smell, and when you turn to your right, you see your new husband smoking. Jacketless.

“Nice nap?” You nod, embarrassment coursing through your veins like a drug. “How long was I out?” He flicks the ash of his cigar onto the grass. “Long ‘nough people thought we were consummatin’ the marriage.” Oh. That was…not something you needed to think about.

“You feelin’ sober? Remember anythin’ you said?” You shake your head. Unbeknownst to you, John is frowning. The last few hours are a blur, a black spot in your memory. There’s still alcohol in your body, but a headache is starting to form as well. 

“Let’s get some food in ya. Can’t have my new wife droppin’ dead at the weddin’.” You let him help you up, slipping on his jacket to cover the grass stains on your dress. That’s the only reason you don’t take it off.

-

The rest of the night gets easier. Dinner saves you, but then Johnny’s putting drinks in your hands and your cousins are pulling you to the dance floor. You have an emotional dance with Simon, a not-so emotional one with John, and then you’re passed to a slew of people to make nice with. 

It’s 2am when the party finally settles down. People have gone home, thankfully including your aunt, and you say your goodbyes. John takes you back to the Ritz, a silent, quick car ride. You’re thankful for the quiet but confused all the same. The air is charged, like you just had an argument and lost. Is he mad? Regretting this? You don’t know him enough to tell, and that irks you.

The elevator takes you to the penthouse this time. Only the best for the king of London. John stands beside you, no hand on your back. It’s entirely businesslike: the walk to the room, shutting yourself in the bathroom, donning pajamas and a dressing gown. You would shower, but you need to finish your routine at the vanity.

If this were a real wedding, maybe he would have carried you in his arms over the threshold. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off you, ravishing you in the entryway. Maybe he’d whisper in your ear, “Mrs. Price”.

Instead of that fantasy, you’re tipsy and angry about the fact that you are now Mrs. Price. Maybe that’s why you say it.

“I’m not a virgin.” You’re at the vanity, taking out the mountains of jewelry that pour out of every crevice of your body. It’s the last thing to remove before the weight of your wedding is off your shoulders. The mirror is giant, big enough so you can see John stop unbuttoning his shirt when you say the words. “You’re not?” You shake your head. He frowns. “Might as well send ya back now, get my money, and-,” he stops. Maybe it’s because you’re staring hard at his reflection. You don’t even like him, but the champagne and sting of rejection cut deep.

“Was jokin’, sweetheart. Didn’t expect you t’ be a virgin. Too much pressure, honestly.” Oh. Oh. He’s always called you sweetheart, spit it out like poison designed to kill. This is the first time he’s said it kindly and your heart curls around the word like a sleepy cat. Which will absolutely not do.

“Will make it easier, I reckon. ‘S a tight fit.” He winks jokingly and you scoff at his insinuation. He’s being oddly jovial, a 180 from the car ride, and you need to ruin this truce before it becomes permanent. 

“Sure, that’s probably what your exes have said. It was probably a ‘tight fit’ because they weren’t wet, John. Ever heard of foreplay? F-o-r-e-p-l-a-y, look it up. I expect-”, except you don’t get to tell him your expectations because he’s shut you up with a calloused hand around your throat. It’s not violent and you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but the shock factor hits its target.

“Yer used t’ yer brother an’ his men, crude jokes an’ the like. I get it. But I demand respect an’ you’ll respect your husband now. Got it?” He isn’t blocking your airway, just holding your throat with his hand like a collar around it. He stands behind you with his unbuttoned shirt, giving you a glimpse of his hairy torso, hard with muscle. “The same way you respect me?” You mutter. He straightens in the mirror, his hand loose. A thumb caresses your jawbone, one stroke then two, before he pulls it away completely like it never happened. “I’m tryin’ to. Let’s agree on that, yeah?” You nod stiffly, sobered and treading with cautious feet. Is this how he’ll be? Acting like a military captain, an all-consuming force?

“And, sweetheart.” He grabs your free hand, the one lying on the desk. His large paw engulfs your own, bringing it to the outline of his cock in his boxers. You can feel the weight of him and, against your will, you squeeze. He’s thick, no, girthy. The fabric is thin, allowing you to feel the ridges of his cock, the veins, and its shape. Your hand acts of its own accord, sliding down until your thumb brushes the mushroomed tip. His cock twitches in your hand and you jump in your seat, snatching your hand away like it’s on fire. His chuckle is low and bruising, a damning caress. 

“Thought so.” And your new husband walks away. 

When you toss your silk dressing gown into the hamper for housekeeping, neither of you comment on the wet spot that’s soaked through. That’s the closest you get to consummating your marriage tonight.

-

i dont care if this is in london, im using miles. deal with it

-

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[prythianpages]

A Field of Dandelions | Azriel

azriel x green witch reader | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

“Please don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.”

warnings: angst but with fluff at the end, mentions of self-hate/abuse. pretty much Azriel thinking he's not worthy of a mate.

a/n: I've been re-reading the Shatter Me series and there's a scene between Aaron and Juliette that drove me to make this along with the song Dandelions by Ruth B. The dialogue above is directly from the book Unravel Me. I used them as a writing prompt along with the general gist of the scene and added my own twist to it. I just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.

The door opens before you can even knock and your dear friend and High Lady pulls you into a warm hug. She beckons you inside with a smile and your eyes dart around the various paintings adorning the walls, finding that some are new.

Surprise etches onto your features when your eyes land on the Night Court’s Spymaster. He stands at the end of one of the winding staircases with his usual stoic expression. Still as devastatingly handsome as always. You drop your gaze as quickly as you had met his and if he notices it, he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

Your ears pick up on faint crying. It grows louder and louder. Turning your head toward the source, your eyes land on Nyx. Despite being in the comfort of his father’s arms, his little features contort in pain. You greet your High Lord with a bow of your head, noticing the exhaustion on his face that mirrors Feyre’s.

“Is Mor on her way?” You ask, adjusting the strap of your bag. It’s full with all necessary tools and equipment you need for your venture.

Feyre had requested if you could make a tonic to sooth Nyx’s aches while he’s teething but your apothecary shop was unfortunately out of the main ingredient. Dandelion root. Not just any dandelion root but the ones that grow in the soil between the courts of Spring and Autumn and given the current tensions in Prythian and your status as a former Spring court inhabitant, it was not safe for you to go alone.

“Oh,” Feyre says as she takes the babe into her arms. You coo at Nyx and he blinks up at you, his crying coming to a stop. His lips tug up into a small smile and he wraps a tiny hand around your finger. “She is unfortunately caught up in Vallahan.”

“So then Cassian is to escort me today?” You ask again, looking up at your friend.

You catch the way she looks at Rhysand. They share a look and you know they’re communicating to each other through their mind. It’s Rhysand who answers you this time.

“Cassian isn’t fond of the spring, allergies and all.”

The Shadowsinger steps forward and your smile falls. You turn back to your friend, who gives you a sheepish smile in return.

“Azriel will be escorting you today.”

You almost want to say no. The thought of being alone with Azriel makes your stomach churn with unease and something else that you can’t quite discern at the moment. But Nyx begins to squirm in his mother’s arms with a pout and Feyre’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Okay,” you sigh.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Feyre says.

“Our son’s life is in your hands.”

Feyre slaps her husband’s arm with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not dying, Rhys,” she grumbles. “He’s just in some discomfort from teething.”

She then turns to Azriel with a stern look. The corner of her lips threatened to betray her. “Be nice.”

**

Azriel’s shadows envelop you both, whisking you away to the forest of the Spring Court. It was the safest of the two courts to winnow directly to. The air in the dense woods hangs heavy with the scent of blooming blossoms and you’re thankful for the muffled sounds of nature as it provides a soothing background noise, saving you from the awkward silence between you and the impassive Shadowsinger.

Azriel walks ahead, his movements graceful and quiet. His shadows cling to him like the loyal companions they are but some hover over your boots, silencing your own steps. 

He finally breaks the silence. “You’re staring.”

You shift your gaze immediately and wonder if he can also sense the pink that dusts your slightly flustered face. “I’m just surprised you’re the one escorting me,” you answer honestly.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” he responds cryptically.

A slight tension settles between you, your heartbeat quickening as you follow him through the forest. “Right,” you say, your face growing pinker.

You shift the weight of your bag to your other shoulder and Azriel comes to a sudden stop. He turns, his hazel eyes scanning you for a moment. Without a word, he takes the bag from your arm, effortlessly hoisting it over his shoulder. 

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and a quiet "thanks" escapes your lips. “You’re being awfully nice today,” you can’t help but observe, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your tone “I think this is the most you’ve talked to me since we met.”

Azriel’s lips curve into an almost-smile. A rare sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “My High Lady told me to be nice.”

“Right,” you repeat quietly to yourself as you exhale, a futile effort to calm your fluttering nerves. It’s almost embarrassing the effect Azriel has on you and as the butterflies in your stomach stir, you hope that the rest of the day unfolds quickly.

**

Mates. Two individuals predestined to be together, brought together by unseen forces and an irresistible bond. Azriel once wondered if he had a mate but after centuries of living, he began to wonder if he was simply destined to be alone.

When his brothers found their mates and he still hadn’t found his, he started to think he was far beyond the reach of love. It was a blessing he could not have. He didn’t need a mate, so he convinced himself he didn’t want one. Romance was not part of his duties and he was starting to come to terms with the fact. 

That is, until, he met you.

Nestled right on the outskirts of the area known as the Rainbow of Velaris was a quaint shop. The wooden sign above, engraved with dark letters spelling out Nightrose Apothecary, swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. Azriel had ignored the frenzied whirlwind of his shadows as he stepped into the shop.

Shelves made of twisted vines and wood were neatly arranged with rows of glass jars containing colorful powders, dried herbs and exotic roots. A friendly black cat, lounging on the sunlit windowsill, blinked at him in greeting. As he stepped further into the shop, his senses became overwhelmed with the prominent scent of lavender and chamomile.

Behind a worn, wooden counter is where you stood. You hummed to yourself, immersed in the book in front of you. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you skimmed over the rough edged pages, your fingertips carrying an enchanting green glow and eyes filled with darkness. 

You were a witch but it was no surprise to him. He had heard about you. You were a good friend of Feyre’s. One of the few people she could trust during her time in the Spring court. When the Spring Court fell into chaos, Feyre had brought you with her and helped you open up this shop.

His steps were silent and he’s sure you’re unaware of his presence, so he shifted, parting his mouth to speak–

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

His steps faltered, eyes widening for a fleeting moment.

When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, his eyes locked with yours and something deep within him awakened. An exhilarating feeling like no other. He felt light. He felt alive. And he was almost afraid to blink, not wanting the feeling to end.

His shadows peeked out from behind his limbs, curious to see what had their master in a chokehold. They dispersed from his body in a thrilled dance as the darkness left your eyes, revealing their natural color. They’re beautiful and sparkling with kindness, even as his shadows disobey his silent orders and slither up your arms in a cool greeting.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself apologizing, a slight tint in his cheeks. “They usually don’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” you brushed off his worry and he felt lightheaded and bewitched at the smile you directed toward him. “What brings you here?”

Azriel can’t help but feel that you already know why he’s there. He pulled his gaze away, choosing to focus on the crystal orbs on the counter instead. “My High Lady recommended I come to you. I’ve been having trouble…sleeping.”

The green glow returned to your fingertips as you beckoned a small clear vial from one of the shelves behind you. It’s filled with a silver liquid that glistened as it moved, mirroring the twinkle of the stars that light up the night sky.

“This should help.” You told him as you held out the vial to him. “Take a sip before you’re ready for bed and it should quickly pull you into a restful slumber. Some say it even brings forth sweet dreams.”

Azriel nodded his head, taking the small vial from you with a gloved hand. He stored it carefully into the chest pocket of his leathers. His hands then dug into the pockets of his pants but you held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s on the house.”

“But–”

“Any friend of Fey–the High Lady’s is a friend of mine.”

His throat tightened as he realized it’s time for him to leave and he doesn’t want to. He’s caught in a whirlwind of emotions and finds himself torn between hope and fear. Or maybe he fears what it means to be hopeful because for once in his life, he wants something.

He wants you. His mate.

But as he thanked you for your kind gesture, he realized that the bond must have not snapped for you as it had for him. So he reluctantly went on with his day and when the sky darkened and stars awakened, he took a sip from the small vial. He had the best sleep of his life that night and dreamt about you.

The next morning he asked Rhysand and Feyre about what he had experienced because he couldn’t believe it himself. They confirmed his suspicions and they were both delighted. Feyre even more so as you were her dear friend.  

She had taken it upon herself to bring you two together. Her first attempt was a family dinner. It was going well until Elain had spotted a spider and upon the small scream she let out, Nesta had rushed to kill it for her. Your distress was impossible to turn a blind eye to and Feyre quietly asked if you were alright.

“It didn’t need to die,” is all you quietly said, your eyes lined with silver.

Witches were one with nature and given your niche with herbs and creation, Azriel realized the depth of your admiration for all life that night. Then, another harrowing one. You were so innocent, so pure. He was guilty, hands tainted and stained red. He didn’t deserve you.

The Cauldron must’ve made a mistake.

Feyre was undeterred so she gave it another attempt, despite Azriel’s protest. She arranged a night out at Rita’s for the Inner Circle and invited you. Azriel didn’t plan on going but Rhysand had made sure his schedule was clear and when Feyre had sent him an image of you in a skin tight dress, he came as quickly as he could. 

But it was too late.

He arrived to find a high fae leaning toward you in interest and you were smiling at him. A smile Azriel wanted reserved just for him. The male had placed a hand at your waist and Azriel felt his stomach churn when you laughed at something he had said. A sound he wished to be the cause of. You seemed happy and who was he to stand in your way?

The male was everything Azriel was not. Blond, blue eyed and perfectly smooth hands–hands that were all over you and welcomed by you. He unconsciously hid his scarred hands behind his back and when your gaze met his across the room, he looked away. 

Azriel was not worthy of you. He didn’t deserve to have you as his mate. So he reminded himself that romance was not part of his duties and convinced himself that the Cauldron, had indeed, made a mistake. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of being just a friend to you. The mere idea pained him so much that he pushed you away. He didn’t return to your apothecary when he finished the vial you’d given him–not even when his nights became restless again and dark circles appeared beneath his eyes. When he’d see you walking along the streets of Velaris, he’d turn the other away and when you would visit Feyre and he was there, he’d find an excuse to leave.

But there was one thing he couldn’t shake off–the primal instinct to protect you. It was the least he could do for you as he felt indebted to you for the Cauldron’s mistake. 

So when he heard you needed an escort to the border between the Spring and Autumn courts, he was the first to volunteer, despite Mor and Cassian also offering.

**

It’s as if the ground beneath you comes to life in your presence. Birds fly over you, chirping and singing a beautiful melody. As you pass, buds blossom into beautiful flowers as if enchanted by you. Even the animals emerge from their hidden abodes. The squirrels playfully dart between branches while a family of deer gracefully emerges from the trees.

It becomes evident that nature itself is captivated by your presence. and it extends beyond nature, weaving its magic onto Azriel as well. It reaches into the very heart of the Shadowsinger, casting an enchanting spell that even he cannot escape.

A blue butterfly dances playfully around Azriel. It startles him, pulling him out of his trance and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes from you. You raise a finger and the butterfly lands on it softly.

“Hello, little one,” you coo softly. You turn to Azriel, holding out your finger to him. “Would you like to hold it?”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you scared of a butterfly?”

Azriel does not answer your question. Instead, his eyes dart around the forest that still stirs with liveliness around you. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“Sorry,” you apologize, even though it’s not your fault. The butterfly grants you one last flutter of its wings before flying away. “I can’t help but be admired by many.”

Azriel lets out a hum. You’re too distracted to pick up on the subtle resonance of agreement, your eyes widening as the meadow finally comes into view in the distance.

**

You inhale deeply, flooding your senses with the sweet and delicate fragrance surrounding you. Time seems to slow and your worries dissipate away as you kneel down, gently touching the soft sea of green, white and yellow. The gentle sway of the dandelions is mesmerizing almost, their feathery plumes catching the morning breeze like wishes aching to be set free.

Azriel watches you and his eyes are a reflection of an adoration deeper than any meadow bloom. There’s a bittersweet ache in his chest. You close your eyes, a serene expression on your face. Strands of sunlight weave through your hair, creating a halo of warmth and Azriel finds it hard to breathe when your lips bloom into a tender smile.

Your eyes open and meet his hazel eyes and suddenly, he’s looking away. He clears his throat, eyes looking around the field. “What’s so special about this place?” He asks, a desperate attempt to reclaim the distance between desire and reality.

