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multiversediaries · 3 days ago

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LOVE BRUISES

⤷ BUCKY BARNES X READER

Summary: A passionate night with Bucky caused a painful cervix bruise. Now all healed up, your boyfriend is scared to hurt you again.

Warning: soft and very cute, domestic buck! mentions of sex, small smut!

Part count: 1/2

A/N: hope you all enjoy! i absolutely adore domestic buck <3 apologies for any mistakes! english is not my first language :( i recently had eye surgery so my vision is a bit impaired! please do let me know of any grammatical mistakes!!

Your eyes widen at the intense pain you were currently feeling. A curse slipped from your lips, as you tried sitting on your shared bed. It was the day after an intense night with your long time boyfriend, Bucky Barnes.

Bucky could be rough at times, not that you hated it. In the contrary, you would find yourself begging the Winter Soldier to touch you, and pound you harder. But it seems like yesterday was too much for you to handle.

You made your way towards your bathroom, trying to continue on with your day. But the awful pain in your back and abdomen was driving you absolutely inside.

Samuel leaned back into his chair, staring at you, as you walked into the living room. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you were walking.

“You good?” Sam chuckled, crossing his arms infront of his chest. You shot him an annoyed look, shaking your head. You walked up to the couch, attempting to sit down without hurting yourself even more. “Rough night?” Sam teased you, raising an eyebrow at you. You snickered at him, knowing he probably heard you both last night. You remember how loud you were, not that your sore throat was any reminder.

“Too rough, it seems.” You replied, biting your lip. It was embarrassing to talk about this with Sam, but you were all so close to each other.

“No shit.” Sam laughed, throwing his head back whilst laughing still. You shook your head softly, furrowing your eyebrows, feeling a bit nauseous now. Sam’s laughter soon died down, as he saw your pained expression. “Oh, shit.”

“I’m fine! I swear.” You started, waving your arms in front of you, to try and stop Sam from panicking. “Bucky’s just… a big man, y’know? And we can get pretty… Let’s just say it was bound to happen.” You blushed at your own words. Bucky was much bigger than you, in height and built.

“I think I should get checked up, though. Pain’s pretty bad.” You continued, trying to change the conversation. You didn’t want to talk about your sex life to Bucky’s best friend. Sam sat up straight, biting his lip in worry.

“Shit, maybe he bruised you.” Sam said softly. This was probably it. It happens all the time, but this was your very first time experiencing something like this. You sighed softly, nodding your head.

“Do you mind distracting Buck while I go? Don’t want him to worry about this.” You asked.

“Oh, that ain’t gon’ work. Don’t you know the man?” Sam shook his head, knowing how overprotective Bucky was with you.

“Oh, come on, Sam. I won’t be long, just distract him—“

“Distract me from what?” You heard the man of the hour say softly. You closed your eyes, biting your bottom lip. Great. You slowly turned to look at him, staring at his serious expression. A smile instantly appeared in your lips, being so whipped for your boyfriend. His expression softened by your sweet face, now walking closer to you in the couch.

“Nothing. Just wanna get checked up really quick.” You said gently, trying to avoid certain words to prevent any worry from him. However, he knew you like the back of his hand, and he knew you were hiding something from him.

“Checked up? For what?”

“Oh, just—”

“She’s sore.” Sam started, your eyes widen quickly before quickly turning to look at Sam, your eyes begging him to shut up. “From last night.” He continued, and you couldn’t help but sigh, Bucky’s eyes widen, quickly meeting yours. He took in the sight of you, as if looking for discomfort and pain.

“What?— Did I hurt you, doll?” Bucky’s voice softened, his hands cupping your face, now kneeling in front of you. You could’ve sworn you almost melted into your seat.

“No, Buck, of course not!” You started, shaking your head, your hands laying on top of his in your face. You genuinely didn’t want him to worry or even worse, blame himself. You heard him sigh, knowing deep inside you were lying. He could feel your tense muscles; probably from the pain.

“I’ll take you to the clinic, okay?” He continued to softly speak to you. You sighed gently as his loving hands left your face to gently caress your thigh.

Cervical bruising.

God, it was extremely embarrasing to hear your doctor explain how to practice safe sex right in front of your long term partner. You remember how awkward the drive home was. Silent. Not uncomfortable, you could never be uncomfortable with Bucky, but you could just tell he felt terrible for overworking you that night.

Nights have passed awfully slow. You felt restless. Probably because your usually, very physically loving boyfriend rarely touched you. It was as if Bucky was somewhat scared of hurting you with his touch. Scared that a single caress could break you. The first nights, he even went as far as making a wall out of your extra pillows, just to be extra sure he wouldn't roll over you or embrace you at night. You ensured him it was not necessary, but after the advices of your doctor to hopefully ease your pain, Bucky was adamant to your safely and comfort. Bucky even went as far as getting you a heating pad, as your doctor explained how it would help with the pain. He just wanted you to be safe and healthy.

Bur you only craved the touch of your gentle soldier. For these endless couple of nights, Bucky would shower before bed, as usual, and hop into his side of the bed. He'd place a sweet, awfully short peck to your lips, roll on his side and fall asleep. It started to hurt your feelings how he seemed to rest so well without hugging you through the night. Soon enough, a couple of nights had passed since your small, and embarrassing injury. You felt as if you were going insane. You weren't only craving the sweet embrace of your man at night, you were also so incredibly horny.