“All life is a delicate balance of give and take. Spring brings forth new life and beauty, new beginnings. Autumn leaves showers of gold, recognizing the temporary nature of all things. “ You answer as if it's common knowledge and upon the bewildered expression on Azriel’s face, you offer the simpler explanation:  “The soil between Spring and Autumn is very potent.” 

“These are weeds. They’ll grow anywhere.” Azriel deadpans. He regrets it immediately at the slight frown that forms at his casual dismissal.

“You may see a weed,” you begin, plucking a single dandelion from the ground as you rise to your feet. You approach the Shadowsinger. “But I see wishes.”

You extend the dandelion to him with a softness in your eyes that he’s never been on the receiving end of. “They say a single dandelion possesses the power to grant one-hundred wishes. But their beauty lies in their resilience because when they fall apart, they simply start again. A reminder to us all of boundless hope.”

Azriel hesitates, his gaze fixed on the dandelion. His gloved fingers brush against yours and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what your skin would feel like against his. The mere thought dares to send a shiver through him but he swiftly pushes the thought away.

You smile at him as he carefully accepts the stem from you. His shadows remain dispersed around the field but from where he stands, he can feel them vibrating joyfully. Your smile is so bright, so dazzling and for the first time since he met you, it’s all for him.

A sudden warmth floods through him, a sensation he never anticipated, and he finds himself utterly captivated.

“Make a wish,” you whisper to him, your voice a gentle prompt that lingers in the air like a spell waiting to be cast.

Azriel is not one to believe in things like this but he finds himself surrendering to the magic of the moment. For you.

Under the tender gaze of a field of dandelions, he closes his eyes. He lets out a silent breath, and makes a wish. A breeze courses through you both in that moment. The dandelion’s wispy seeds take flight, unraveling into a fine constellation of possibilities. 

The soft bristles of hope travel through the air and find their way to you and a laugh escapes from you in response to the tickling sensation as they caress your face.

Azriel’s heart feels strangely gentle–as if the weight that often accompanies his existence has momentarily dissipated. His entire body seems to soften in the glow of your laughter and a rare smile forms on his face.

He’s stuck in a trance, mesmerized by you, failing to catch the sounds of the creatures approaching.

Before he knows it, there are arrows whistling around you both. He barely has enough time to respond as one hisses by his ear and darts to you. He immediately raises his hand up, his shadows rushing to the rescue and forming a protective shield around you both.

**

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the tip of an arrow that is a couple of inches away from you. It’s coated with blood. Azriel’s blood.

Your breath hitches at the sight. There's an arrow embedded into his gloved hand and if it weren’t for Azriel’s other hand at the small of your back, you would’ve fallen backwards.

“Are you alright?” His gaze is examining you carefully, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You blink at his words. “Are you alright?”

“Well, well, well.” A voice drawls followed by deep, rumbling growls from the hounds that surround you. They’re kept at bay by Azriel’s shadows. “What do we have here?”

Azriel turns around, ready to face the threat head on. His shadows remain at your side protectively. Some slither up and down your arms, their touch aimed at offering comfort and reassurance. 

“Eris.”

The red head smirks and his teeth flash when he catches the sight of the Shadowsinger’s injured and bleeding hand. “My apologies,” Eris sneers. “If I had known it was you, I would’ve aimed for the heart.”

A sound escapes from you–one you didn’t know you were capable of making and you step out from the shadows. It draws Eris’s attention to you. His amber eyes drink you in and you feel Azriel stiffen beside you. The Autumn’s male’s eyes land on the obsidian necklace around your neck and they narrow.

“What is a witch doing in my lands?” His hounds that are still surrounding let out another growl, prompted by their master’s tone of voice. They snap their teeth menacingly.

But you’re unfazed.

Perhaps, it’s Azriel’s protective shadows or the overwhelming anger set alight by Eris’s words that grant you the confidence and push you forward. Your eyes fill with darkness, resembling a night sky without any stars and Azriel can feel the energy coursing through your veins as you call upon your magic.

“Keep wasting the air with that breath of yours and I might just cur–”

A hand comes over your mouth, stopping you from saying anything else and you’re being pulled flush into Azriel’s chest. You grimace at the taste of leather and squirm only for Azriel’s arms to tighten around you.

“Cute,” Eris remarks with a hint of amusement but there’s an unmistakable fear that flashes in his eyes for a short lived moment.

 “We’re just passing through,” Azriel states, his voice void of emotion. 

Eris observes you both in contemplative silence. He must discern something in Azriel that prompts him to stand down. With a thoughtful hum, he gracefully turns away. His hounds follow suit and as he walks away, he calls over his shoulders: “Make it quick.”

You watch as Eris disappears into the forest, still wrapped tightly in Azriel’s arms. It isn’t until Eris is completely out of view that you squirm again and without thinking, you bite on his gloved hand. Hard. Azriel flinches and finally releases his grip on you.

You turn to him with a glare that he returns.

“Threatening to curse the heir to Autumn? Are you out of your mind?”

“I should curse you for stopping me!” You exclaim, crossing your arms with a scowl. Your gaze then softens as you quietly add:  “He hurt you.”

“Gods,” Azriel breathes, stepping away from you and tilting his head backwards. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You mean besides piss you off by merely existing?” You huff as you snatch your bag away from him to get the jars you brought. “Can’t imagine it gets any worse than that.”

**

The walk to your apartment is silent and you begin to wonder if you should apologize for your outburst earlier. It was not within your nature to raise your voice at anyone…or harbor anger toward someone. But Eris had tried to hurt you, hurt Azriel and then shamelessly sneered about it.

Azriel follows you into your home, watching as you set the ingredients you collected down. He expects you to bid him farewell and kick him out but as you turn to him and your gaze falls to his injured hand, you sigh.

“Come on,” you offer, reaching out for his hand and he recoils. You frown.  “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

You know he’s lying by the way his jaw clenches and you can’t help but notice that he appears to be repelled by your touch. You almost laugh. “I promise I won’t curse you. I actually never cursed anyone before.”

Azriel’s expression remains unreadable.

“Just let me see. I can help you.”

“I’m fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.” You say in hopes to get him to accept your help and when it doesn’t, you cross your arms against your chest. “Do you really hate me that much? To be repulsed by my touch?”

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel confesses and his voice is much quieter, much softer when he speaks again. “I could never.”

Azriel holds your gaze in contemplation for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his shadows pushing him toward you so you try again. This time, when you step forward, your hand reaching for him, he doesn’t pull away. 

 “Sit,” you tell him, nodding your head at one of the chairs in your kitchen. 

With a hard swallow, he does. He is entirely still as you hold his gloved hand in yours. Even his shadows are eerily still as if holding their breath. His eyes are boring into you with an intensity that heats your skin. You bring your other hand up, a soft green glow emitting from your fingertips. With the help of your magic, you carefully take the arrow out, drawing a sharp gasp from him. 

“Sorry,” you say, turning your attention to his glove next. You use your magic to remove it as well, not wanting to cause him any more pain or discomfort.

As the green mist of your magic dissipates, revealing the scarred skin beneath, your eyes widen. The scars are extensive, streaking around his fingers and the palm of his hand and the bleeding gash in the middle is nothing compared to them. You lift your gaze to meet his only to find his eyes are dead of emotion.

“Azriel.” You breathe and it’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his name and it sounds so pretty, so beautiful but the way you’re looking at him…

“Don’t.” His throat feels tight and he starts to withdraw his hand from yours but you stop him. You want to know who hurt him this deeply. Today was a day of firsts for you–first smile from Azriel, first time you ever felt so angry, first time you growled at someone and you were more than willing to add another first to that list. Cursing someone.

But Azriel looks like he’s about to break so you push your rage aside. Realization dawns on you as you now understand why he’s always wearing gloves around you, why he avoided you at all costs before. Your heart aches.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” you say softly as you begin to heal his hand. “Your scars may forever carry their stories with them but they do not define you. Your heart does and I can see it now. It’s bright and beautiful. You’re beautiful and–”

“y/n,” he almost begs. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

The gash on his palm is now completely healed and you tighten your hold on it. “Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.” His voice drops to a pained whisper and his eyes are fluttering shut, body trembling. Shadows cling on to him, embracing him in an attempt to comfort their master. You’ve never beheld anything more heartbreaking.

“Do you think that lowly of me?” You begin, your voice quiet. “That I would be put off by your scars?”

When he doesn’t answer, your free hand reaches for his face, lifting his chin up. But his eyes are still closed and deep lines form on his forehead because your skin is so soft, so warm and he’s not worthy.

“Azriel,” you steady your breath. “You’re my mate.”

His eyes shoot open, hazel orbs glistening with tears as he looks up at you. “You know?”

“I’ve known since the moment I met you.” You confess with a pained smile. “I wanted to tell you right away but I didn’t want to scare you and when I was ready to tell you, you were avoiding me. I thought you hated me because, well, I’m a witch and not everyone is fond of them.”

“But that night at Rita’s–”

“My stupid attempt at making you jealous,” you explain to him sheepishly. “I thought it would prompt you to talk to me but it backfired immensely.”

Silence falls over you two. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“For being your mate.” Azriel responds. “I don’t deserve you. My hands are not only scarred but stained red. I’ve tortured many. I’ve killed many. You value life but I take it.”

“I value innocent life. It’s my duty to protect nature–to protect those that cannot speak for themselves.” You clarify. “I understand that it’s your duty to protect this court. I don’t see you any different for it.”

The hand at his face drops and you use it to remove the glove from his other hand. Your hands grasp onto his larger ones and you lace your fingers with his, embracing the thickened and roughened skin. Azriel’s breath hitches.

 “This can’t be real,” he murmurs to himself, dropping his gaze. “In that field of dandelions, I wished upon every one of them. For you.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” you tell him with a smile as an overwhelming rush of tenderness comes over you. “It cannot create or destroy love. It can only heighten what is already there.”

Azriel’s expression softens and he looks back up at you. Half terrified. Half hopeful. “So this is real?”

You decide to show him instead by leaning down and kissing him. 

Azriel’s body relaxes and then he’s using his hands to tug you forward and onto his lap. He kisses you back. Deeply and desperately. He places his hands on your face, your neck and then they’re at your waist, slipping under your shirt. He wants to feel your skin, all of you and you welcome it, arching into him because his touch feels so good.

It stirs a light of desire in you–a desire so bright that it rivals the sun and blossoms flowers of its own. A desire to love and be loved. 

“What else did you wish for?” You gasp out when you both pull away for air. His hands are right under the curve of your chest and he leans his forehead against yours.

His breath is heavy but he smiles at you and you engrave the image into your mind because you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. You’re inclined to ask Feyre to paint it for you later.

“My only wish was for you to be mine.” He confesses, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Done.”

And then he’s kissing you again.

Azriel has heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime–he’s seen it come to his brothers. He never thought it would come to him but he’s pretty sure that you are that love of his and he was a fool to push it away. He knows this now because when he gazes into your eyes, he can see forever in them.

here's an alternate scene, where y/n is the one who says "please don't talk to me like that" instead of az: read here

here's a scene if you're curious about feyre's reaction: read here

if you're interested in reading more about this au you can find the masterlist for this series here

[engstlersbueckers]

E. Engstler NSFW Alphabet

A/N: Haven’t seen anyone do this yet. lets mix it up.lmk what ya think and apologies for any mistakes!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

She’s an angel when it comes to aftercare.Asking multiple times if she was too rough with you and no matter how much you insist you can do it on your own,she always cleans you up. “Uh uh. You stay right here I got it baby.”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Emily’s an ass girl. I said wtf I said. She’s always grabbin on your ass. Loves rubbing it when you’re cuddling and dont get me started on when she’s fucking you from behind. The sound your ass makes when she’s hittin it from the back drives her crazy. As for you,her hands(quite literally) have a chokehold on you. All she’s gotta do is move her hands in a certain way and your mind just fixates on it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

She’s addicted to making you cum. She wont stop until you’re gushing all over her fingers,tongue,strap,etc. Your taste is something she can’t live without.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory,)

She’s not really super secretive about what she wants to do with you. If it’s something she wants to try she’s gonna tell you straight up.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh she definitely knows what she’s doing. The best sex you’ve ever had in your life was from her. The way she fucks is unique,but she can lay it down like her strap is attached to her body.

F=Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy. Like i said a few letters ago she loves the feeling of your ass bouncing against her.And in doggy,she can still get up in your ear and talk to you,pull your hair,and reach around and play with your clit all she wants.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Not much laughing during the act but afterwards she’ll have you cracking up. Usually saying something dumb like “I hope I wont lookin’ at you all crazy I was really into it.”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She always says “The only hair you’re gonna find is on my head” so do with that what you will.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You mean everything to her so she fucks you like it. She takes her time to warm you up before she even takes off her own clothes.When she’s putting her strap in you, she holds you really close and kisses you while she slides it in. “There it is…That’s my fuckin’ girl.So pretty for me.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

She doesn’t touch herself much. Maybe on certain occasions like an away game she’ll call you and you get off together. But not much other than that. She has great self control.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She’s pretty big on asphyxiation. She loves to choke you. Especially if you’re in front of a mirror,she loves seeing your eyes glaze over in the reflection and feeling how tight you get when she does it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Yall have pretty much done it all over the apartment. But her personal favorite is in the shower.The warm water running down your bodies while you kiss and touch all over each other,the way she presses you against the shower door. Theres something about it thats so hot to her.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The sounds you make get her so riled up,but it’s one particular sound you make every time she hits your g-spot,it almost bottoms her out she loves it so much.“Oh my god,fuck. Make that noise again baby,I love it.”

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything either of you are uncomfortable with you wont do.Pretty straightforward.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She loves giving you head.Every single time she does you damn near have to push her off you to get her to stop. The sensation of her piercings just intensifies it too.So anytime shes licking up your slit,or sucking your clit you can feel them<3

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely depends on the mood. If you’re feeling really intimate,she’ll fuck you nice and slow and deep. Taking her time to fill you up to the hilt. But when she’s angry or really fired up,it’s game over for you.She’ll have your eyes in the back of your head within seconds. Just pounding away at you like you’re her favorite sex toy.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

There’s not really much time in either of your schedules for quickies so you don’t really do them often. Unless it’s right before a date or an important event and you have some time to kill.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Both of you agreed to be pretty open minded with a lot of things,including things that involve your sex life.So she’s almost always down for experimenting.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Baby,she’s an athlete. She can go for however long she pleases. She even teases you about being able to keep up after a couple rounds. “No way you’re tappin’ out on me already? C’mon gimme one more.”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Most of the toys that you own she uses them on you. Of course you can use them whenever you want but she prefers to help you out. Like if its a vibrator she’ll sit you between her legs and keep it right on top of your clit while she teases your breasts and talks you through it.“I know…I know baby. You’re doing so good for me. Makin’ me so proud.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She loves teasing you. When she does it she’ll do something real subtle like “accidentally” resting her hand waay too close to your inner thigh. Then when you call her out she’ll play dumb.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

She’s more of a talker than anything.But she prefers when you’re the one getting loud for her. “Dont cover your fuckin’ mouth lemme hear it. Let everyone know whos fuckin’ the shit out of this pussy.”

W = Wild card (a random

headcanon for the character)

Okay..personally I feel like she’s really into phone sex. Like i feel like a broken record when i say that she loves being verbal with you. And she thinks it’s so hot that she has the power to get you off even when you’re miles away from each other. Of course she’ll always leave you anticipating what she’s gonna do to you when she comes back. “Hope you don’t have anything planned cuz once I get home I’m tearin’ that pussy up.”

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

She’s not on some wimpy dick shit. When she says she’s packing,she doesn’t just mean there’s a strap in her pants. That thing got some size to it. Her biggest one she has in “the shoebox” is an 8 inch. (It’s also your personal favorite :) )

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

She can be hard to read sometimes,but when her sex drive is high,you can tell because she gets really handsy. Not just the usual touching but she’s constantly grabbing your ass ,kissing all over your neck,she can just be straight up pussywhipped sometimes.

A/N:Yay you made it to the end!! This is my first ever time writing one of these so I really hope you liked it. If you have any requests my inbox is always open. I love youu<3

-S🩷

[gilverrwrites]

Best friends to lovers, but it's Dick Grayson.

≈1.3K words, CWs: F!Reader, cunnilingus, dirty talk. Pet-names: Princess, baby girl, pretty girl. Rating: 18+ MINOR DNI

Your best friend Dick Grayson has no boundaries.

He helps himself to your food, swapping and changing dumplings for noodles, carrots for celery, dips his fries in your milkshake, without even asking.  

He leaves his dirty clothes in your washing hamper, ‘borrows’ your lotions, and leaves his streaming services logged in on all your devices. In the winter he puts his cold hands under your shirt, stealing your warmth, and laughs when you flinch. “But you’re so hot!” He whines, hugging you tighter, “Let me hold you a while longer, please.”

In the summer he struts around your apartment, shirtless and sheening with sweat, eating your ice cream, pumping up the AC so he and Haley can chill out post-run. Not that you mind, it’s just that ‘oh, no, he’s my best friend’ is a hard sell when you bring dates home.

At random hours of the early morning, he wakes you up by crawling into bed with you, clings to the over-sized shirt you're sleeping in that is clearly his and makes fun of your tattered old underwear. “They’re comfy!” “They’re… something...” He trails off, all dreamy and quiet, refusing to expand before falling asleep, and is gone by the time you wake up.  

Your best friend Dick Grayson brings you gifts from all over the world. Chocolates from that one mom-and-pop you once mentioned in Keystone, jewellery, and perfume he probably paid way too much for from market vendors in cities like Paris and Istanbul, risqué pieces of underwear from Milan.

On late nights, he rests his head on your tummy, settled between your thighs as you watch your favourite film series for the nth time, smiling to himself as you babble on about your favourite scenes, about facts he already knows because you already told him, but he wants to hear you say it again anyway. When you start falling asleep on the couch, he lifts you, bridal style with ease, and carries you to the bedroom. “Come on then princess, let’s get you to bed.” “I can do it myself.” “You can’t even keep your eyes open, let me.”

He brushes stray pieces of hair out of your face when you’re too engrossed in something to do it yourself, when your hands are too full to reach, or when he wants to get a better look at you, just because he loves looking at your face.

“Um, what are you doing?” He nonchalantly hooks his finger into the waistband of your trousers, disappointed when he gets a not-too-subtle peek at neither your endearing threadbare usuals, nor the lacey Italian ones he’d bought for you.

Your best friend Dick Grayson flirts with you blatant and publicly;

“The red or the blue?” “Neither.” “I have to wear something!” “I’d love to see you wearing nothing.” “Wear the blue, always the blue.” Jason would never let it go otherwise.   “What do you want?” “You.” “I meant to eat.” “Same answer.” “I could never be you.” “What? Why?” “Must be tiring, being that cute.”

He texts you when you’re not together. “Good morning pretty girl” “saw this and thought of you.” “What are you wearing?”

One day you text back a picture, a mirror selfie from behind, your skirt hiked up, showing off the tiny navy-blue thong and he doesn’t text back. You worry that you’ve taken it too far, overstepped a line. 

Until your best friend Dick Grayson is waiting for you when you arrive home, sporting a nasty black eye and a smile the size of titan tower. In actuality, that image was exactly what he’d been hoping for every time he messaged. That image had been ingrained in his mind since you sent it, and it was one thousand times better than he’d imagined. That image was his hook, time to reel you in.

“Sorry I didn’t text back, I was speechless. No really, I got this” he points to the purple bruise forming around his eye “because I was distracted, thinking about you.”

“It’s cool, you didn’t have to say anything.” You lie. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before.” 

“Can I see it again?”

In the middle of your cramped kitchen, your best friend Dick Grayson lifts your skirt above your waist and drops to his knees, brazenly eying your folds. On request, you take the skirt from his hands, holding it up, exposing yourself as you do a little twirl for him, letting him see the full picture. 

When he lands a playful smack on your ass-cheek he grins, thrilled by the playfully petulant look you fire at him over your shoulder. When he runs a finger over your clothed slit, he’s even more delighted by the way your body shivers, by the hint of wetness he can feel seeping through the thin piece of fabric.   

You don’t stop him when he hooks a finger in the crotch, pulling the obstructing lace to the side, or when he runs his fingers through your now exposed lips. Deft fingers tease you, ghosting over your clit with no real fiction, making your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Want something?” The sight of him at your feet, watching you through defiant eyes��has you weak.  

“Yes, touch me.” The sight of you, spread and writhing has him near feral, but he wants something more. 

“I’m already touching you, Princess.” He laughs, his warm breath against your slick tingles. If his breath is enough to make you quiver, he can’t wait to find out what his tongue will do to you. “Ask for something else. Nicely.”

You’re not sure exactly what he wants you to say, so you stammer the first words that come to mind; “Please Dick, stop teasing. Just do whatever you want to do, I want it too.” 

It’s enough. 

Your best friend Dick Grayson lifts you by your knees, setting you on the counter and securing your thighs over his shoulders as he descends on your folds. He’s messy and desperate, unable to get enough of your sweetness, darting his tongue in every direction until he finds the select few motions that have your fingers curling in his hair, have you panting his name between loose lips.

When you start to roll your hips, using his mouth for your own pleasure he can’t help but moan, the reverb sending further vibrations through your body that has your toes curling. He’s rock hard, itching to palm his cock, to grind it against the closest surface, but that’s an afterthought. He won’t get off until he’s lapped up your climax at least once. 

“Are you gonna cum for me?” His words are slurred, muffled between your legs, unwilling to pull away long enough to get his words out cohesively. “I want you to cum all over my face, okay baby girl?”

If he wasn’t already salivating against you, Dick’s mouth would water at the sight of you. Your body begins to jerk, your back arching, head thrown back as your orgasm hits you, his firm hands tighten around your legs, locking your lower body in place until all your tension is gone, and his face is soaked with your fluids. 

As you come down from your high, he savours the flavour, occasionally licking up stray droplets from your skin. He admires the way you look, head lolled to the side, eyes static under heavy lids, jaw slack, until it’s too much, until he needs to see you high on his doing once more. Without warning he lifts you. The collar of his shirt is damp, his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable for round two.” Your best friend Dick Grayson says as he cradles your body in his arms. 

[lupinqs]

PROLOGUE ━━ Beginning of the End

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 3.8K

☆ ━ warnings: small mention of homophobia, underage drinking, think that’s all idrk

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!!! this is the prologue to my new hopkins p fic and i’m so excited cause it’s taken me so fucking long to actually get this whole fic cooked up but now it’s here and the chapters shouldn’t take too long to come out. anyways you could lowkey probably read this as a one-shot but i have so much more planned for paige and dani so if you wanna keep reading, just be prepared for lots of angst 😊

DANI CALLAN sits at the desk, curling the last remaining pieces of her hair, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. It’s late May, and the warmth of the Minnesota summer is just beginning to set in, but the night air outside does little to soothe the sheer annoyance that has gripped the girl all day. Tonight is the last night she has with Paige before her best friend is whisked away for the summer due to her thousands of basketball obligations. And guess where they’re going?

A party.

A party. Dani fights the urge to scoff at the thought, jaw clenching.

Paige is excited, though. She’s been excited ever since her basketball buddy told her about it earlier this week, buzzing with energy. “It’ll be fun,” she said, her blue eyes shining with that infectious enthusiasm that makes Dani melt every time. “One last hurrah before I’m off to camps and Thailand and everything else.”

Dani tried to muster some enthusiasm, tried to match Paige’s smile, but she could feel her own fading before it ever really took hold. Because she doesn’t want to go to a party tonight. She doesn’t want to waste the precious few hours she and Paige have left together surrounded by a bunch of people they hardly know, shouting over music, drinking cheap alcohol, pretending to have a good time. Dani wants to be alone with Paige, have her best friend all to herself. She wants to talk. To laugh. To maybe, just maybe, get the courage to tell her what’s been weighing her shoulders down for months now.

But instead, they’re going to a party.

Dani sighs, turning the curling iron off as she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her hair falls in long, loose waves down her back, light makeup coating her face. She wears a simple tank top and jeans—nothing special. She doesn’t feel special tonight. She feels like she’s being cheated out of something, and she can’t even put her finger on what it is.

“Dani! You ready?”

Paige’s voice rings out from the hallway as she opens the door to her bedroom. Dani grabs her phone and looks up and over at Paige, who stands in the doorway with a radiant smile on her face. She’s dressed in all black—black leggings and a black long sleeve—with her favorite pair of lavender dunks on her feet. Her blonde hair’s been done up in its usual ponytail, and she’s got a little bit of mascara coating her lashes. She looks effortlessly beautiful, like she always does, and for a moment, Dani forgets all of her frustrations.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Dani lies, forcing a smile.

“Great, c’mon,” Paige says, grinning as she takes Dani’s hand, the pair of them leaving Paige’s house through the front door.

As they walk down the street, Dani can’t help but feel a pang in her heart. She’s grown up next to Paige, and this street, this neighborhood, has been their playground for as long as she can remember. Every corner holds a memory, every crack in the sidewalk a story. And, now, with Paige leaving tomorrow, Dani feels like she’s about to lose a piece of herself. Sure, after the summer they still have the entirety of their senior year together. But after that? Nothing. Because Paige will have summer sessions and be at UConn and become a basketball star and Dani will still be here. Of course, there’s been short, hopeful conversations about Dani going to Connecticut, too, so that they can spend their college years together. But Dani knows it’s unrealistic—her dad wants her to stay in Minnesota so she’ll stay in Minnesota. And Paige will be a thousand miles away, starting a new life that doesn’t involve her childhood best friend.

“Who’s all gonna be here tonight?” Dani asks as they walk along the sidewalk, trying to start conversation.

“Oh, everyone, I think,” Paige says, bobbing her head enthusiastically. “I mean, y’know probably like the same crowd from New Years. Maybe more, since some of Luca’s college friends are back. Ion know, prolly whoever’s in a five mile radius that’s wanting free booze. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

Dani nods and bites her lip, trying to swallow down her disappointment. “Yeah, fun,” she echoes, trying to sound convincing.

They walk in comfortable silence for a little while, Paige sometimes purposefully walking into Dani and making her stumble a little. Dani watches the blonde out of the corner of her eye, heart banging against her chest as if it’s a jail cell, forced to hold inside everything it longs to say. She wants to tell Paige that she doesn’t want to go to this party, that instead she wants to spend their night together, really together. She wants to tell Paige that the idea of losing her for three months—and then, once they graduate, for forever—has been tearing her apart inside.

But most of all, she wants to tell Paige that she loves her.

The thought has been haunting Dani for months now. It crept up on her slowly, in quiet moments and stolen glances, until now it’s become all she’s able to think about. She’s tried to push it down, tried to convince herself that it’s just a phase, just confusion. But the more she tries to ignore it, the more it seems to consume her.

Dani’s never been in love before. Sure, she’s dated boys in the past, liked them enough. But it’s never felt real, not like it does with Paige. Because Paige makes her feel alive in ways that no one else ever has. And that? That fucking scares the shit out of Dani. It scares her because she knows exactly how her dad would react if he ever found out. It scares her because she has no idea if Paige feels the same way. But most of all, it scares her because it’s not right—her liking another girl like this is wrong and it’s bad.

(Sometimes, though, it feels so right.)

And yet, tonight, with Paige leaving in the morning, Dani feels like she’s running out of time. Maybe tonight she can find the courage to say something—anything. Maybe tonight she can find the words.

(She doubts it.)

The party is already in full swing when Paige and Dani arrive. The house is packed with people, the music blaring so loud that the Callan girl can feel the bass thumping in her chest. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat, and Dani fights the urge to turn around and walk right back out the door. But Paige is already pulling her inside, their hands linked, her excitement palpable.

The pair make their way through the crowd, Paige greeting people left and right, voice loud and grin never wavering. Dani tries to keep up, tries to match her best friend’s energy—but she feels like she’s drowning in a sea of noise and bodies and it’s making her anxious.

It’s at times like these that Dani realizes just how different her and Paige are. Paige is outgoing and extroverted, a ball of energy and enthusiasm and it’s hard to ever keep her in a single place at once. She talks and talks and talks and she’s so charming she could probably make anyone fall in love with her. Dani’s the exact opposite. She’s introverted, preferring a small circle over a large one. She’s more withdrawn and quiet, and likes to listen instead of speak. She’s reserved and she doesn’t mind it—except when she’s at places like these.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” Paige shouts over the music, leaning close to Dani’s ear.

“Okay,” the Callan girl nods, watching as the blonde disappears through the crowd.

Left alone, Dani takes a deep breath, glancing around the room. She recognizes a few faces, people from school, but none of them are close friends. None of them are Paige. She briefly talks to the boy that was her Chemistry partner for the majority of last semester, before excusing herself and gravitating towards a corner of the room, away from the chaos, where she can at least try to collect her thoughts.

As she stands there, watching the party unfold around her, Dani’s mind begins to wander. She thinks about how different things are gonna be this summer, without Paige. She thinks about the way Paige smiled at her earlier, how her touch sent shivers down Dani’s spine. She thinks about what it would be like to kiss her.

“Dani?”

She blinks, snapping out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She glances up to see Paige standing in front of her, two red solo cups in hand and a concerned expression painting her face.

“You okay?” the blonde asks, handing Dani one of the cups.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the girl replies, taking the cup and offering a weak smile. “Just… thinking.”

Paige’s concern doesn’t waver. “You sure? You seem kinda, like… Ion know, off tonight?”

Dani hesitates, the words on the tip of her tongue. She wants to tell Paige everything. She wants to pour out her heart right there, in the middle of this stupid party, and finally let her best friend know just how much she means to her. But the words don’t come, stuck in the back of the brunette’s throat. She can’t bring herself to say them.

Instead, Dani takes a sip of her drink—some sort of vodka lemonade, she thinks—and forces herself to smile. “I’m good. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess. Big party.”

Paige studies her for a moment longer, blue eyes searching her best friend’s face for answers. Then, she seems to accept it, her grin returning as she leans in closer.

“Okay,” she agrees. “But lemme know if you need a break, yeah? We can always go out back on the swings for a bit or somethin’—just you and me.”

Just you and me. Dani’s heart skips a beat at the words, and she feel the tips of her ears beginning to redden like they always do when she’s flushed. However, before she can respond, someone calls out Paige’s name from across the room. The blonde girl glances over her shoulder, her smile widening when she catches sight of who’s beckoning her.

“Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” Paige says, giving Dani’s arm a reassuring squeeze before heading off to greet some tall boy that Dani can only assume is another basketball player.

The brunette watches her best friend go, feeling a pang of disappointment settle in her chest. She’d been so close to saying something, so close to telling Paige how she really feels. But now, the moment is gone, swept away along with Paige, leaving Dani alone once again—albeit, with a drink this time.

The night wears on, and Dani tries her best to keep up with Paige’s energy, but it only seems to be getting harder and harder. Paige comes and goes, sometimes bringing Dani with her, sometimes not. She moves through the whole party, laughing and talking with everyone, her charming smile never faltering. For a while, Dani follows along with her best friend, almost like a lost puppy. It then dawns on her just how pathetic she is as she endures Paige’s conversations with basketball bro after basketball bro. Eventually, Dani can’t take it, excusing herself. As she walks away, it feels like it’s Paige slipping from her grasp, even though it was Dani that left the blonde girl’s side.

Dani finds herself in the kitchen, making herself another drink to keep busy. And then she downs it. And repeats the process. It makes things easier, more bearable.

She keeps going for far too long before a voice calling her name interrupts the ongoing process. Dani turns to see Thaliah Sommers, and, when her eyes set on the girl, her shoulders automatically relax and she breathes out a sigh of utter relief.

“Oh, thank God,” Dani whines, leaning into Thaliah and resting a head on the girl’s shoulder.

Thaliah has known Dani and Paige since the fourth grade, when the trio had to share a table for half the school year. It sparked a long-lasting friendship, and Dani and Paige would both probably tell you that other than each other, Thaliah is their best friend. And Jalen Suggs, too. Even though he goes to a different school, Paige and his basketball connection ended up becoming more genuine and the blonde had introduced the boy to Dani and Thaliah, which basically became history. The four clicked almost instantly, and they’ve been great friends since. But Dani knows Jalen isn’t here tonight—he’s out-of-state, for basketball. He won’t be back til the end of July, she’s pretty sure.

“You having fun?” Thaliah asks as she wraps a friendly arm around Dani’s side, letting the drunker girl lean on her. Dani shakes her head, pouting childishly. Thaliah chuckles a little at the sight. “Anxious?” she adds, knowing the Callan girl well.

“And disgusted,” Dani nods, watching a boy chug from a keg across the room, beer spewing around him.

Both girls laugh at the sight, and then Dani’s had enough, eyes flitting away from the scene to a different one. She wishes she would’ve kept her gaze on the boy instead. Because this is much worse.

Over, near the back door, Dani sees Paige. Paige Bueckers, clear as day, in the flesh. And she’s kissing someone. A girl. A pretty blonde girl that Dani doesn’t recognize. The sight hits Dani like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her.