You felt like a teenager, getting excited by the single sight of Bucky resetting his metal arm, or by the way his necklace would dangle over your face whenever he would help you to bed. It was the smallest things that would just get you going. You were currently watching as Sam and Bucky continued to fix Sam's family boat, standing by a pole, gently leaning on it. Bucky was wearing a short sleeve grey t-shirt, that accentuated his muscles perfectly. It brought butterflies to your stomach as Bucky noticed your frame, his attention now on his beautiful girl.

"Wait inside, baby. Don't want you to stand in the sun like that." Bucky spoke, a bit loud for you to hear. You smiled at him, shaking your head.

"It's okay! I'm a bit bored inside... Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, actually! Grab that-"

"Sam." Bucky leaned over to softly slap Sam's chest. "No. She's supposed to be resting.' He continued, earning a small groan to leave your lips. Sam chuckled, raising his arms up in defense. Bucky wiped his greasy hands, walking towards you right after. "Doctor's orders." He said, his voice stern yet so incredibly loving, as if he were still worried. "I'll get you a chair, mhm? You can watch us or somethin." He mumbled, planting a sweet kiss to your cheek, before walking away. You let out a big sigh, closing your eyes in annoyance.

"Doctor's orders, he said." Sam mocked, a smirk in his face. A small grin appeared on your lips as you heard him mock your overprotecting boyfriend.

"I'm okay now. It happened almost two weeks ago and he's still..." You started, walking a bit closer to Sam. It was true. You felt all back to normal, and had been feeling this way for a few days now. No pain, no discomfort. You just felt needy.

"Y’know he's all intense like that." Sam said, offering you a small smile, while still working on the boar. You nodded, shrugging your shoulders. Bucky was just very overprotective over you, you knew this. It wasn't out of character for him to act this way. But now that you were all healed, you couldn't help but feel a bit bad, a bit unwanted even.

You spent the entire day, sitting, watching them work. Whenever you'd try to help, your sergeant of a boyfriend would order you back to your seat. You were only allowed to do small work, like hold their tools, which was exactly what you were doing right now. Here you stood, by the first floor of the boat, holding a screw driver as Bucky tried to fix the motor. You were so incredibly bored, but your mind was definitely active, dirty thoughts filling your mind. His grey shirt was now wet, and stained. It hugged his body even better than before.

"You okay, doll?" Bucky chuckled as he watched you, watching him. He had noticed a while ago, yet had decided to not mention it, loving your gaze on him. Your cheeks flushed, nodding your head.

"You look good." You simply said, your ears turning red. embarrassed by being caught staring. There was just so much tension between you, sexual tension.

"Yeah?" Bucky cockily asked, tilting his head, to follow your eyes as you tried hiding your flushed expression. He had even placed his tools down, now fully entertaining you. You nodded your head, now staring into his eyes, giggling softly. Your laugh died very quickly now swallowing hard as you took in how close he was.

His hands took their place in your hips. He felt you shake at his touch, noticing his effect on you. His face so close to yours, you could feel his breathing by your cheek. Bucky licked his lips, his eyes roaming your entire body, fully checking you out. His breath hitched, watching you be so visibly affected by him. It was so obvious how both of you were so deprived of one another.

You don't even remember who started the kiss. You just know your hands were now tangled in his soft hair, as Bucky devoured your mouth. There was no point in stopping the moans and whimpers that left your mouth, you were in pure bliss. Your tongues continued to explore each other's mouth, kissing passionately. Bucky would pull away for air, hissing in between kisses, genuinely feeling as if he were going insane. He was desperate. So desperate that his hands lifted you up, sitting you down on the same motor he had been trying to fix earlier. He now stood between your legs, his hands cupping your head, kissing you deeply and lovingly.

"Oh, baby..." Bucky whimpered once he pulled away for air yet again. Both your chests rising up and down, already exhausted by your very heated make out session. Bucky's hands ran ro your thighs, gently rubbing them continiously. His eyes were closed, and his forehead stayed glued to yours. Your eyes opened, missing the feeling of his lips on yours, needing more of him. You hummed, in confusion, yet Bucky's eyes stayed closed, wetting his lips. He seemed to be containing himself. His hands on your thighs now squeezing them, trying to calm him eager and lust down. You could simply tell he was holding back from loving you.

No.

You connected your lips yet again, grabbing ahold of his shirt, and crashing your lips together, where they belonged. You refused to go down without a fight. You refused to let him get away. A moan left his lips, his hands starting to run to your waist, needing to feel you yet again. It felt so good, so right. Your heads continued to tilt, allowing each other access ro just eat each other's lips. You remember his tongue brushing over your bottom lip, God, it was all so messy. Goosebumps cpvered your entire skin, this was his effect on you. This heaven of yours was adrumptedly interrupted yet again. Bucky has disconnected your lips, his hands now gripping your thighs yet again.

"Y/N..." his breath shuttered. God, he was so desperate and you knew this. You knew him like the back of your hand, and you could just tell by the way he refused to meet your eyes that he was holding back. You could tell by the way his body seemed to not want to obey his words, still caressing you.

"No, doll. We…” Buck tried saying, one of his hands now running through his face, as shaky breaths left his mouth. He was long gone. It was taking everything in him. “Shit, we can’t.”

"What?"

Bucky looked up to meet your eyes, his hands now on your waist, caressing your exposed skin with his thumbs. He sighed shakily, trying to get his breathing under control. He was scared to hurt you again. He was scared he'd lose control like he had done last tine, and hurt you. You gulped as you watched him, searching for a response in his face.

"Can hurt you again, baby. You haven't even healed."

"Bucky..." Your hands now laid on top of his. "I'm all healed up! I promise." You started, earning a few shakes of his head. "Yes, Buck. It hasn't hurt for a while now."