She stares in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest as she watches Paige pull the girl closer, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving in perfect sync. Dani digs her fingers into the side of her solo cup, crumbling it slightly; she feels like she’s going to be sick.

“Even more so now,” Dani mumbles, referencing her last comment.

Thaliah’s eyes widen, starting, “Dani—”

But Dani won’t hear it. She won’t hear anything. Without thinking, she turns and practically bolts from the house, her drink forgotten on the counter as she pushes her way through the crowd. She needs to get out of here. She needs to breathe. She needs to get as far away from that sight as possible.

The cool night air hits her like a splash of cold water as she stumbles out onto the front lawn, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her mind races, a jumbled mess of emotions that she can’t untangle. She feels betrayed, hurt, angry, but most of all, she feels stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Stupid for thinking that Paige could ever feel the same about her. Stupid for believing she had a chance. Stupid for letting herself become enough of a mess to not only like another girl romantically—but for that girl to be her best friend.

“Dani! Danielle, wait!”

Paige’s voice calls out from behind the girl, and Dani feels her heart lurch. She doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t want to face Paige right now, not after what she just saw. But her feet betray her, slowing to a halt as she reaches the sidewalk.

Paige catches up to her, slightly out of breath, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Dan, what the hell? Why’d you just run out like that?”

Dani turns to face the basketball player, and the anger she’s been holding back finally begins to boil over. “Why do you think, Paige?” she snaps, voice trembling slightly as she tries to keep her eyes from swimming.

Paige frowns, clearly taken aback by the venom in her best friend’s words. “I don’t know!” she replies, throwing her hands up. “That’s why I’m asking! What’s going on with you tonight?”

Dani lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “What’s going on with me? What’s going on with me? You seriously don’t fucking get it, do you?”

Paige’s confusion only deepens. “No, I don’t! Dani, please, just talk to me—what happened? What’s wrong?”

Dani clenches her fists at her sides, trying to keep her voice steady. “I just watched you make out with some random girl, Paige! That’s what happened! That’s what’s wrong!”

Paige’s eyes widen with realization, her baby blues flitting across Dani’s face in almost a panic. She takes a step closer to her best friend as she quickly says, “Oh… oh, shit, Dani, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Exactly!” the Callan girl cuts her off, her voice rising. “You didn’t think! You never think! You don’t think about anyone but yourself!”

Paige recoils as if she’s been slapped, her face falling. “Dani, that’s not fair…”

“Isn’t it?” Dani shoots back, anger spilling over once more. “You didn’t even care that this was our last night together! You didn’t care that I wanted to spend it with you, just the two of us! You only cared about going to this stupid party and kissing some random girl! Like I don’t even matter to you!”

Paige’s eyes fill with tears, and she reaches out to touch her best friend’s arm, but she jerks away. “Dani, please, that’s not true. I promise you it’s not. You matter to me more than anything. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

The brunette’s anger begins to wane, instead replaced by the overwhelming sadness that’s been building inside her all night. Her eyes swim and blur as her voice softens, shaking with emotion. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you? Why does it feel like if I don’t hold onto you as tight as possible, you’ll slip away from me?”

Paige stares at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. The only sound is the distant hum of the party and the rustle of leaves with the breeze. Dani’s heart pounds in her chest, her pulse quickening with each second that passes.

Finally, Paige takes a deep breath and takes a step closer to Dani, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not losing me, Dan. I promise you, you’re not.”

Dani stares at her, vision blurred with tears, voice breaking. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Paige stands still for a long moment, shutting her eyes tightly. When she opens them again, tears begin to spill down her cheeks. “Danielle,” she starts quietly, and Dani’s eyebrows furrow slightly at the usage of her full name. “Danielle, I have been in love with you since the sixth grade.” The statement makes the brunette’s eyes widen, jaw going slack, as her own tears finally begins to fall. “Remember when I got that concussion, at my game? You— you came to my house as soon as you found out, and you were crying at the thought of me being hurt. And I was the one that had to console you. And— and then you”—Paige sniffles and swipes a hand across her nose—“you kissed me on the head and told me that you would always take care of me. And that was when I knew. I knew that I loved you and that I could never ever really be with anyone that wasn’t my best friend, Danielle Lizzie Callan. I knew it then, and I—I know it now.”

Paige pauses, and then her voice breaks even more when she starts again, “But I’ve been so scared to tell you. I never thought you liked girls, I always thought you were straight. There was no way you could love me back, right? And I—I know how your dad feels about it all, and you know how long it took me to even tell you I liked girls because I was afraid that you felt the same way towards it that he did. And even when I found out you didn’t, I still thought that a girl being in love with you—that me being in love with you—would disgust you and you’d hate me for it. So I never said anything.”

Paige ducks her head as a sob cuts through her throat. Dani takes a step closer, reaching up to cup her best friend’s face in her hands.

“I don’t hate you, Paige. I could never hate you,” she tells the blonde sincerely, keeping her voice even. “And I could never hate you, because I’m in love with you, too.”

Before Paige can say anything, Dani leans in and presses her lips to the blonde’s. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if they’re both waiting for the other to pull away. Even if Dani feels her cross necklace begin to burn into her skin, she can’t stop. She won’t.

All the anger, all the hurt, all the confusion seems to melt away in that moment, leaving only the overwhelming relief of finally, finally knowing that Paige feels the same way. Dani keeps on kissing her, hands slipping from her cheeks to the nape of her neck as Paige’s hands find their way to Dani’s waist.

It isn’t perfect. It’s messy, and frantic, and a little sloppy, but it’s real. And it’s them.

When they finally pull apart, both of them are breathing hard, their foreheads resting together as they try to catch their breath. Dani feels like she’s floating, feels like she’s dreaming, and she doesn’t ever want to wake up.

“I love you,” Paige whispers. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Dani feels her heart swell up with so much happiness it might just burst. “I love you, too, P. So much.”

They don’t go back to the party. Instead, they go to Dani’s house, where they planned to have a sleepover anyways. The walk is short, and they do it hand-in-hand, swaying a little and giggling a lot. When they get to Dani’s porch and the girl begins to shuffle for her keys, Paige takes the opportunity to peck her neck from behind over and over and over again, whispering in the girl’s ear, “I love you.”

It’s so refreshing to hear Paige say it that, for a moment, Dani forgets about her keys and pulls her best friend in for another kiss on the mouth, closing her eyes and savoring it.

Eventually, they do get inside and find their way up into Dani’s bedroom. They change, and shuffle their way under the covers, bodies close, skin touching. Dani tries not to think about her father in the room beside hers, or the bible on her bedside table.

“I don’t want to leave you tomorrow,” Paige murmurs against Dani’s collarbone, sighing.

Dani’s heart slows at the thought, a deep pang, but she knows that there isn’t another option. “I don’t want you to leave either. But we’ll be okay. We’ll miss each other, but we’ll be okay.”

Paige nods, looking up and letting her eyes flit across Dani’s face as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of it. “Yeah, we will.”

(They won’t.)

[euphor1a]

Just the tip

* part of “boyfriend chronicles” — can be read as a stand-alone.

ꨄ pairing: mingyu x f!oc

ꨄ genres: non idol!au, established relationship, fluff, smut, slice of life.

ꨄ summary: he tried his best, he really did. but lord, for how long could he control himself when you looked like a pretty, little angel, all his to ruin?

ꨄ rating & word count: 18+ ; ~9.5K  

ꨄ warnings/tags: fluff (called me single in 100 languages typa way), plentiful pda, they’re so in love that it repulses me /j, profanity, explicit sexual content; dom/sub undertones (a bit of switch action as well), semi-public sex, breast play, biting/marking, size kink, praising, pet names, fingering, teasing, dacryphilia, begging, “just the tip”, unprotected, penetrative sex, big d*ck!gyu, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), creampie — this is a work of fiction and it doesn’t represent mingyu in any way.    

ꨄ a/n: this series is slowly starting to look like my villain origin story 😔... like wdym i can’t have kim mingyu 💔💔? *sigh* anyway, it’s been a while, enjoy <3!

His footsteps are light despite him being in a hurry. It’s almost as if he could start flying at any moment. Mingyu wishes that was an option. The sunlight filtering through his living room windows barely makes it to the kitchen, where he’s struggling miserably. 

Large, shaky hands grip onto the petite looking sliders he has just finished making, carefully placing them inside the various colorful lunch boxes splayed out on the kitchen island. Mingyu is heaving ever so slightly, a bit of perspiration starting to collect on his forehead. He’s nervous. And it’s silly, he knows. But he can’t help his rushing heart that is hammering against his chest. 

It’s been over ten minutes since you texted him that you’re on your way to the park you two are going to meet up for your date. And he’s still here, in his pj’s, trying to finish packing the picnic basket as quickly as possible without absolutely destroying it. Even though Mingyu woke up criminally early with the intentions to cook everything himself, he somehow managed to fall behind because of the stupid cupcake batter that refused to make anything edible out of itself. 

With what feels like the umpteenth sigh of the day, he manages to complete arranging the boxes inside the basket. However, he almost slips while hurrying to reach his bedroom. A string of curses leave Mingyu’s pouty lips, the muscles in his arms flexing to support his whole body against the wall. He still needs to get ready, leave his house, and buy some sort of dessert from the local bakery before finally meeting you.

Thanking himself for picking up and ironing the outfit yesterday night, he dresses up in a flash. Mingyu ponders if he should do something with his hair, but ends up keeping it the way it currently is. Sure, it is kind of messy, but it also gives him that ‘casually sexy’ look. A satisfied smirk and the bare minimum skincare along with sunscreen later, he regards himself in the mirror for one last time. Looking more than good to go.

That state of peace only lasts for a moment though. Not wanting to be even more late than he already is, Mingyu grabs his phone, wallet, keys and the basket. After another minute of scrambling, he puts on a random pair of loafers and heads out. Even though you haven’t contacted him since earlier, he feels anxious. Who knows for how long you’ve been waiting all alone? 

His long legs help him blaze past the bustling neighborhood, hands clutching on the basket’s handle in an attempt to stop it from swaying unsteadily. Mingyu is so wrapped up in his thoughts of you that he actually walks past the bakery — before realizing and taking a 180° turn. The elderly owner smiles at him brightly as he enters the cozy shop, somehow catching up on what exactly is happening with the usually calm and collected guy he has seen for so long. “Aah, Mingyu! Welcome, my boy! Long time no see, eh? What brought you here all of a sudden? Mayhaps a special day with a special someone?” 

“Hi, Mr. Owen! Hah, really though… I don’t remember the last time I found myself having a little dessert. Glad to be back here! Although, I’m just gonna pretend that I didn’t hear the last part…” Mingyu trails off, eyes taking in the pretty pastries and all sorts of baked goodness displayed in front of him. His heart jumps a little when he thinks about how your face contorts in pure joy whenever you ravish the sugar rush from something sweet. “Uh anyway! Please pack me a dozen of these pastel colored macarons! And maybe four of those glazed donuts? Oh my god… are those heart shaped pies?? Looks so cute! Please pack two of them too!” 

The man nearing his late 60s can’t help but laugh at Mingyu’s excited rambling as he points at the things he wants. “Calm down, calm down, I’ll get to everything one by one.” He folds up some new boxes before putting the delicate confectioneries into them. “You really don’t have to say anything though, the answers are written all over your face.” 

Mingyu, who was busy admiring the heart shaped pies, looks up, confused. “Huh?” 

“The question I asked earlier. Which you pretended to not hear. The answer to it is written all over your face.” Owen shakes his head with a smile on his face. 

“Oh–” Mingyu looks down at his feet. Is he really that obvious? But even if he is, should he care about it? Feeling happy and elevated to meet his girlfriend doesn’t always need to be embarrassing. 

“Don’t mind my little teasing now, will you? Do you want me to put these in your basket?” He’s brought back to reality by Owen’s voice. Mingyu nods and brings the picnic basket up on the counter. 

While the old man adds up the prices to write a bill after carefully putting all the desserts in the almost full basket, Mingyu finds himself zoning out. Would you like all the things he’s bringing? What if you have some secret allergy he doesn’t know yet, and you’re unable to eat? A pout forms on his lips. But then he remembers — he’s been pretty late by now, and you’re waiting for him in a place you’re not familiar with at all.

He hurriedly pays and grabs his basket, apologizing to Owen for not being able to hang around longer and leaving immediately. Once he’s outside again, he quickly takes his phone and calls your number. Mingyu almost feels jittery, scenarios going through his head that aren’t exactly nice. Thankfully for him, you pick up after a few rings, greeting him cheerily.

“Mingyu! Hello baby! I’m here already, are you on your way?”  

That alone is enough for the six feet tall, grown ass man to wish he could disintegrate into thin air right now. Not in a negative way, though. He just finds it extremely devastating that you called him “baby” like that. But Mingyu is quick to recover from that feeling. “Hi angel, I’m on my way!! I’m sorry you have to wait there all alone… I’m like a three minute walk away from the park. Do you, maybe, wanna keep talking over the phone?”

“Aw sure! And don’t worry about it please, I’m just standing beneath a large tree and enjoying the scenery! It’s so pretty here!” 

Three minutes feel like thirty seconds with you, as he already gets through the park’s elegant looking entrance. His eyes immediately start searching for you. “Baby, I just got through the main gate! Where are you?” 

“Oh! That was quick, Gyu; should I come over to the entrance?” 

“Nono princess! Stay where you are, I’ll be there. Just give me some directions!” Mingyu insists. To his surprise, you don’t give up for your cause.

“Why?” Your voice is nearly a whine, “It’ll be way easier if I just go where you are!” 

With his heart doubling in his chest from fondness, he sighs, “Fine… I guess. Come over quickly then, will you?” 

“Yep yep, already on my way! I can’t wait to see you!” You giggle excitedly, keeping your eyes on the path as you wander back towards the main gate. Mingyu waits by the side of a decorative statue for you. His gaze is searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person he’s grown to adore endlessly. 

It’s only a matter of seconds for you to spot each-other, two pairs of eyes lighting up with joy. You run to him giddily, colliding into his firm chest that you’ve fallen asleep on several times now. His large arms wrap around your small frame to pull you closer, as if on instinct.

You inhale his scent deeply, a mix of his cologne and the smell of fresh laundry from his black polo shirt. However, you do avoid getting your face smushed up against him— for the sake of your skincare and makeup. Both of you stay locked in each other’s embrace for a while, before eventually pulling away.

“You look so unbelievably pretty, my love.” Mingyu leans down to place a kiss on your head. “And smelling like a dream, as well.” Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you fiddle with the belt loops of his beige trouser.

Only now, you’ve become aware of exactly how fucking good he looks today. This black polo fits him like a glove, paired with trousers that accentuate his long legs. Oh and, he also has a pair of eyeglasses that adorns his handsome face. The whole imagery is pretty devastating to your brain as it fails to process everything your eyes have registered. Why is it even legal to look like this?

You suddenly feel majorly weak in the knees, but Mingyu supports you with his unoccupied hand, flashing you a cocky grin. “What happened, baby?” He teases, clearly aware of the effect he has on you. You hold onto his arms and regain composure, clearing your throat from embarrassment. 

“Uhm, you look… really really great as well.” His eyes twinkle as he smiles upon your compliment, the hand around your waist pressing you into him. Your heart flutters in your chest from the close exposure. Mingyu seems a bit more touchy-touchy than usual, considering that you guys are in public.

“All for you, my angel,” your boyfriend mutters right against your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As if that wasn’t satisfactory enough, he lets his lips brush over the shell of your ear, catching you even more off-guard. What the hell is in the air today? 

“Uhm– let’s go find a spot for our date? Or are we gonna just stand here?” You look up at Mingyu questioningly, doe eyes causing his heart to skip a beat. He sighs, just slightly annoyed with how his mind goes to unspeakable places with just that.

“Of course, baby, let’s find a place to sit down.” He smiles brightly, watching you wrap your smaller arm around his. To his dismay, his hungry eyes once again take in how pretty and irresistible you look in this flowy, white sundress. 

The soft material caresses your thighs with each stride; Mingyu wishes it was his hand instead. It’s absurd, but the way this dress has pretty flowers and hearts printed across it makes him wanna mark you up. The poofy sleeves, the sweetheart neckline that shows just enough to drive him crazy — God. Even the way your hair is loosely braided with stray locks tucked behind your ear? He genuinely wants to cancel all plans and take you to his home and do you all day.

It’s crazy, really. How can you just look like that and expect anyone to act like a normal functioning human? Mingyu shakes his head a little and inhales shakily. You deserve to get pampered on a picnic date as much as you deserve to get mind-blowing orgasms. 

“You’re not paying attention to me at all…” The sound of your dejected voice breaks him out of his reverie. Shit.

“No, no! Baby, please, I’m sorry… Uh, to be painfully honest with you, I’m distracted because you look so exceptionally pretty, like an angel who’s descended on Earth. But still, I’m really sorry for not listening to what you have to say. I promise I’ll focus from now on!!” He laces your fingers together and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“You’re such a flatterer, Kim Mingyu.” You try to hide your smile, sounding a bit angry to tease him. Your beloved boyfriend hates it when you call him by his full birth name; and this time is no different. However, to your surprise, instead of throwing a tantrum like he usually does, Mingyu leads you to the side of the path. 

“Wha—” you start, but close your mouth out of shock when he covers your frame entirely and leans down to press a sweet kiss on your lips. Your hands press against his toned stomach for support, your head emptying entirely. His lips are so soft against yours, the heat radiating from his body warming you up a bit too much. 

You pull away first, your whole face heated from his sudden action. As you take deep breaths to compensate for the air you lost during the kiss, Mingyu finally speaks up. “Don’t be mad at me today, my love. Please. I’m gonna be so, so sad. I promise I’ll do better but god, please don’t be upset.” His lips have formed his signature pout, your heart melting at the spot. 

You let your thumb caress over his pout, tip-toeing to peck him. Mingyu’s lips stretch into a smile, his unoccupied hand curling around your waist. “You’re so cute, how can I be mad at you?” You giggle, absolutely adored by this soft giant begging you to not be upset. 

“If I am cute, then what are you, princess?” Mingyu grins, nuzzling your hand before you move it away. You shake your head, not willing to debate on who’s the cutest. 

“Anyway, we should really find a place to sit down and get our picnic started. I was just saying that there aren’t a lot of people in the park right now, but we should still find a place with enough privacy.” 

The way Mingyu nods is like a puppy tilting its head. God, the way you’d commit arson for this guy. With a soft sigh, you continue. “And, I also have my own basket, which I left at an empty space I found by where I was standing. Let’s go there first, then we can move further into the park where not a lot of people will potentially find or bother us.” 

It takes you guys a few minutes to go and fetch your own basket, and probably another ten to fifteen minutes to find a spot for your picnic date. Mingyu is extremely happy with the grassy little patch surrounded by tall bushes and large trees, a big smile on his face as he takes out the picnic blanket he brought along. He can’t wait to show you all the food he made. 

Once he’s done setting the blanket, you take off your pastel pink mary janes and settle down on the blanket with your picnic basket nearby. Mingyu looks at you, a bit surprised. “You’re taking off your shoes?” The question makes you narrow your eyes. 

“And why wouldn’t I be taking off my shoes? To make this brand new blanket dirty?” His mouth forms an ‘O’ shape, before he nods. You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. “You can keep your shoes on, if you want. There’s no need to stink up this place.”

“HEY! I’m not that unhygienic, that last time I just forgot about laundry for some reason. I already told you… And I’m not wearing any socks today…” Mingyu trails off, discarding his loafers with a ‘hmph’. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop sulking, Gyu.” You watch him as he sits down as well, adjusting his trousers a bit to be more comfortable in this position. He overlooks you for now, reaching for his basket and carefully taking out the desserts first. Then, he produces a bunch of different tupperwares out of it, placing all the food in the center of the mat, between you two. 

You reach for your own basket as well, cautiously eyeing your boyfriend who seems to be extremely invested in unpacking all the food. The only things you’ve brought along today for the picnic date are flowers, a flower vase, a small canvas and some tubes of watercolor, besides your necessary belongings. Although it’s kinda embarrassing, it can’t be helped because Mingyu insisted on bringing everything for the date. 

“Gyu,” you murmur, hands anxiously gathering the loosely made bouquet inside your basket. It’s oddly nerve-wracking. You’ve never really received or given flowers in a relationship before. 

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up, eyes furrowed as he rummages through his basket. With a sharp inhale, you slowly retrieve the flowers, extending them towards him. Mingyu immediately turns to look at your shaky hands holding a bouquet of Jasmine and Lilacs, his face heating up as he realizes what’s going on.

“____, my baby,” he coos, bringing his hands to wrap around your trembling ones. “It looks so pretty, did you bring them for me?” You avoid eye-contact, but nod to give him confirmation. The wave of weird emotions that hits Mingyu is hard for him to explain. Usually, he’s been the one giving flowers to his partners in relationships. But, being on the receiving end for the first time, he feels as if he’s on top of the world. 

“C’mere.” He leans in to grab your waist, bringing you closer to him, before hoisting you up a little to place you on his lap. Mingyu fixes your dress, then  pulls you closer to rest against his chest. His left hand remains wrapped up around your midsection. “Thank you so much, love. I’m over the moon that you got me flowers. I’m so lucky to be dating you, angel.” He presses a kiss on your cheek, your heart almost bursting inside your chest. 

“Do you know Victorian floriography?” you look at him, slightly embarrassed. When he shakes his head as ‘no’, you go on, “It’s the language of flowers. Back then, gifted flowers used to have hidden meanings… But it’s kinda coming back in trend, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Mingyu ponders, “Then, does this bouquet of Jasmine and Lilacs have a secret message as well?” You nod, looking up at him with a shy smile. 

“Find it out later, okay? For now, please explain what you’ve brought along in so many boxes…?” Trying to change the topic, you take away the flowers to put them inside the vase you brought along, settling it in an empty space between all the packed boxes of desserts.

He chuckles nervously, suddenly remembering all the food he brought. “Uh… right. I might’ve gone a bit overboard with it, but I promise, sixty percent of everything you see is made by me, with so much love.” 

“Whoa!” you exclaim. “That’s a lot of things you made with your own hands… I’m honored.” Mingyu presses a kiss on the side of your neck, nuzzling it affectionately. Goosebumps spread across your skin, and you stop yourself from making any noises. It’s… weird that he’s being so intimate while you are pretty much in public. But god, does it do things to you… 

“You haven’t tasted anything yet, though. Heck, let me show you what’s inside first.” He reaches for the closest tupperware, and to your surprise, you see various, colorful fruits, all cut up in small heart shapes and laid out in rows. 

“Omg, so cute!!” you squeal, clapping your hands together in excitement. Mingyu beams at you, clearly happy with your reaction. 

“Hehe, there’s a lot more to see!” He stretches to grab two more boxes, each revealing tteok-bokki, your mouth inevitably watering from the sight. You’ve had these delicious rice cakes made by him a few times prior, and you loved it to bits. 

He leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Should I take out the chopsticks?” Mingyu closes the box with fruits in it, moving it to the side. “Let’s go from spicy to sweet, hm? I also made tiny sliders because you seem to like miniature food a lot! After these, we can have the desserts!” 

You nod in agreement, snuggling up to him more. Receiving treatment like this makes you feel like a princess. Even though you’re not sure how much he has brought along, you internally make up your mind to at least taste everything and applaud the effort he put into it.  

Once you guys are done eating everything he had prepared himself, you urge Mingyu to take a break and save the desserts for the very end. He agrees, not willing for the date to end anytime soon. 

“I brought along something else as well… if you let me go for a bit, I can take my basket and you can hold me again.” You say after a while of chatting about this and that. Your boyfriend eyes you curiously, loosening his arms around your waist momentarily. That is enough for you to grab your basket and settle down on his lap again. 

“What did you bring? I’m so curious! Wait— tubes of paint?!” To add more to his surprise, you take out the small canvas, a literal gasp escaping Mingyu. “What can we possibly do with these? I don’t see any brushes…” 

“It’s so surprising to me that you’re always on Instagram, yet you have no clue about this.” You tease, placing the canvas in a position where both of you can access it very comfortably. He raises an eyebrow at your comment, feeling very attacked. But he refrains from saying anything.

“Let’s just start doing it, okay? It’ll make sense immediately because it’s nothing complicated.” You sigh, taking Mingyu’s palm in yours. He looks confused as you take the red watercolor tube first, getting rid of the cap and squeezing out a generous amount on the top of pinky finger. 

“Oh…” He lets you take his hand and bring it to the center of the tiny canvas, pressing the paint covered finger carefully against the paper. “But what’s that supposed to do? It just looks like a blob of paint…” Mingyu looks at you questioningly as you retreat his pinky from the canvas. 

“Oh hush, don’t be so impatient!” You scold him jokingly, pointing towards a bunch of tissues. “Clean up your finger now! You’ll find out soon enough.” He puffs out his lower lip, reaching for a tissue while grumbling.

You take the tube of blue watercolor and cover your whole thumb with a thick layer of paint. Mingyu watches you curiously while you press on your thumb in the opposite direction of his ‘blob of paint’, trying to get the sizes as close as possible. “That is so fucking adorable?!” Your boyfriend erupts in cute aggression when you lift up your thumb, revealing a heart made with your fingerprints. 

“It’s so cute, you’re so cute, fuck, I–” He stops himself before any inevitable words roll off his tongue. Mingyu is well aware that you prefer to take things slow, and he wants to make sure that you can process everything at your own pace. His thoughts are interrupted by your giggles. 

He tightens his hands right beneath your chest, pushing you close to nuzzle the crook of your neck. “Is it that funny? So fun to watch me lose my shit because of how fucking adorable you are, hm?”

“It’s not like that…” you murmur, goosebumps all over your body. “I just thought that it’s kinda amusing how you were all clueless and nagging about it earlier, then suddenly, you were screaming about how cute this is.” It’s hard for you to not make any sounds when he’s caressing your sensitive areas, but you attempt to keep your voice low and steady. 

Mingyu wishes he could explain how much that tiny heart shaped painting actually means to him. It’s almost like all your heart is into those two blobs of red and blue paint, looking back at him, telling him secrets you’ve never shared with him before. He feels all warm and fluffy inside, his senses all wrapped around your nuances. “Can I keep that for myself?” 

“Of course!” You smile brightly at him, extremely giddy that he wants to keep this small token of your feelings for him which will last way longer than the flowers. “Let the paint dry first, though.” 

“Sure, baby.” He squeezes you in his arms. “Can we have the desserts now? I know it doesn’t look like it, but there are plenty of them.” Mingyu whines, feeling sort of desperate to show you everything he bought earlier. Thankfully for him, you nod, perking up at the mention of many desserts. 

He reaches for the box with pies first, knowing very well you’ll absolutely adore them. And you do, blessing his ears with one of those cute squeals of yours, eyes sparkling at the sight in front of you. “OMG!! So pretty! And it looks delicious!” 

“Mhm, I had a feeling you’d love to have these. Let’s dig in!” Mingyu takes out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, squirting out some of it on both of your hands. These pies are very conveniently palm-sized. With its crust shaped like a heart, ruby red filling made out of cherries — it sure does make you feel hungry just by looking at it. 

“C’mon, take a bite,” your boyfriend muffles out, mouth already full of the big bite he has just taken. You nod gingerly, taking a shy bite of the pie as well. The buttery, flaky crust, paired up with a bit of the sweet cherries melt in your mouth, a satisfied sound rumbling in your throat. 

“Mm, it’s really good!” The smile on your face is like a whole trophy to Mingyu. You liked it. He’s so glad that he can’t really explain. 

“Yay!!! I got you donuts and macaroons as well!” He blurts out, all giddy looking at you savoring the sweet dessert. Once you’re done with the pie, he reaches for the boxes of both donuts and macarons, earning a small whine from you.

“I can’t eat that much… I’m almost full.” 

“Why? You only ate a little…” A frown forms on your boyfriend’s lips.

“Gyu. I had a ton of tteok-bokki. Then sliders. Then fruits. On the dessert side, I already had a pie. I’m really, really, sorry, but that looks like a lot of macarons and donuts. My stomach will either burst or I’ll just throw up at the end of this!” You try your best to make your point stand, pleading with your eyes for him to understand.

Mingyu heaves out a sigh. “Fineee. You’re gonna take the macarons back home with you, then. I bought these especially for you. And I’m not listening to any complaints about that.” 

“Gyu, that kinda makes me feel bad though… you basically did everything for this date.” 

“Baby, I did everything voluntarily because I wanted to treat you like this. Like you deserve to be treated. And c’mon now! You brought flowers for me, and came up with a fun little activity to do. What about all the dates we’ve had before that were totally planned by you? So pretty please, with a cherry on top, don’t turn me down?” 

You turn in his lap to face him, blinking back the silly tears that clouded your vision. He hums in approval as you wind your arms around his neck and pull him in for a sweet kiss. Although, you pull back soon enough, resting your foreheads together instead. “You mean so much to me,” you mutter, eyes locking with him. 

A strange warmth spreads throughout Mingyu, radiating inside-out and filling up his heart. He doesn’t really know what to say back — simply because he’s over aware of the fact that he is completely and utterly in love with you. But he doesn’t want to hurry, he wants to move with you, as you slowly open up your petals to him, like a flower does to a sun. 

“I wish there were words in my vocabulary capable of explaining how much you mean to me.” He smiles softly, pressing a butterfly kiss to the corner of your lips. Mingyu absolutely adores the sound of your giggle that drifts to his ears. 

“You’re so cheesy, I kinda like it.” 

“Just 'kinda'?” He can’t help his own chuckle. “And here I thought I was getting a lot of charm points for being cheesy.” 

“You can be cheesy all you want, baby. I think most of your charm points come from your physical features at a first glance.” You boop his nose, both of you bursting out in laughter. 

“Are you saying that I’m handsome?” 

“Mhm. Very handsome, in fact. Very tall as well. Very… very big too.” You can see the playful glint vanishing from his eyes. Mingyu inhales a shaky breath. 

“Let’s get to those donuts now. Please?” 

You nod, moving around to get back on your previous position. He bites back a groan as your hands feel around, squeeze and grab on his thighs before you settle down. “What donuts did you bring?” 

“Glazed donuts, cause you really liked them the last time!” He wraps an arm around your waist, adjusting you to be closer to him. Mingyu is well aware that he’s barely holding up. But, he’s trying to convince himself that being closer to you can get him through his… hard times.

“Whoa omg these look so good?!” His inner monologue is interrupted by your squeal. A small smile curls up his lips. 

“Right? Dig in, baby!” He encourages, leaning forward to take a donut for himself. You follow suit, excited to bite into the sugary heaven. 

The sweet dough crumbles in your mouth upon the first bite, the sugar glaze hitting your taste buds just right. As you savor the pleasant taste of it, a satisfied hum rumbles in your throat. “Gyu, this tastes heavenly. Way better than the last time we had it! And I loved the ones we got back then?!”

“I’m so glad, my angel. I’ll get you more the next time we meet up~” Your boyfriend nuzzles your hair affectionately, his heart doubling in his chest from adoration. It’s hard to explain how great he feels simply by seeing you happy, enjoying your food. Maybe, it’s because Mingyu himself loves to eat heartily and cook for his people; he hopes that he can see you like this forever. 

It would be so nice, he would cook for you everyday and help you out whenever you felt like cooking, and dine-out and order in as your heart desires. 

You’re almost done with your second donut by now, but Mingyu hasn’t said anything or even touched his portion after saying that he’d bring you more. Kind of worried, you turn your head to look at him, finding his eyes transfixed on you. 

“... Hello? Why’d you go silent? Is something in my hair or—” you stop halfway when you notice his gaze has shifted to your lips now. It makes you swallow nervously, anticipation building up in your system. You know that look all too well. 

“There’s something on your lips.” His voice is nonchalant, relaxing your senses a bit. You nod, attempting to wipe off the crumbs with your hand, but he catches your wrist, leaning in swiftly to wrap your lower lip between his. 

Goosebumps spread all over your body, hands automatically winding around his neck as he suckles on the delicate flesh of your lips. His free hand rests against the small of your back, urging you to turn towards him fully. 

You really don’t understand how he can kiss you this good when you are yet to open up to his tongue. Your body has already started to heat up, breathing uneven. With shaky hands, you clumsily take off his glasses, his lips curling up in a smile against yours. 

Soon enough, he coaxes your mouth open, his hand letting go of your wrist and cupping your jaw instead. You both moan simultaneously, crazed by the sweet aftertaste of the desserts. Mingyu is extremely eager, taking the lead as always, your body starting to quake from the mind numbing kiss.

Picking up on your struggle to breathe, he pulls away just enough to whisper against your lips. “You have to keep breathing through your nose, baby. You can’t just forget to breathe, even if I’m kissing you so good for so long that your mind goes blank.” 

You flush at the mention of your usual complaint against him whenever he has to give you space to breathe during a make-out. “I… I try, I swear, but it’s…” you trail off between huffs, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, am I giving my princess a hard time?” Mingyu pats your head, nudging you to get back up. You nod, a small chuckle escaping him. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he leans in for a brief peck. “And so pretty, looking like a fairy today.” 