Bucky simply shook his head yet again. A big sigh left his lips, as he now hid his face in the comfort of the crook of your neck. Your arms carefully wrapped around his broad shoulders, feeling your loving boyfriend leave soft, wet kisses on your sweet skin. You couldn't stop yourself from shuttering at the gesture. Only after a few seconds, Bucky leaned back, pecking your red lips just one more time, before helping you down to your feet. He took a deep breath, and long look at you, before turning back to continue his work on the motor. The motor he almost took you on top of just now.

You frowned deeply, your head almost dropping in defeat. You put your hair in a ponytail, feeling hot after everything that had just happened. You wanted to be mad, really, you did. But how could you? When this man loved you so much he kept holding himself back in fears of possibly hurting you? You were just... upset. How would you convince this man of yours you had healed? and that he could never hurt you?

"I'm 'bout to come down." You both heard Sam announce from above. You both chuckled at Sam, shaking your head softly. Bucky grinned widely, watching as Sam came down the stairs cautiously.

“Why are you the way you are?” Bucky said between chuckles, grabbing a hold of his tools yet again.

"Y'all are forbidden from doin' it inside my family boat, I hope y'all know that." Sam mumbled, walking towards the both of you. Bucky snickered, softly hitting him in the shoulder. You laughed a bit, leaning back and watchihg them work.

Your mind soon went back to the same question...

How would you take those negative thoughts out of the mind of James Barnes? When would you feel the loving touch of your boyfriend again?

Fucking cervix bruise.

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cherryyluvs · 1 day ago

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thank you so much for your lovely comment and request! 😊 I had a blast writing this Makima!Reader x Invincible fic, I’ve never watched Chainsaw Man, and did 2 variants but I hope I captured her character well! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝⋆˙⟡♡

Mark never knew what to make of you.

From the moment you entered his life, you were a mystery, a force of nature that defied explanation. You weren't just another government agent, you weren't a hero nor a villain, You were something far worse. Cecil had introduced you guys months ago, long before he got to know what you truly were.

You worked closely with the GDA, but your loyalty? It wasn't to humanity. No, your loyalty belonged to yourself.

Mark was new to all this superhero stuff when you first took interest in him, barely coming as invincible. You've watched him, studied him, and when the moment was right you tested him. You treated him like a pet, praising him when he listened.

The way you carried yourself, the way you spoke, everything about you was.. Deliberate. You never raised your voice, never rushed, and never lost control. Even when standing in a bloodied field your expression was eerily calm.

Mark had long since learned to not trust Cecil, he found himself even more wary of you. You had a way of making people listen to you, bending them to your will with nothing but a soft spoken command. Mark witnessed it firsthand, watched trained soldiers and hardened killers fall in line the moment you uttered a word.

The way you'd pat his head after a mission, the way you'd speak to him with that same voice someone might use on a misbehaving dog.

“You're such a good boy mark” you say, voice honey smooth. “But you could be so much better”

Cecil knows you're dangerous, but too useful to ignore. Maybe even he isn't fully in control of you – maybe you let him think he is.

›

Cecil had called every available resource to contain the crisis, but in the end. He knew there was only one person who could turn the tide in their favor. You.

The sky was painted in fire and blood. Shattered buildings, cities, town littered with debris, and bodies of those unfortunate who got caught

The air thick with the scent of blood, smoke, people screaming, some human, some not.

That's why he called you.

Mark stood beside Cecil, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched. “This is a mistake” he muttered. “You think she can just– what? Talk to them into stopping?”

Cecil didn't answer right away, instead he just exhaled through his nose as he pulled out a cigarette. “She’s got it handled Mark”

Mark turned his head and there you stood, calm. The very image of control, even in this chaos you were untouchable.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you stepped forward, eyes scanning the screen and images of the battle happening. Mark felt his stomach tighten.

He always hated that look in your eyes, like you weren't human. Like you saw everything and everyone.

“Lets begin”

›

The first variant you encountered was impossible to miss. A cocky smirk, a distinct mohawk, and a wild, unhinged energy that made him unpredictable.

He had a version of you in his word, a dangerous woman who knew just how to break him. He remembers the way she used to whisper his name like it was some secret meant for her alone , or how you dismantled his world. That version of you died in his arms, the light leaving her eyes. And yet, here you are alive.

“What? Got nothing to say to me?” you murmured, titling your head ever so slightly.

His jaw clenched, shit.

Without thinking he lunged, fist ready to strike,

But then your eyes met his

It hit him like a brick wall. The weight of your stare, the sheer force of your presence. His body seized mid motion.

He gritted his teeth. “Dammit”

“I was looking forward to seeing you dead” He spat

“Sit” you replied softly. And he obeyed.

His body dropped to his knees and before he could even think to resist, muscles locking into place like a force was keeping him down.

Eyes widen, mouth slightly parted in shock

You reached out, gentle fingers caressing against his bloodstained cheek. “That's better” you said. “You're not nearly as charming when you're standing”

His hands curled into fists. He hated this, hated that his body had betrayed him. “You're just like her,” He growled, voice lower. “A control freak.”

›

The second to approach was sinister Mark, He landed with a heavy thud, knuckles dripping with blood that wasn't his own, his gaze softening the moment he laid eyes on you.

Ah.. so in his world you had been something more. A partner, a lover, maybe even a weakness he couldn't afford. You walked closer.

He didn't move away. “How did it end?” you asked, voice smooth as silk. “Did I leave? Did i betray you?”

He chuckled. “You're not mine, though she died screaming”

You met his gaze with no fear in sight. “And did you enjoy it?”