He returns to the kiss with full passion, tongue immediately entangling with yours, a low groan escaping him. You taste so maddeningly sweet, like an endless source of honey to his bee. He suckles on your tongue, his teeth nibbling on your lips, reducing you to an absolute mess. You are, quite literally, shaking, arousal dripping down your core and ruining the pretty lace thong you wore for today’s date. 

“Aah–” you gasp as he trails down to press wet, sloppy kisses down your neck, hands pulling at the sleeves of your dress. You don’t stop him, threading your fingers through the luscious locks of his wavy hair. Mingyu has nearly forgotten that you guys are technically in public, and has made you do the same. He drags your bra strap off your shoulder using his teeth, biting and sucking on the newly exposed skin.

One of his hands is wrapped around your waist to secure you, his other hand slipping beneath the skirt of your dress, stroking your thighs. Only now, you suddenly remember that you’re on a picnic date in a somewhat secluded part of a very public park. “Mm–mingyu– don’t—” you struggle with your words,  overwhelmed by his ministrations. He’s everywhere — touching, squeezing, licking, kissing and biting. “Stop, please.” You whimper, his actions halting immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu lifts his head to assess your situation, looking dazed himself, his voice hoarse. You swallow nervously, your own eyes glazed with tears that had appeared because he made you feel a bit too good.

“We… we’re in public,” You state firmly. “We can get caught in a very indecent state if we keep going.” 

Mingyu takes a look around the surroundings. Tall bushes and plenty of large trees cover this small patch of area entirely. He knew exactly what he was doing when he chose this spot. One would have to wander off very far into the park and physically push off bushes to get in here like you guys did. Which, to him, seems extremely unlikely. 

“I wouldn’t call this public, my love.” He takes both of your hands to entwine your fingers. “And I highly doubt someone would come this far and specifically peek around the bushes to catch us. You do remember how long it took us to get here, no?” 

“Yeah… but, what if—” 

“There are no ‘what if’s, my angel. Even if someone did come this far into the park, they’d still have to manhandle the bushes to be able to see what’s on the other side. Please, trust me…” 

His broken look stirs something in you, and you lean in to touch your foreheads together. “I do trust you. And I want you as much as you want me,” you whisper shyly, your thong uncomfortably damp and sticking to your skin. “But, wouldn’t it be better if we go home quickly, and um, finish what we started…?” 

Mingyu sighs, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you as close as possible. “I don’t think I can hang on for that long, baby. I need you so fucking bad. I’ve been struggling to keep myself together for an embarrassingly long time now. You– You just look so goddamn pretty. Like a tiny little fairy who is all mine to ruin. Fuck, just… just see what you’ve done to me.” He takes one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, blood rushing to your face. 

“If you want me just as much as I do, you must be soaking wet, right?” His whisper is hot against your neck, right hand holding your own to his growing bulge while his left hand slips between your thighs. You gasp when he rubs his fingers against your ruined underwear, a satisfied grunt reverberating in his throat. “Fuck.” Mingyu curses under his breath, his hips bucking up to your joined hands.

“You really want us to go home in this state? Hm?” His voice is a whine, only adding more to your devastation. To be really honest, all logical reasoning left your system the moment he made you feel his hard-on. And then he had to feel your drenched thong in return as well, arousing you to the extent where you don’t really give a fuck about being in the open anymore.

“Hngh, fine— do it quickly.” You whimper, every inch of you begging for his touch, to be relieved. Mingyu smiles, ecstatic upon your words, hungry lips finding yours for a kiss. You moan at the contact, pussy clenching around nothing. 

“As my princess wishes.” He hums, pulling down your dress to reveal your bra. His pupils dilate at the sight in front of him. Even when he dragged down the straps of your bra with his teeth, he didn’t think you’d be wearing a rather provocative lacey piece today. “Fuck,” Mingyu bunches up your dress around your waist, a groan escaping him.

Is this another fantasy of his? Cause no, fuck, you sure do look like it. 

The delicate lace work barely covers anything, his cock throbbing inside the confines of his boxer-briefs. He feels like he’s high. “Baby,” your boyfriend rasps, “do you even understand what you do to me? Hm?” 

“You like it?” your voice is a whisper, fingers digging into his shoulder from nervousness. A part of you knows the answer already, but still, hearing it out loud from him always makes you feel butterflies. 

“You’re really asking me that? Fuck, I love it, you’re so fucking pretty, I can’t believe that you’re real, and mine.” Mingyu groans, one of his hands reaching for your bra and pulling at its cups. His mouth immediately attaches to your left breast as soon as it is released. You gasp, body quivering at the touch. He bites and suckles on the soft flesh teasingly before reaching for your hardened nipple. 

You whimper out his name, fingers gripping on his hair. The way his tongue swirls around and suckles on the sensitive bundle of nerves makes you dizzy. More arousal leaks out of your core, desperation cresting higher and higher. You need him in you, right now.

But Mingyu is lost in your breasts, reaching for your right one after a while, teeth dragging over the nipple before his tongue slurps at it. You quiver and whine in his arms from all the sensations you’re feeling. He knows exactly what to do to make you feel good, and he never slacks off at that. 

“You’re so perfect, my little angel.” Mingyu hums, his right hand groping your left boob. “Fits so perfectly in my hand, so cute,” he murmurs before looking up at you. As he meets your tearful eyes, he loses a bit more of his sanity. 

“Damn it, you look so—” he stops short, breathing heavily. Will he ever get used to the way you look during intimacy? Probably not. The flushed face, teary eyes and parted lips always gets him.

“Gyu,” you whine, hugging him tightly. “It hurts, please do something,” your whisper is hot against the shell of his ear. Mingyu can’t help but smirk, wondering if he should tease you. “Need you in me.” your sweet plea stirs him, more blood rushing towards the south.

“Fuck it.” He reaches between your thighs, cupping your pussy. The soaked, warm fabric makes him growl. Your hips immediately start rocking, generating friction — something you’ve been craving for so long now. You sigh in relief, using his hand to stimulate yourself.

“What if someone sees you like this right now? So needy, humping my hand?” Mingyu asks, amused. Goosebumps spread over your skin, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. However, you don’t stop moving your hips, inner walls clenching in desperation. 

“Do–don’t say that,” you whimper, “so embarrassing.” 

“Is that so? But you’re still rubbing into my hand, though.” 

“It’s because you won’t help me…” 

Mingyu can’t help but chuckle, his thumb finding your clit and pressing on it firmly. You scream out, a strong pulse of pleasure spreading through your nerves. He shushes you, alarmed. “Shh, you can’t be so loud today, baby… what if someone hears you and decides to check what’s going on?” 

You bite your tongue, absorbing his words. The thought paralyzes you from embarrassment, but for some reason, your pussy has a mind of its own. “It’s all your fault,” you croon, “it’s all because you can’t control yourself.” 

“I already said this like a hundred times, but, you look so fucking pretty in this cute little dress, baby. So fucking pretty. How am I supposed to control myself? When all I can think about is ruining my sweet angel?” Mingyu rasps, his calloused fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles. You’re certain that your legs will give up at this rate, your whole body teetering from the stimulation. 

“Bu–but—” you lower your voice to a whisper, “people will catch us like this, what then?” He presses a fleeting kiss on the corner of your lips, pushing the soaked lace of your thong to the side and sliding his middle finger between your labia against your slit. You swallow back a moan, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Guess you’re gonna have to keep it quiet in that case.” Mingyu pushes the digit into your sopping hole, making a ‘shlick’ sound that surprises both of you. “Fuck, did you hear that? Did you hear how wet you are for me?” You squeeze him in response, nerve endings on fire. It feels so incredibly good to finally have something fill your aching core. 

“Move, please,” you whimper, getting impatient. As if to test you, he slowly starts dragging his finger down, before pushing it back inside in a rough manner. You muffle your squeal against his shoulder, overwhelmed yet wanting more of him.

Soon enough, Mingyu loses the patience to tease you, his own urges kicking in. His ring finger slides into the depths of your molten warmth as well, your walls clenching around him from excitement. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he hisses under his breath. Slow, languid movements let him feel the way your arousal coats his skin in a silky veil, making him feel kind of suffocated around his crotch.

“Baby,” you whine, “wan’ more, please.” The burning ache for a release fires through your system, every single one of your cells begging for more. A breathy laugh rings in your ears, to your dismay.

“Want what exactly, love?” Mingyu’s eyes are twinkling with mischief, knowing very well that he’s pushing your boundaries right now. 

“Harder,” your choked whisper is hot against the shell of his ear. He clenches his teeth, thumb pressing down onto the swollen nub before anything. A gasp escapes you, face falling to rest in the crook of his neck, breathing uneven. His fingers pick up speed eventually, your lower stomach in knots, a shiver running down your spine. If your mouth wasn’t pressed up against his skin, you probably would’ve blabbered about how good he’s making you feel. 

It doesn’t take long for you to crest up towards the pinnacle, whole body convulsing, preparing itself for the rushing relief it’s about to experience. Mingyu, knowing very well that you’re about to finish, adds a third digit into your slippery warmth, seemingly triggering your orgasm. You muffle your cries in his neck, falling onto him as your legs give up entirely. He holds you securely with his free arm, feeling kinda dizzy himself. His neck is all slobbered up, covered with messy bites you left while trying to silence yourself. 

It takes you longer than usual to recover, finding the strength to stand on your knees. Blood rushes to your face when you regard the state of your boyfriend’s neck, even the collar of his black polo a victim to your actions. Mingyu, on the other hand, barely holding on, finally starts to pull out his fingers from your pussy, your juices leaking out on his hand profusely from the movement. A breathy whimper escapes you, nerves alight for pleasure once again. 

“Fuck, take a look at this,” He holds up his hand between you two, the slightly viscous liquid catching the sunlight and glowing, making you flush. “You treat me s’well, baby, servin’ me liquid gold.” His words only make you even more embarrassed, eyes avoiding him at all costs. The lewd sound of his slurping sends a tingle through your core, droopy eyes shyly catching him lick his fingers clean. You shudder a little when he moans satisfactorily, eyes trained on you the whole time.

In a sudden surge of boldness, you reach out to caress his jawline, bringing him closer for a kiss. Mingyu hums, a smile forming on his lips before attacking your mouth with full force. You gasp and moan while he finds his way to your tongue, the growingly familiar taste of yourself on his saliva causing a new surge of arousal to your core. Quite desperate to feel him now, you fumble with the button on his trousers blindly, undoing it quickly before reaching for the zipper. 

“Fuck,” Mingyu pulls away with a hiss, his stomach tightening from the feeling of your hand lightly pressing onto his clothed cock. Your eyes greedily devour the outline of his boner, almost poking at the material of his boxer briefs. Pussy clenching at the thought of him filling you up, you pull at the waistband of his underwear. 

“My god, Mingyu,” you swallow nervously, unsure how to react as his heavy cock springs out of its confines, slapping against his tummy. You’ve never seen it this angry and twitching, head covered with a light sheen of his pre-cum. Heart almost beating out of your chest, you reach for him, hands delicately wrapping around his length and giving it a few, slow pumps. 

“Baby, fuck—” His eyes shut close, teeth digging into his plump lower lip to restrict any noises. With your thumb, you spread the gathering pre-cum all over his tip, making him whimper in the process. If you don’t get fucked right now, you might just lose your mind. 

“Need you,” you whisper, pressing a fleeting kiss on his nose. Mingyu looks as if he’s pained, a defeated sigh escaping him. 

“My love, I– I need you too. So, so bad, can’t explain.” His eyes tear up suddenly, “B-but—” 

“What happened…?” You ask, alarmed by his expression.

“I— I don’t have a condom.” He frowns, wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face in the comfort of your chest. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Your heart drops to your stomach because of how devastating his tone is. 

“Nooo! It’s okay… um, we didn’t know this would happen, y’know? So, um, don’t apologize, please. And don’t talk like that.” You nudge him to look at you. 

“Yeah but… what are we gonna do now? We agreed to be safe from the beginning, so–”

“Well, I’m on birth control for my periods either way, so it’s okay.” You cut him off, desperate for him at this point. 

Mingyu looks up at you, hesitant. “Angel, are you really sure about that?”

A sigh escapes you. You know why he is feeling uncertain, you know that you are the reason. “Gyu, I don’t know anything, but I might just go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He inhales a shaky breath, your words toying with the few last strings of self-control left in him. “Okay, what about this — I’ll only put the tip inside, make you feel super good so you come quickly for me, and then I’ll pull out before I make a mess.” 

Your body shakes from anticipation. “Just the tip?” 

“Just the tip, baby.” 

Even though it’s not exactly what you had in your mind, you agree quickly. Anything to have him inside you. Also, you’re not too sure how that will possibly work out. You’re almost certain that you’ll end up getting more than just the tip.

Mingyu grabs your waist to position you right on top of him, the urgency in his actions painfully obvious. You gladly comply, too needy to say anything. As you feel his bulbous tip lining up against your entrance, you lean in to touch your foreheads together. “Gyu, I can’t wait anymore, need you right now.” 

With a groan, he slowly guides you down his length, only letting his tip and the following inch inside. You whimper, struggling a little as you get used to the stretch. It’s kind of astonishing how even just that fills you up satisfactorily. But still, you crave all of him, your body knowing the euphoria of having him up in the furthest nooks of your pussy very well. “You’re so big,” you murmur, inner walls clenching around him greedily, eager for more. Mingyu huffs out deep breaths, his ears turning red. How cute.

He collects himself in a moment, firm hands around your hips to make sure you don’t slide down further than he intends to give you today. “You feel s’good, so wet and hot, I feel like I’ll melt.” Mingyu sighs, helping you ride him, his thumb rolling your clit in lazy circles. 

You muffle your cries as he moves your hips in a slow and steady pace, inevitably sliding down his cock, little by little. However, he doesn’t really notice it, lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing him so deliciously. “Gyu, harder,” you plead, a bit tired of this torturously slow pace. 

Mingyu complies almost immediately, pulling you even closer, his own hips bucking up to meet you halfway, while he continues to guide your movements. You moan out happily, arms winding around his neck. His thrusts are shallow, but the frenzied movements trigger more pleasure in you.

Eventually, he loses control over your movements, momentarily giving up against the fiery impulses running through his nerves. With all the lubrication between you two, you slide down as much as possible with nothing to restrict you. A string of incoherent words leave you, your body extremely giddy to get what you’ve wanted for so long. 

“Fuck, no, this isn’t working,” Mingyu finally regains his senses, groaning as the untouched parts of his cock are engulfed by your warmth. He swiftly pins you down on an empty side of the picnic blanket. “Bad, bad girl.” 

You squirm under him, whining while he pulls out of you, until only the tip is inside. “Now tell me, what should I do, now that you’ve broken our little deal.”

“Fuck me.” you whimper, your eyes teary by now. Mingyu tuts, shaking his head. You try your best to channel your pitiful, puppy dog eyes, ready to beg if that’s necessary.

“Such crude words from my sweet, little angel.” He sighs, “You’re really into testing my patience, aren’t you? Does it make you happy? Watching me lose my senses over your words?” 

“Don’t hold yourself back, please. I want to make you feel good too. Please, Gyu. Fuck me, make me yours, I don’t even care if people see or hear us anymore. Please.” Your voice is broken, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. Mingyu swallows nervously.

“Fucking hell.” The growled expletive marks the end of whatever self-control shit he was on. With one hard thrust, he smoothly fills up your touch-starved pussy entirely, coaxing out a loud moan of relief from you. His right hand immediately covers your mouth. “You might not care about some rando catching us like this anymore but I’ll be damned if someone sees you like this.” 

Mingyu lets go of your wrists, putting his left hand on the small of your back to support your body. “Don’t you dare complain about how you can’t walk later. You brought this upon yourself, remember.” He nibbles on your earlobe teasingly before starting to move against you. His thrusts are on the rougher side, your stomach tightening as the pleasure starts to build-up. 

With your free hands, you reposition his palm covering your mouth, suckling on his fingers instead. In response, you feel his cock twitch so vividly in your pussy, a groan reverberating in his throat. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” 

Mingyu pounds into you in a frenzy, quite obsessed with the raw feeling of your spongy flesh gushing around his cock. You moan and cry around his fingers, clenching happily as you feel your release right around the corner. He also picks up his pace, grinding down onto your clit in the process. Your brain has lost all the critical thinking power, salty streaks running down your cheeks as you’re overwhelmed by the sensations.

You remove his fingers from your mouth, desperate to be heard. “‘m gonna come–” 

“Fuck, come for me, love, I’m gonna pull out,” Mingyu grunts, his pace faltering as his movements lose rhythm, inching closer to his own release.

“No, no— come in me, baby. Please. Don’t ruin my dress.” He has no idea what you are on about, but he’d be lying if he said that it doesn’t sound tempting.

“Princess, do you even know what you’re saying?” He still asks, praying that you come back to your senses, for both of your good.

“I want you to come in me.” You manage to blurt out before your body convulses as the orgasm hits, gummy walls squeezing his cock to a halt. Mingyu curses under his breath, putting his fingers back in your mouth before you can scream your lungs out. Soon enough, he also reaches his peak, the thick, milky white liquid filling up your pussy to the brim. 

“_____, fuck…” he whimpers, reveling in the newfound intimacy between you. You urge him to lay on top of you, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “you mean so much to me.” Mingyu nuzzles your face adoringly, pressing butterfly kisses over your bare skin, wherever he can reach.

“And to me, you’re like the sun.” His silly words make you laugh.

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I’m like the earth orbiting around you, thriving because of your warmth and light?”

You flush at his words, beyond touched that he’d think of you in such a beautiful way. “You make me sound so insincere, Gyu.” Mingyu laughs at your pout, starting to get back up. 

“Yeah well, I still have to figure out what your flowers mean, remember?” He reaches for the packet of napkins lying nearby, sighing at the sight in front of his eyes.

“Yeah…” you trail off, “Do that once you’re home, okay?” He nods, seemingly distracted.

“I’m sorry love, I made such a mess.” 

“We.” 

“Hm?” 

“We made a mess. So don’t be sorry. I’ll help you clean up.” You offer him a smile, which he matches happily. 

Mingyu scrutinizes you one last time, making sure that you look presentable from head to toe. “Yeah, everything looks okay… except that your dress is all wrinkled…”

“I told you it’s fine, I’ll fix it up after a wash, don’t worry!” You reassure him, redoing your braid. “And please wash this outfit as soon as you get home, okay? I know it all dried up now, but still…” 

“I could say the same about your panties.” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah, but I doubt it’ll be wearable after today.” You sigh, checking yourself on your selfie camera. “C’mon, let’s go now. It’s afternoon already!” 

Mingyu hands you your basket, holding your free hand as you slowly take a few steps. “Are you sure you can walk?” 

“Yes, positive! I have to get home somehow.” You smile through a wince, making him shake his head. 

“Let’s go to my place. You can go back tomorrow morning after you’ve recovered from the pain. I’ll cook us dinner, help you take a bath, give you meds and cuddle you to sleep.” Mingyu offers, pushing off the bushes so that you guys can finally leave your little sanctuary. 

You both step out on the nearby trail, intertwining your fingers together back again. “Why do you always make it so hard to decline, Gyu?” He gives your hand a firm squeeze, winking at you playfully. 

“It’s a part of the package, baby.” His cocky chuckle infuriates you, but lord, is he right about that. 

This man might just be the end of you. But would you really mind it?

end of act one ♡ next

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 end notes ꒱

wahhh you made it to the end!! thank you so much for reading 🥹🫶🏼; i apologize if there are any mistakes in there, this is very roughly edited jdjfhfjhjff!! BUT i really hope that this was enjoyable and i was able to portray the lovebirds well 🤭! do let me know what you thought of this, please! reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated <333! you can also send feedback through asks if you’d prefer that! 💖

until next time!

p.s: i’m pretty new to caratblr and i’d be grateful if you guys could recommend me some blogs to follow 🥺... (you can recommend your own blog as well)!

[seraphicsentences]

hey baby i was wondering if you could write something about chubby!reader feeling insecure and Ellie noticing and worshiping her body like a damn goddess byeee ily!

hi my loveeee i loved this request but i hated everything i wrote. i’m so sorry this took so long i’ve clearly been off my game. heres a half decent drabble to suffice and it in a god-awful written out form if you want your eyes to suffer (here)

✂️ so imagine date night with ellie after a loooong tough week, and you’re stuffed up in your room, frustrated, because you cannot decide what to wear for the life of you. everything’s either too tight, or too casual, or too short, and really you’re starting to think that it’s just you that’s the issue.

✂️ here comes ellie now, swinging into your room absolutely elated to be going out with her girl after a brutal, busy week of not seeing her, and she can feel the distressed tension emanating from you the instant she steps in.

✂️ “what’s wrong, baby,” she’ll ask, coming up from behind you to wrap her arms around your waist, peppering kisses against the side of your head in greeting. —to which you’ll merely shrug, biting your cheek as you let out a shaky sigh, mumbling your frustrations.

✂️ and then ellie’s jumping in, genuinely distraught that her beautiful girlfriend doesn’t see herself the way she does, and she’s tugging you over to sit between her legs in front of your floor-to-ceiling mirror, and she’s gently prying your arms away from being held over your bare stomach.

✂️ she has a hand cupped softly by your jaw, making you watch yourself as she takes you apart, but not before quite literally worshipping every single inch of your body.

✂️ she’s murmuring things like, “i want you well-fed,” and “it’s my duty as your girlfriend to spoil you silly,” when you frown at the creases over the pudge of your stomach, and whispering things like, “look at you, fuck you’re so pretty” and “c’mon tell me how pretty you are,” as you blush at the way she won’t let up on her praises.

✂️ she’s squeezing at the meat of your thighs, staring hungrily like she wants to sink her teeth into them (and she has, before), and ranting on about how much she loves them— especially when they’re squirming shut tight around her head.

✂️ and then her mouths going off nonstop, telling your pretty mind to shut up and for you to use your pretty voice to tell her where you need her and to spread your pretty legs so she can see how soaked you are for her and then stuffing your pretty, dripping, pussy full of her fingers.

✂️ and she doesn’t stop there. taking it as her job to fuck you through three orgasms while you watch your reflection fall apart, murmuring sweet, sweet praises that have you clenching down around her like a vice.

✂️ and even through your tear-filled vision your eyes soften, as you can’t seem to see anything other than genuine love and affection in the way ellie presses soft kisses to your nose and forehead between whispers, and in the awe-struck way her mouth drops open every time you shudder against her warm chest, fingers grasping in her hair as she stimulates you beyond belief.

✂️ and when she’s decided that you’ve had enough, you can deem yourself nothing short of beautiful without grimacing, she curls her overworked fingers to caress the deepest crevice of your burning core, rasping into your ear, “you’re perfect, and you’re mine,” she says, “my perfect girl.” and that’s what tips you over the edge, hurling towards your fourth orgasm as you arch into ellie’s touch, gasping for air.

✂️ it’s when you’re coming down when she strums her fingers through your hair, continuing to mumble the gentlest assurances into your sweated-over skin, capturing your lips in an oh-so-soft kiss to whisper, “i love you,” into the warm cavern of your mouth.

✂️ “let’s order in yeah? we’ll put on our movie,” she’d say, because it was never about going out to a nice dinner, but going out to a nice dinner with you. and dressing up is overrated anyways, she decides.

well yikes!

[himasgod]

Kinich x sh Reader

Where he sees the scars on your wrists

Where you two were relaxing by a campfire, and he sees your scars on your wrists and forearms again, as your sleeves accidentally rode up. Even though he knew everything you went through a long time ago, he never dared to talk about your sh scars and just stared at them. Until today, you faced him, and he dared to talk about them.

(A bit lazy writing maybe? I’m already writing a sh request with Scaramouche, Kinich, Lyney and Heizou that I’ll publish soon, where each one is going to be much longer and more complicated, but I wanted to write this, so it came up a bit short and lazy hehe. Anyways, the same warning I put in these kind of one shots. You are not alone, if you need help or want to talk about something, write me without fear. If you feel identified, the first thing is to be okay in the present. If it was a thing of the past, don’t worry, the scars will heal <3)

The flickering light of the campfire cast long shadows in the dense Natlan.

Kinich sat across from you, sharpening his claymore. Ajaw was so tired that he simply rested on the ground at Kinich’s feet, oblivious to everything. The rhythmic sound of stone against metal was almost comforting, a constant contrast to the chaos of sounds in your head. His golden and green eyes would lift up from time to time, catching your gaze fixed on your hands.

You sat cross-legged, your arms pressed against your chest as if trying to protect yourself from the weight of the world.

The sleeves of your robe had slipped slightly, revealing the scars that marked your wrists and forearms.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, tugging at your sleeves hastily.

“How so?” His voice was calm, but there was a tension in it, a control.

“As if you pity me.”

He set the claymore aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t pity you.”

You snorted, your voice thick with self-loathing.

“So what is it? Curiosity? Disgust?”

The air grew heavier, laden with unspoken words. Kinich didn’t flinch at your accusations. Instead, he tilted his head, his sharp features softening.

“Neither. I’m trying to understand how you survived something like that.”

The honesty in his words made a lump form in your throat.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “It wasn’t about surviving. Back then… I didn’t want to... I didn't”

Kinich’s expression darkened, not with anger, but with a deep sadness that mirrored yours. He stepped closer, his calloused hands seeking yours. You tensed, but didn’t pull away as his fingers carefully pushed your sleeves up, exposing the scars you’d tried so hard to hide.

“This,” he said quietly, his tone firm despite the storm in his eyes, “is not signs of weakness. It’s proof that you fought battles most can’t even imagine. You’re here now. You won.”

Tears began to pool in the corners of your eyes.

"I didn’t win. I just… survived.”

“That’s enough,” he replied firmly. “You’re still here and that matters. To me, it matters.”

His grip on your hands tightened, anchoring you.

“You’re stronger than you think, and if anyone ever makes you feel like you’re not…” He paused, and a flash of the firelight illuminated the curve of his lopsided smile. “I’ll make sure they’re sorry.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, but you were still crying a little.

“You’re too much, Kinich.”

“And you’re not enough for yourself,” he replied without hesitation.

“So let me be here for you until you see how I see you.”

His words settled deep within your chest,

spreading warmth where there had only been cold before.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stars Align

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named 'Satyr' for clarity

Note: I enjoy older music and musicals. I tend to drift into this idea whenever I'm enjoying some and I finally said fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

1965 

Satyr 

"Oh, Margie, can I get some of that lipstick?" The blonde with crystal blue eyes nudges the scarlet-headed vixen tracing her lips with a deep shade of crimson in the mirror crowded with women in sticking and short skirts. 

"You should've thought ahead, Carla," the redhead pops her lips. "We're friends up until that curtain opens." 

"Oh, boo. It's lipstick." 

"It's mine," the other woman retorts and slides the lid on the tube with a smug smirk. 

You overhear from the corner where you move your feet and try to recall the choreography. It's made more difficult with the cacophony of voices and the crush of bodies fogging the backstage with heat. Most are more concerned with the beading in their bodices or the curls across their brows. 

You didn't think of any of that. You spent your scarce savings on the bus ticket and kept the change to eat for the day. You look down at yourself, wondering if you've missed something important. The advert said 'dancers needed' for an open audition. It didn't say anything about sequins or eyeliner. 

The more you look around, the more it feels like a mistake. Your mother is right. It’s a pipe dream. You’ve spent all your money on coming to New York to embarrass yourself. 

But no! This is your one chance at Broadway! Broadway! You still can’t believe it. All your life you dreamt of being on a stage, and somewhere deep down, a screen. Even if the very idea makes your stomach bubble. The singing, the dancing, the stories... you wanted to bring that same fantasy to girls like you. 

There’s not much room on the silver screen for musicals anymore but the city is thriving. Or so you read in the magazines your mother calls rages. 

“One minute, ladies,” the stage manager calls from the edge of the curtain, “shoes.” 

The other women clamour, clicking and tapping around in their heels. You peek down and wiggle your toes in your soft-toed flats. They’re farm shoes. Scuffed from you dancing on the swept barn floor. 

You line up in order of the numbers pasted to your chests. The paper curls at the corner from your previous stomping and the crinkle is slightly agitating. You are made even shorter as you’re the only auditioner without at least a few extra inches under her heels. 

The stage manager blows a whistle and orders the first girl out, swirling his finger to herd you out like sheep. “Out, out, out. Line up. Don’t waste time.” 

As you go to pass the dour man and his tin whistle, he stretches his arm out and you bounce off of it. You step back into the woman behind you. She grunts in surprise. 

“You, where are your shoes?” 

“Sir? I have shoes--” 

“Heels,” he snaps his fingers in frustration, “those are not going on my stage. Take them off. Dance on your toes!” 

You blink and your lip trembles. You’re mortified. He grabs your arms and yanks you of the way. “You got ten seconds to get those off and get in line.” He lets you go and points the other woman out, once more barking the same sentiment. 

You don’t think. You just do. You tear off your flats and leave them forgotten on the floor. You slip in your stockings and stop again. You roll them down and kick them away, swiftly running out to find your place in line. 

The woman next to you with the flaxen blonde hair with straight-cut bangs mutters something and laughs. You don’t pay her any mind as you dig down to recall the choreography. You got this. If you can remember Ginger Rogers famous Swing Time masterpiece, you can get this. 

Judith, the black-haired, prim-lipped instructor who previously took you through the steps a grand total of once, comes to the front of the stage. The tin whistle blows and the chatter hushes. You peer between the bodies and see the panel of six sat along the front row. One of them must be the director, the rest you’re unsure. 

As Judith raises her hand in a silent count down from five, you remember to get on your toes. Your bare feet are frozen in the airy theatre. This is it. You’re about to dance for your life. 

As she closes her fist and the music begins to play from an old victrola, you fall into action. You elude the dancer next to you that goes to the left rather than the right and you focus on your posture. As you meld into the music, you disappear from the room and into your imaginary spotlight. You are back among the cattle and the sheep, watching you flail around in the moonlight. 

You are only brought back by the squeal of another. Further ahead, a dancer is on the floor. The stage manager blows the whistle and promptly orders her away. She gets up, limping as her shoe dangles from her ankle, and scurries with her face covered. 

You don’t stop. If you can ignore your father’s hammering and your mother’s hollering, you can get through this. Your eyes flick up as your body follows the recital in your head. There are two figures higher up, shrouded in shadow. You can’t make out more than their silhouettes. There sharp shoulders suggest two men, but why would they be sitting in on this? 

More are picked away from the crowd for missteps and trips and some every break into tears and run off of their own volition. The chaos adds to the beating of your heart but you can’t stop. Every penny you have depends on this. Your pride, not that it’s very much, is hanging from this fraying thread. 

As you continue along the progressions, one of the men in the back stands and his voice rolls through the music. The other remains and sits forward in his chair. The song plays on and your feet don’t stop. The steps feel more natural as the rows thin out around you. 

The victrola quiets as you hit the final step. You’re breathless but enlivened. The man in the back stands and follows the other’s departure at a calmer pace.

Judith begins her countdown and the manager shouts, “again!” 

Steve 

Steve Rogers follows the pin-striped tails of his companion down the back hall. It’s been a while since he’s been in a theatre. Yet, it isn’t his last visit that plays in his head. It’s those early days, when he was a spindly little stagehand, brushing wigs, fluffing capes, and moving scenery. Before simplicity was so damned depressing. 

Sam leads him along the back row as the stage stands empty ahead of them. His agent sits first before he can bring himself to do the same. It’s not just that creak in his knee, it’s the way it all feels so familiar but strange. It’s like going home and seeing a new family living in the same house you were raised in. 

“Looks like we missed the preliminaries,” Sam mutters. 

Steve puts his hands on his thighs as he pushes his shoulders wide. He squints. He can see the figures along the front row. Six of them; the usual, a director, the co-director, and the backers. He rubs his eyes as he tries to clear them and sighs. 

“Don’t say a word,” Steve grumbles as he feels around his jacket and dips his hand beneath. He slips the hard leather-bound case from his pocket and opens it on its tight hinges. He unfolds the glasses he only wears at the typewriter. 

Sam abides but not without a lingering look that makes him squirm. He’s already agitated. He’s not used to this yet. It should be like riding a bike, shouldn’t it? Ugh, this is a bad idea. 

“Relax,” Sam says, sensing his uneasiness. “This is day one, alright? No pressure. We don’t have to find nobody today. This is just... putting our toes in the pond. See what’s out there. This doesn’t work out, we can see how well Frank’s kid can dance. She’s cute.” 

“Sinatra? No way,” Steve growls. “I don’t want anyone famous. It’s the whole reason...” He trails off and shakes his head. 

“Well, keep in mind, these are amateurs. You’re not gonna find Hayworth here. Or anywhere, these days.” 

Steve glances over at his agent and sighs, “I was having dinner with Rita when you were still in diapers, kid,” he warns. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waves him off as voices rise behind the curtain. “Looks like things are about to get interesting.” 