His grin widened. Oh, he liked you.

He stepped closer, circling around you like a predator, He didn't resist. He welcomed the control. The weight of your power pressing down on him.

Before his mouth opened, whether to argue or scream, blood burst from his nose and ears.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Body dropping as his breath hitched from the force pulling him to the ground.

For a moment he was silent, then he laughed.

“God you're beautiful”

You crouched beside him, tilting his chin up “I know.”

› By the time the war ended, most of the invincibles had either submitted to you or been wiped from existence.

The survivors? Well lets just say they belonged to you now.

Cecil didn't ask what you planned to do with them. He knew better than to question you.

As for the original mark? He watched you from a distance, his hands clenched at his sides. You had done the impossible, took men who were meant to be unstoppable.. And bent them to your will.

And worst of all?

Somewhere deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge..

A part of him wanted to kneel too.

#invincible #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #need more of mark grayson #mark grayson

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drchucktingle · 3 days ago

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Hi dr tingle, I just finished Bury Your Gays and dearly enjoyed it. Many cases of raising my head and staring into the distance a little as I processed The Reference -- and many I didn't, and am only getting now by reading your and readers' comments on it. However, there is one bit I remain utterly confused about. Was there anything particular to get behind the angry woman hot tub scene at Blossom's birthday? Or was that just a truly random bit to hammer in the surreal feel of that party?

this is a GREAT question and i appreciate it very much because it is not a spoiler trot at all and sometimes i just CANNOT ANWSER THESE DANG ASKS because they are about something that happens at the end of the book

so early in BURY YOUR GAYS there is a mansion party scene and the party itself is important for a few reasons. there are various character moments happening here and it leads to am important interaction with misha being filmed kissing zeke and ALSO i will say, there is something mentioned in this scene that directly ties to a book that will comes out in... three dang years i think? HOWEVER this is also a part of the book where you can just take a moment to SET THE STAGE of your novel. we are just building tone

i wanted to capture the feel of a very specific kind of hollywood party that is just PLAIN WEIRD. lots of entertainment industry folks but also these wealthy kind of invester types and then trust fund buckaroos all in this odd melting pot. in my trots around the country as a young buckaroo i went to a few of these parties and the funniest thing that i remember happening is exactly what happens in the book.

i trotted outside and all the ladybucks were standing around the hot tub looking annoyed, and there was one man in there half submerged. and one of the ladybucks came up to me and asked if i could make him leave because he had taken it upon himself to turn the temperature all the way down. so i approached this strange man and he said 'i made it isolation tank temperature so i could float'

so honestly, that particular moment is mostly there because it is a true story and i thought it shows how strange those sort of ultra wealthy hollywood mansion parties are

#bury your gays #buckaroo lifestyle #tingleverse

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stujet9rainshine-blog · 18 hours ago

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Okay! This is a little (a lot) late! But here's a one shot based on this art for you!

But happy birthday, Izzy!

Thanks for introducing this pairing to me lol (I'm in hell and I love the fire)

Words: 1129

Rating: G

The grasslands just outside of Amity Park were quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the chilly breeze. Manny tugged his jacket tighter around himself, teeth almost chattering, but he kept his mouth shut. No way he was going to complain. Not when Danny was lying beside him on the old plaid blanket, his blue eyes sparkling brighter than the sky overhead.

This was a special night. Danny had hesitantly invited him to come out and watch a meteor shower, and Manny had agreed a little too enthusiastically. Danny had warned him to dress warm, but even the cold couldn’t dampen the thrill buzzing in his chest.

The sky had darkened, and stars flickered to life above them—way more than Manny ever saw back in Miracle City. Too much light pollution there. But here? With Amity Park’s soft glow far in the distance, the sky felt vast and endless, like he could reach up and grab a handful of stars. It was unreal.

“It should be starting soon,” Danny declared, sitting up and pointing toward the stars. “It should be a decent one. This is a more normal one that isn't affected by ghosts like some of the others can be.”

Manny snorted, shaking his head. “Only in Amity Park would you have ghostly meteor showers.” He gave Danny a lopsided grin. “What, do they light up green and scream at you?”

Danny laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “Sometimes! There’s a whole theory that ghosts mess with space debris. Tucker and I tracked one that looked like a giant glowing skull once. Scared the crap out of some joggers.”

Manny couldn’t help but laugh along, warmed by Danny’s enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected to feel so... comfortable. Maybe a little cold, but his chest felt warmer than it had in a long time.

Manny looked up at the sky and remembered that Danny had always loved space. He had several NASA hoodies, which was also very bisexual of him. Then he had offhandedly mentioned a few times that he had wanted to be an astronaut before all the Phantom stuff took over his life. Every once in a while, he would ramble about the stars, but he often closed up when he noticed he was rambling—like he didn’t think anyone wanted to listen.

Manny hummed and looked between Danny and the sky. “Hey, Fenton.”

Danny pulled his eyes from the sky to Manny and hummed in response, a curious look on his face.

“So, I know shooting stars aren’t exactly stars,” Manny started, scratching the back of his neck. “Care to explain what they actually are?”

“Oh. That’s easy!” Danny instantly lit up, his whole face brightening like someone had flipped a switch. “They’re just tiny bits of rock and ice burning up when they hit the atmosphere. But the colors they burn as depend on what they're made of—like, sodium makes them look yellow, and copper makes them look blue or green.”

Danny paused to take a breath, his hands moving animatedly as he explained. Manny just watched, completely captivated—not by the sky, but by the way Danny’s excitement seemed to glow. He couldn’t help but smile, soaking in every little detail of how Danny’s nose crinkled and his eyes widened as he talked.