Steve plants his elbow on the narrow armrest and shifts in the seat. He doesn’t remember them being so uncomfortable. He remembers sitting in them for hours; for premiers, for awards shows, just for the hell of it. 

His chest flickers. He hasn’t felt that since the first time he faced a camera. It was different then. Things were still black and white. If Fred’s still got it, he must too. 

Why is he doing this? Why couldn’t he just stay in that house and be, not happy, but alone. Unbothered. Why now? Why did the itch start until his skin felt ready to split? He’s gotta try. He’s Steve Damn Rogers and he always gets back, it just took a little longer this time. 

A whistle blows and he crinkles his face. Ugh, the noise. That will be the hardest to get used to. When did he get so boring? Maybe when fun turned out to be so painful. 

Women flow out in rows. They arrange themselves along the stage as a woman stands at the front with a black blunt haircut. She watches them fan over the space. There’s a pause before another follows the third line back. Then another skitters out with no shoes and inserts herself into the empty space left between the previous dancers. 

He rests his chin on his fist curiously. He doesn’t miss the disarray that much. He remembers being behind those curtains and watching the hopefuls run off in tears. Sometimes, they took his handkerchief, other times they ran right past him. 

Why are those times easier to remember? Why do the shining ones, the ones in bright Hollywood lights, not excite him? No, no, don’t think of that. It’s not gonna be that way this time. This time, it’s his rules. His script, his movie. 

The music begins and his focus on the dozens of dancers. There’s almost too many to keep track of. Yet his eyes come back to that third row. The girl dancing on her toes in bare feat. She moves like silk or satin in the wind. So effortless. Yet everything else about her doesn’t belong. The way she moves is how one should onstage, but her beige dress and plain hair do nothing to make her stand out. 

A woman near the front trips and lands on her knees. She cries out as she’s ushered off. His eyes flit back to that girl with no shoes. She doesn’t even wince. 

“Ah, this is a wash,” Sam grumbles. “Look at them, a bunch of nobodies. Can’t even stay on tempo.” 

“How would you know?” Steve mutters back. 

“I got an eye for this stuff, don’t I? I represent the greatest actor in the world.” 

“Funny,” Steve drawls dryly. 

“I need a smoke. Let me know if anything interesting happens.” Sam stands and struts out. 

Steve remains. He pushes his glasses closer to his eyes as he leans forward. The women fade, all but one, that one. The one in the bare feet. It’s like she’s in another world. As he watches her, he feels liek he is too. 

The music stops. Her final pose is perfect. On beat, posture good, sharp. He rolls his tongue around. This could work. It could. He doesn’t need another... well, don’t worry about her. He needs someone to mold but not without substance. She can dance, that’s all he needs. The rest can be learned. 

He stands with one last look and leaves, his feet weighed down as the music begins again. He stops in the hallway behind the theatre and faces the door. He could sit and watch her for hours. No, he needs to get Sam. They’re not doing this again. He knows it’s her. It has to be. He doesn’t feel so... itchy. 

[shaunamilfman]

NSFW Rhiannon Lewis Headcanons

pairing: Rhiannon Lewis x fem!r note: almost entirely pre-murder Rhiannon like my last HC's, just because i think there's a big difference in like characterization. from this ask.

Such a bad kisser but learns quickly. She’s just so enthusiastic about it, so eager to please, that she ends up all over the place. Bumps your nose hard enough at some point that your eyes tear up, and Rhiannon’s just watching in utter horror. As she gets more confident, it turns into this almost creepy intensity as she watches you closely for any and all signs of feedback.

Needs to leave marks all over you. Even if they aren’t strictly visible if you’re fully dressed, she knows they’re there. The same goes for wanting you to leave marks. She likes to press her fingers into them and feel how the bruise still stings whenever she feels particularly lonely or invisible. You see her, after all, even when it feels like no one else does.

Early days Rhiannon fluctuates between being a little too loud and a little too quiet as she becomes aware of it, trying to figure out what you like the best. Realizes how quiet she's being and starts adding in exaggerated moans, but they sound too forced, and she starts getting self-conscious. Then she tries quieting herself down by biting at her lip until she starts to worry she’s too quiet, cheeks flushed as she realizes you’ve noticed. Back-and-forth until she just can't think straight enough to care. 

Kind of loud once she finally lets go. Rhiannon enjoys having your attention on her and enjoys the way you react when she moans or makes a sound a little too breathy. She gets more vocal the more she realizes you like hearing her, loving the way it keeps your attention solely on her. Very quickly realizes how much attention being whiny gets her and is quick to jump on it.

Loves to talk to you during or be talked through it. She wants you to tell her exactly what you like, but is just a little too shy to ask for it. Every time she asks, “Is this good? Do you like this?” there’s a tremor of excitement in her voice that she can’t quite hide. It’s charming how much she wants to get it exactly right for you. Equally embarrassed and determined, cheeks flushed as you give her little cues.

Poor girl needs praise to live. Even when you aren’t verbally saying anything, her eyes keep flicking up to yours, looking for any sign of approval on your face. She’s so attuned to every little reaction; even the quietest sigh is carefully cataloged. The simplest acknowledgement, even just a “you’re doing so well,” is enough to have her practically melting.

She can barely stand to meet your eyes when you tell her she looks pretty, or that she’s doing good, or if you call her yours. Face flushing and breath hitching as she leans into the words, bashfully turning her head to the side. Rhiannon can’t bring herself to outright ask for it, but she’s so obviously fishing for it sometimes that she might as well have. She’ll do something she knows you’ve praised her for before and just bite her lip, almost as if she’s waiting for it. Head tilted slightly to the side like she’s waiting for a treat.

It makes her bolder, knowing that she has your validation. She just soaks it up, pressing in even closer to you. Rhiannon starts to mirror you, throwing them back to see how you react to it. The words are more possessive coming from her; she always calls you hers, her voice almost shaky with excitement. Hearts racing so hard she can barely get the words out, but she loves the rush it gives her even if it’s just a whisper.

Such a big fan of wandering hands, but they can never really get all that explicit when it comes to her–she’s just too reactive for it. Rhiannon will touch you all night long, tracing her fingers along your palms, up your arms, hips, and shoulders. But they never venture very far unless you're alone. 

Putting your hand on her knee and stroking the inside of it with your thumb is enough to have her squirming for the rest of the night until you take her home, eyes flicking back and forth as if daring you to go further but knowing she can barely even handle what she’s got. The combination of being seen and desired is the most important part for her. The anticipation keeps her on edge, the slightest shifting of your weight as you sit has her breath quickening.

Acts like she's walking to the gallows every time she tentatively brings up something new. She's asking how you feel about minor role play, like she expects you to call her a deviant freak for it. Acting like it’s a complete hypothetical, but her nervous anticipation is so painfully obvious. The moment you’re even a little receptive to it, she starts to relax, but getting the full idea from her is like pulling teeth.

Rhiannon likes when you pretend to be strangers, like you’re picking her up at a bar for the first time. You’re the only person she feels confident enough with to be able to flirt like that, and she really likes the idea of it. She never really had much of that kind of experience, and she loves the thrill of it. There’s also something else, just beneath the surface for her. Something a little darker that she doesn’t quite mention, but you can see in the way she looks at you. (definitely doesn't fantasize about killing you a little bit.) 

Pre-murder Rhiannon is such a bottom, but that definitely changes after. I think it's all that confidence she gains for sure. She likes to be guided just because she knows that there’s no way she could get it wrong, eager to please and taking quiet delight in every reaction you give. She’s less tentative like that after. Telling you exactly what she wants, where she wants you, in this low, confident tone. Almost teasing at times. There’s a possessive intensity to her that was always just under the surface before, but now she lets it come out fully.

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Could i please request something with reader getting a large slice on her arm and daryl has to stitch it shut as best he can because they’re on a long run?

Stitches and Kisses

Summary: He'd meant to take her on a date in the woods, well no, he'd meant to ask her on a date in the woods. But now she's bleeding and he's panicking, and is romance always this hard?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Blood. Medical procedures. Angst. Fluff. Nervous!Daryl. Friends to lovers. Prison-era.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. The idea staff in the crumbling factory that is my brain have gone on strike so I'm so grateful to everyone who's sent in requests to get my cogs turning again!

-

They’ve learnt, as a collective, never to say ‘it’ll be a simple run’, but he just fucking had to, didn’t he? Had to try and convince her to come out to the woods, because he thought he was ready to tell her he loved her. He’s never been romantic, has never had the opportunity or the inclination, but women liked this stuff, right? That’s what Merle had said, ‘chicks dig all that mushy shit’, and it’s not like he has access to candles and music and…teddy bears, maybe. But he had the woods, and she likes the woods, the birdsong and the flowers, the lack of walls. So he could take her to the trees and he could ask if maybe she likes him too, and shit asking was so much easier in front of the mirror in the prison showers.

It’s going great. So far he’s snapped at her because he was nervous, tripped on a stick of all things and spilled a full bottle of water all over the ground, they’ve been ambushed by an unexpected herd and now she’s gashed her arm open trying to pry the door open with the knife. He’s fucked it, royally, sideways and without a shadow of a doubt. You just can’t confess your affection for someone whilst covered in their blood and pouring alcohol into a wound, can you? It’s not the done thing.

In hindsight the knife thing might have been her fault, but when has that ever stopped him taking the blame? At least she’d gotten the door open, barricading it behind them before she realised how deep she’d sliced.

She sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the liquid hits the cut, and he flicks his glance quickly up to her face to catch her eyes squeezed closed. He’s never been okay at this part of runs, not really; he can sort an injury out, sure, he’s stitched himself up numerous times, he’s not bad at it, but even if he knows logically that its necessary it feels too much like inflicting harm. It eats at him for the rest of the day, every time, longer when its her.

“’M sorry” he mumbles, hovering his spare hand above her knee as she perches on the bench in front of him. He likes touching her, finds comfort in it usually but he’s never the one to initiate. She’d put her hand on top of his and hold it all day if she wasn’t squeezing her own fist closed quite so hard. The pain is awful, stinging and pulsing at the same time, but the look on his face is almost worse.

“If you apologise every time this hurts we’re never going to get it done”

He scoffs, blowing the hair out of his eye as he does so. It’s a deep cut, mere inches past where it could have hit something major, and he has to swallow hard around nothing as he puts the bottle down by his side. Walkers are groaning outside the door, unaware of their presence but far too close for him not to be concerned, he needs to get her stitched up. The bag rustles as he rummages with one hand for a needle and thread, he knows they’re in there somewhere, but a murmured curse leaves his dry lips as his panicking fingers fail to locate them.

“Daryl” finally pressing her palm to his knuckles, bringing his hand down to her leg with a gentle squeeze as if he’s the one that’s injured. His fingers still inside the bag, locking his eyes with hers, clocking the pained but confident determination on her face. “We’re going to be fine”

Nodding, he moves the hand off her knee with a brief pat before turning fully to the bag, reaching into it to locate the small plastic case that holds a sewing kit. Now still hands thread the needle carefully, gripping it firmly as he snaps his lighter, holding the end under the flame to sterilise.

“’S gon’ hurt”

“I know the drill” She smiles, reassuringly, and if he wasn’t so besotted with her he’d berate her for it, the overwhelming need she has to placate him, to work out his feelings before he’s had a chance to feel them. He usually finds comfort in it, relief that someone understands him well enough for him not to always have to explain himself. But now he’s irritated that she seems to be so set on how he’s doing when she’s bleeding right onto his fucking jeans.

He wants to smile back like he always does, but he hates it, can’t stand that she knows the drill, there shouldn’t be a drill, she should be warm and protected and happy in a normal world, far away from all of this. She’d be away from him but at least she’d be safe and he thinks maybe that’s a sacrifice he’d make it he could.

The thought is shaken away from him as the needle hooks under her skin and she lets out a low whine of pain, dragging an expletive under her breath. It burns. A different pain from the slicing of her flesh, which was at least quick, stitching a wound is slow, like fire poking at the surface in a drawn-out pierce.

“I know, ‘m sorry”

She slumps forward, resting her head on his shoulder so she doesn’t keep looking down at the needle going in, her body is hot and cold all at once, nausea coiling at the back of her throat, why did she have to look? He works as fast as he can whilst still being gentle, it’s impossible not to cause pain but if he can limit any of it he will. Maybe if he’d have told her he loved her this morning, before she’d hopped on the back of his bike, she’d know he didn’t mean any of the hurt he’s currently inflicting.

He turns slightly, voice low as he whispers in her ear. He can’t afford to get distracted now, but he can’t stand the way she’s whimpering against his collarbone so he pauses as he speaks, trying to ignore how it feels to have her cradled so close into him.

“’S’alright, almost done”

A punched chuckle against his shirt shoots from her when the needle pierces her skin again, its synced with a tight grip on her own knee, the kind of laugh that comes out instinctively with pain, the same one he heard when he had to pop her shoulder back into its socket once. On bad days, when his brain is somehow too busy and too quiet, he can still hear the crunch.

“Sorry, I’m being pathetic” she breathes against the fabric of his shirt, trying hard to resist the urge to bite the material for something to ground her.

“Nah, shit hurts, ya need t’ take a break?”

“No, keep going”

He wraps her arm in a spare bandage when he’s finished, watching her sway a little on the bench. Arms out in front of him in case she falls, he watches as she sips the small amount of water he’s handed over. She’s lost a fair amount of blood, not enough to kill her but enough that he’s worried about getting them back safely. Her fingers brush against his when she hands the bottle back, and he’s briefly thankful for the walkers that make him turn to look at the door, hiding his blush.

“We gotta get back t’ camp”

She hops off the bench with a slight wobble in her step, looking down to see if her arm is bleeding through the bandage; she’s unsurprised when it’s not, Daryl’s adept at a lot of things and anyone surprised that he’s as sufficient in care as he is in battle doesn’t know him very well.

“Daryl, we have stuff to get, there’s still at least three places that haven’t been raided”

Her face is pale and drawn. He knows she’s faking feeling alright because he’s been studying her every expression since the moment they met. He knows the way her face moves with each emotion, the arch in her brow, the set of her lips, the way her eyes change colour ever so slightly. He knows that she needs to see Hershel.

“Nah, ya need to get this sorted. I can come back”

“Daryl-“

“No” his voice is short and sharp, accent lost under the clipped insistence as he shoulders the bag of supplies, readying to take on the meandering walkers that remain between them and the bike “Ain’t risking ya, not for nothin’”

“People are relying on us, we need supplies”

He turns towards the door, takes three strides forward before stopping, fighting the battle in his head, he knows they need to keep going, but he’s almost out of water and she’s lost enough blood for him to be worried. Tense shoulders tighten.

“If it’s ya, or supplies, or anyone else, I pick ya, every time” His voice lowers as he turns, body stiff as he faces her, holds her line of sight in a way that should make him nervous but there’s something close to anger in his face, the resentment that she could possibly think he wouldn’t put her first “Dun’ ever make me choose”

“Why?” She studies him for a moment, eyes softening in realisation as she finally understands the way he looks at her, the way he’s always looked at her, the way she’s looked at him and been so blind not to notice. Hope starts squashing the insecurity she’s had over her feelings “Oh”

When he doesn’t move, eyes flicking full of panic between her and the floor, she steps towards him gingerly, one foot slowly treading the ground at a time to make sure he’s not about to turn and run the other way.

His eyes are wide as she rests a hand on his cheek, thumb running tentatively over his cheekbone. She feels him release a breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods, a stuttering shake of the head that has her almost laughing, she’s gotten used to his acerbic wit in the face of discomfort, he hasn’t been quiet with her in months, not like this. His breathing stutters, swallowing heavily as she kisses his jaw, slowly, unwilling to spook. She moves her lips across; never leaving his skin as she trails kisses all the way along to his lips, pausing at them.

She can feel his breath against her lips and she flicks her gaze up slowly to look at him, pupils blown dark and wide as his body stays stock still, as if he is afraid of scaring her off, afraid of running himself.

“I’d pick you too”

She’s wanted him for so long the moment her lips touch his she’s pretty sure she’s actually died and is well on her way to thanking her lucky stars when his hands settle against her hips, pulling her against him firmly. It’s the shake in the arm that she tries to move around his waist that makes him pull away; breath heavy and lids drooping but his demeanour is firm when she tries to lean back in. He doesn’t want her to regret this when she’s not worn out from injury so he stops her.

He brushes a strand of hair out of her face, other hand giving her hip a gentle squeeze, thumb resting on the waistline of her jeans. A small, quirk of a lip smile graces his face.

“Nah, ya can kiss me ‘gain when ya got all ya blood back, c’mon”