“And, like, they can be as small as a grain of sand or as big as a pebble. Most of them don’t even make it to the ground, but when they do, they’re called meteorites. And sometimes they’re magnetic, depending on the minerals! It’s crazy, right?”

Manny blinked as he processed the information, trying to keep up with the rush of words. “So, not stars but more like doomed space rocks?”

Danny grinned, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that way that made Manny’s heart stutter. “Yeah, that sums it up pretty well.” Then his eyes went back up to the night sky, a faint smile still on his lips.

Manny couldn’t help but look at Danny fondly as the stars reflected in his blue eyes, making them shimmer like they held a whole galaxy inside.

Suddenly, Danny gasped, his hand shooting up to point at the sky. “There’s the first one!” His other hand smacked against Manny’s arm, making him jolt.

Manny chuckled, his own brown eyes widening as he looked up just in time to see a handful of streaks shoot across the sky. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, his voice awed. “That’s... that’s crazy.”

Danny chuckled softly, and before Manny could even process it, he felt Danny’s hand resting on his thigh—light and warm. His heart did a little flip, but he stayed focused on Danny’s voice as his other hand returned to pointing out the meteors.

“This shower is caused by a comet passing close to Earth,” Danny explained, his tone brimming with enthusiasm. “The shooting stars are just pieces breaking off as it flies by. It happens every year, but sometimes the debris trail is thicker or thinner, depending on how much the comet has shed.”

Manny hummed, his eyes tracing the glowing trails that faded almost as fast as they appeared. “That’s... really cool,” Manny said, and he wasn’t just talking about the sky.

Danny hummed, his smile soft. “I'm glad you think so.”

Danny started talking again, rambling about meteor speeds and space facts, and Manny just listened, enjoying how passionate he was.

Then Danny spoke up again, his voice thoughtful. “Do you make wishes on shooting stars?”

Manny blinked. “Actually, no. Most people in Mexico think shooting stars are bad omens—like evil spirits flying across the sky. You’ll see old women cross themselves if they see one go overhead.”

Danny glanced at him, eyebrows raised, before laughing softly. “As someone who has actually seen haunted or spectral shooting stars... they’re more right than they think they are in some ways.”

“Are you sure this one isn’t a haunted comet?” Manny teased.

Danny rolled his eyes but grinned. “Pretty sure. If it starts screaming or throwing fireballs, though, we’ll know I was wrong.”

Manny laughed, bumping his shoulder against Danny’s. “What, the great El Tigre can’t handle space ghosts?”

“I’m not about to fight cursed space rocks and get my ass even more cursed than it already is,” Manny snickered.

Danny chuckled warmly as he leaned against Manny’s shoulder. “Would you want to wish on one of these?”

Manny didn’t look at the stars. Instead, he looked at Danny. “I think I’ve got what I want already, mi vida.”

Danny sputtered as his face darkened, “You and that Rivera hopeless romantic streak, I swear.”

“What? It’s a good character trait,” Manny rebuffed gently, pressing a soft kiss to Danny’s cheek. “And you like it.”

Danny sighed contentedly, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah, I do.”

#danny phantom #el tigre #nicktoons unite #tigerghost #ghostiger #fan fic #one shot #fluff #requests #prompts #gift fic #star gazing

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linkons-most-wanted · 2 days ago

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LIs Build IKEA furniture

I couldn’t get this out of my head, so enjoy 🤣

Zayne ❄️

Immediately takes charge of the process, doesn’t realize he’s doing so until you tease him about it

Treats the process like a surgery, you become the assistant. “Hex wrench. Number sixteen screw. Panel C in a vertical orientation.” When you tease him, he pretends to brush it off but then leans into the bit. “Phillips head screwdriver, stat.”

Never gets confused by the diagrams. Quietly notes errors and typos in the instructions. Seems to be able to use the tiniest details to know the correct orientation for each piece

Somehow had sandpaper on hand for when the pieces don’t fit perfectly

You hardly got a chance to look at the instructions but he still made you feel like an essential part of the process

Furniture is assembled perfectly in record time

Xavier 💫

Happy to help you out, starts reading the instructions while you sort the parts

Falls asleep reading the instructions

You take charge, waking him up on step 3 when you need him to hold something. He falls asleep holding it but somehow doesn’t drop it

When you ask for a part he just stares at the pile and picks up random things to offer you until he gets the right one or you point directly at it

Ask for the same part a second time, “Which was it again?”

You attach the last part and turn to high-five him—he’s sleeping again

Rafayel 🎨

“You want to spend time on this weird project instead of hanging out with me?” “This is us hanging out.” “What? But it’s boring. Can’t we, like, get someone else to put it together?”

You start building anyway

When you ask for something specific (“hold this”) he does so without hesitation but keeps complaining

“If I have to hold this board up any longer I’m going to get wrist cramps and then I won’t be able to paint for a week!”

“Ow ow, I think that gave me a splinter! Look at it! It might get infected! I need first aid, like, immediately.”

“This color is boooring, we should paint it later.”

This might be taking longer than if you just built it yourself

Sylus 🚗

“Did you steal this?” “No.” “Then why is it still in pieces?” “It’s how they sell it. It saves money.” “Why didn’t you say something? I’ll take you to a real furniture store.” “I want this exact one though.” “Can’t you pay them to assemble it?”

All you have to say is “I guess you’re not up for the challenge” and then he’s sitting on the floor next to you, also staring at the instructions

You both get confused on the same steps. Which side goes up again? Can you tell by the number of holes? Eventually you both shrug and hope for the best. Sylus brute forces a few pieces that probably don’t actually go together.

You realize you put a piece on backwards three steps ago and Sylus patiently helps you backtrack and fix it

“You’re being surprisingly cooperative.” “I am?” “Yeah, I thought you’d be way more annoyed.” “I never feel annoyed when I’m with you.”

“Where did that piece go?” (Mephisto stole it, it was shiny)

Caleb 🍎

“Hey Pipsqueak, remember when I built that bed for you? Even though you were in high school you still reeeeally wanted a pink one…” “Ugh, stop! It’s embarrassing!”

Takes the bag of pieces and the instruction book right away, uses his gravity Evol to hold up the parts. “Caleb, you took all the jobs! Let me help!” “You can help by getting us some snacks.”

“Caleb, I don’t think that goes there.” “Of course it does, are you really going to doubt the mechanical skills of a former fighter pilot?” Ten minutes later when it’s clear you were right the whole time: “Caleb, you dummy.”

“I switched the delivery notification number in your account over to my phone number since you’re going to need me to build whatever you buy, anyway.”

“You should come over to help me build my furniture too.” “But you didn’t let me help at all!” “Snack duty is very important, Pipsqueak.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads caleb #zayne #Xavier #Caleb #rafayel #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #nonsense

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delugyu · 2 days ago

Text

pining with a hundred hearts

summary: Confessing to you should be easy. Kai’s got his whole speech prepared, having gone over it about a million times in his head now. All he has to do now is say it exactly as rehearsed. As long as he keeps his cool and doesn’t veer off script, or say something stupid and thoughtless like—“Do you wanna hook up?” he blurts out, wide-eyed and shaking.

…Yeah. Like that.

pairings: huening kai x fem!reader

word count: 11.3k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), friends to lovers, best friend!kai, yeonjun being a mediocre wingman and the biggest dudebro on earth, kai is a ball of anxiety, a couple religious metaphors, incredible amounts of pining

smut tags: multiple smut scenes… this is only like one step above pwp okay, switch!kai, switch!reader, dry humping, choking (m rec.), unprotected sex, oral (f rec.), car sex, sooo muchhh kissinggg, praise, spit kink kinda, handjob for a second, multiple orgasms

notes: thanks again to this anon for the idea! yes this is another best friend fic i’m sorry i can’t help that this is what calls to me. anyway i hope u luv thisssss!

Kai’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he should go run and buy flowers or if that would be too corny. He examines his appearance with a critical eye, not wanting to look the slightest bit unattractive when he sees you. A small strand of hair falls into his face, and he pushes it back until he looks perfect again. He tries to imagine how he’d look with a bouquet in his hand.

“Dude, the harder you try, the worse you look.” Kai turns to Yeonjun with a frown, putting his hand back to his side and releasing the imaginary flowers. He deflates when he sees Yeonjun’s unamused expression.

“I’m not good at this stuff like you, though. I don’t know how to ask girls out,” Kai says, moving to sit beside Yeonjun on the edge of the bathtub. He brought Yeonjun here to cheer him on, not to make him feel worse about himself. Kai’s confidence is dwindling the longer he spends in Yeonjun’s presence.

Yeonjun ruffles Kai’s hair, and Kai immediately swats his hand away, scolding him for ruining the hair he had perfectly in place. Kai stretches his neck out to look at himself in the mirror again. He pouts when he sees the mess Yeonjun made.

“Just be normal. She’s your best friend, she’s not gonna bite your head off,” Yeonjun reasons.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Kai says. “Her biting my head off might actually be better. I’m scared of her rejecting me.”

Yeonjun smiles at Kai, making Kai scrunch his brows. It feels like there’s some joke he’s not in on. Before he can ask, Yeonjun’s pushing himself up and off the bathtub, stretching out his legs. Kai looks up at him, wondering how to be even half as carefree as him.

“I’m exhausted,” Yeonjun sighs, looking out the window. Kai doesn’t know what for—only twenty minutes have passed, it definitely wouldn’t be dark out yet. “Let’s just go to her place now.”

Kai’s eyes bug out. “Now?! I’m not ready!”

Yeonjun laughs, “I can promise you that she doesn’t care how you look.” He leaves the bathroom then, and Kai feels like he has no choice but to follow.

He’s so worried, he can’t stop thinking about how you might react to his confession. What if you don’t feel the same? That would crush Kai, but he would never make you feel like you have to say yes to him. He just really, really wants the feeling to be mutual.

Suddenly he’s walking outside with Yeonjun, and he knows exactly where Yeonjun plans on taking him. He recites his confession under his breath, making sure he remembers it all still. I’ve been in love with you for years, I can’t imagine my life spent beside anyone but you, and I really hope you’ll be my girlfriend. Whew, he’s still got it.

“Stop freaking out so much,” Yeonjun says from beside him, snapping Kai back to reality. He blinks at his friend, processing what he said for a few seconds.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Yes you are, dude. You’re, like, hyperventilating next to me.”

“Oh god, I’m hyperventilating?!” There’s no way he can confess to you like this! He imagines how gross it would be for you to hear him declare his love for you through jagged breaths. He turns around abruptly, ready to walk back home.

Yeonjun stops him with a hand gripping his shirt. “No backing out,” he says, pulling Kai back to him.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Kai says, shaking his head with panicked eyes.

Yeonjun grounds Kai with his hands on his shoulders, making sure he’s looking him in the eyes. “If you don’t do this today, you never will. I’m not letting you walk away now.”

Kai sighs and drops his head in defeat. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just go.”

Time passes way too quickly, and Kai finds himself standing at your door much too soon. Yeonjun abandons him as soon as your apartment is in sight, telling Kai he’ll be waiting for his success story when he comes back. Kai’s heart is pounding. He really hopes there ends up being a success story to tell.

He’s scrambling around for the words in his brain, making sure he doesn’t choke on them as soon as you open the door. I love you, I don’t want anyone but you, please be my girlfriend—something like that. He’s in the midst of a breathing exercise to calm himself down when the door swings open. He flinches, straightening his posture and sending you a smile.

“Hi Kai,” you say, backing up so he’ll come inside. Is he shaking? It feels like he’s shaking.

“Hi. I have something to tell you.” He wants to slap himself. Why'd he say it like that?! Does he think he’s the grim reaper or something, delivering some message of death?! He sounds so ominous, you must be so scared.

“Alright, let’s go to my room then.” You don’t sound shaken at all. You must be really good at hiding that you’re scared.

When he’s sitting across from you on your bed, he can clearly feel the way his body’s shaking. He almost wants to jump off the mattress so you don’t feel the way he trembles. You’ve done this a million times before, sharing your bed and staring at each other, but it feels so different this time.

You look around the room awkwardly in the midst of Kai’s prolonged silence, then start scrolling through your phone. You’re bored—he’s boring you, he needs to get on with it, this is already going wrong.

He clears his throat, and you return your attention to him. He opens his mouth and already starts stuttering on his words. He shuts up immediately, racking his brain for his confession again, and freaking out when he can’t find it.

“Kai? What’d you wanna tell me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He just has to spit it out now. He can’t waste your time any longer. He prays the words will just find him if he opens his mouth and starts speaking.

“Do you wanna hook up with me?” he blurts out, wide-eyed and shaking.

Fear crashes upon him so fast. That’s not what he meant to say. He feels the world crumbling around him, and he prays the universe is kind enough to swallow him whole.

Your silence is horrifying him, but he can’t blame you. He should probably see himself out now. You aren’t going to want anything to do with him ever again.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” you ask.

Kai gulps. “Um, yes.”

You look him up and down. “You’re shaking so much.” Kai looks down at himself to check. Yep, he sure is.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Are you a virgin?” He can’t be surprised that you asked that; he’s making himself look like the biggest loser ever right now.

“No,” he answers shakily. He’s not super experienced, but he’s definitely not a virgin. He can barely stand looking at you as he waits for your answer, feeling your rejection creeping up on him.

You shrug. “Alright, we can hook up.”

Kai feels his brain start to malfunction all over again. He wasn’t expecting you to agree. You were supposed to scold him and slap him and kick him out of your apartment for asking something so heinous. He’s not sure what to do now. It’s not like he can back out of this—or like he wants to.

“So… can I kiss you?” he asks, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah.” He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his jeans before he leans in to start closing the gap between you. He lets his face hover a few inches away from yours, taking in your beauty from this close up. You’re so pretty that he already feels himself getting hard just looking at you like this. He stares at your lips, thinking about all the hours he’s spent dreaming of how they’d feel against his.

A voice in his head urges him to run away and hide. What if he’s not good enough for you? What if he doesn’t make you cum? Maybe he should just apologize for saying anything and blame it on being drunk or something.

You push forward before he can pull away, and suddenly your lips are on his and fireworks are going off everywhere. Or at least that’s how it feels, Kai doesn’t know—half of his thinking prowess is in his dick right now.

The poets were right, a kiss with your true love does feel different. This is a high Kai has never felt before, one that leaves him lightheaded and struggling to cling onto reality. God is real, the universe is good, and he’ll devote himself to worshipping you for the rest of his life.

His hands find your face with a feather-light touch, unsure how far he should go just yet. One hand tangles itself in your hair, using gentle force to press your face closer to his. He wants to feel your soul enter his body, to become so intertwined that your beings blend into one.

He grants your tongue access into his mouth as soon as he feels you licking at his lips. He has half a mind to be embarrassed by the whine he emits when you deepen the kiss, mentally scolding himself for being so pathetic. He shivers when your hands fall onto his shoulders, completely weakened by your touch. He’ll let you go as far as you want, he’ll give you the world.

You pull away to catch your breath, staring him down like you’re some hungry wolf. Kai wishes that it didn’t turn him on as much as it did. To see your eyes dark and wanting for him makes blood rush to his cock. This is something Kai’s waited years for, and it does wonders for his confidence, if only for a moment.

He drags you back to him, capturing your lips yet again. There’s more heat in his movements this time, conveying all his attraction to you through tongue and teeth. He licks into your mouth, wanting more, needing more, aching to get you delirious off his touch. His hands start moving down your body, dipping below your shirt to hold onto your bare waist. Your skin is warm and soft, and it feels like territory that Kai needs to explore.

He bites your lip and soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue, then places another quick kiss to your lips. You look like something out of his wildest dreams, your lips wet and swollen and your eyes blown out with lust. He must not be faring any better. Your eyes dart to the bulge in his pants, and Kai feels a smidge of humiliation that you can see how he’s already fully hard. If a little bit of making out is enough to get him like this, he really has to pull himself together for when you actually touch him.

You push down on Kai’s shoulders until his back meets the mattress. He stares up at you and bites his lip, waiting for your next move. There’s a million different things you could do right now, and he thinks he’d be okay with any of them. You could throw your clothes to the floor and ride his face, you could shove his pants down his legs and tug at his cock, you could sit on his lap and just kiss him some more—hell, you could do nothing but sit there and look pretty and Kai would eventually burst.

“So what made you suddenly decide to hook up with me?” you ask while you situate yourself on his lap. He gasps as you let your hips fall into a slow grind over him. He curses the number of layers separating you two, wanting nothing more than to feel you directly. His hands fall to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh.

“I just…” It’s hard for him to find his words when he’s so focused on the sight of you on top of him. He’s fantasized about this countless times, but none of his imaginations could compare to this.

You laugh and let a hand trail up his chest, stopping at his throat to hold it in a loose grasp. He doesn’t want to be a pervert and beg for you to close your fist, but the idea of you choking him while grinding on top of him has his dick twitching in his jeans. The light pressure isn’t enough, he’d let you go all the way if you wanted.

“You just what?” you coax, smiling at him. He doesn’t know if you meant to be condescending or coddling, but either way it leaves him gripping onto your thighs a little tighter to keep his composure. His tongue is useless, no words find him when you’re toying with him like this. “Tell me, I wanna know,” you press. Kai doesn’t have it in him to create some lie on the spot.

“I-it’s kinda hard to think right now,” Kai says, hands moving up to your hips to try to urge you to move a little faster.

“I can stop, then,” you say, pausing your movements.

“No!” He presses his hips up into you and uses his hands to continue grinding you against him. You squeeze his throat at that, which only makes him whimper and buck into you harder.

“Kai,” you scold, and he finally listens and calms down. It takes a lot of willpower to lay still beneath you. You’re so tempting, he can’t help but try to relieve the strain in his pants.

“It’s just been a while, and… you’re really hot, so,” he explains as he tries to control his breathing.

You give an unsatisfied hum. “So you chose me just cause I’m hot and available?”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. He thinks you’re doing this on purpose. “No. You’re my best friend, and I trust you, that’s why. Please move,” he says, trying to urge your hips forward again. He’s a little surprised at how easily he can hide the fact that he was originally planning on asking you out today. Being this horny must grant him superpowers.

You sit there for a moment, pondering his words. Those ten seconds feel like torture, but you’re undoing his pants as soon as you decide his answer was satisfactory, and it makes everything worth it. You push them halfway down his thighs before tugging your own shorts off, and Kai’s hands work quickly to feel up the exposed skin.

You’re back to grinding on him, but this time less clothes separate you. It’s still far too much, though; Kai needs to feel skin on skin. His fingers pry at your panties and try to tug them off, but you swat his hands away. He looks up at you with the most pitiful look he can muster, and it only serves to make you laugh at him like he’s some handsy perv. He blushes a little, letting his hands fall back onto your thighs.

“You just can’t wait, huh?” you taunt, hands sliding up his stomach and chest until his shirt is pulled as far up as it will go. You stare at his body with a bitten lip and dark eyes, and the intensity makes Kai shudder.

“I-I can wait,” he counters, rubbing his thumbs on your skin, keeping his hands right where they are to show that he’s being good. If all you’ll give him is some grinding and heavy petting, then he’ll be happy to just shut up and take it. He needs to prove himself to you, to show you that he can be whatever you want him to be. If you want him to be quiet and lay down like a toy, he’ll be ten steps ahead of you, leaning back on the mattress waiting to be used. If you want him to throw you around and treat you like a whore, he’ll show you strength like no one else has. This is about doing everything exactly how you want.

“How cute,” you coo, letting your nails lightly rake down his torso, stopping once your fingers are at his boxers. You let your finger run over the hem teasingly, just tracing it back and forth with no care as to how much this is torturing Kai. His hips rut up without his permission, body acting on its own accord, and he’s worried for a second that you might scold him.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to apologize, but his body betrays him again. He swears he’s not intent on making himself look so pathetic and horny—this is just what you do to him.

“Do you need me now?” you ask, snapping the waistband of his boxers playfully. He whines and nods, squeezing your hips with need. “How bad?”

“So bad I could cry,” he says. You laugh, and he panics.

“Then cry.” His eyes widen. He knows you’re serious when you still your hips over him once more, crossing your arms and grinning down at him. You’re such a tease, he might just die.

“Please, please use me!” If you want him to beg, he’ll put on a whole damn show. He holds you in place above him so he can roll his hips up into yours, making sure your clit catches on the head of his cock each time. His grip is bruising, and your gasps are like music to his ears. He can’t stop now, he’s insatiable. “Hnng—I’ll cum in my boxers if you don’t let me inside you now,” he whines, giving you a particularly rough thrust.

He’s thankful that you don’t push him away again when his hands scramble to yank your panties off. He pulls them down your legs and throws them hastily somewhere off the bed. He flips the two of you over so you’re lying on the mattress, and you’re giggling at him while he loses his mind above you. He takes off the rest of his clothes as fast as he can, itching to feel your hands all over his skin.

He’s panting by the time he’s finally got his dick in his hands, stroking it and spreading his precum down his shaft. You’re way too beautiful beneath him, and the fear of not lasting long enough to make you cum is making him feel incredibly insecure. You’re way too good for him. Oh god. He has so much to prove, so much to live up to.

He tries to dive down between your legs, figuring he could at least get you to cum on his tongue to ease his worries. He’s stopped by your fist in his hair, pulling him back up before he could even get eye-level with your pussy. His fingers are quick to separate your folds then, rubbing up your slit persistently.

“Let me prepare you,” he says, moving his head down again. He only gets to nibble your thigh before you’re giggling and pulling his head away.

“I’m ready,” you insist, spreading your legs a little wider. His head spins. You’re insane. Now he’s really in danger of cumming too soon—like, before he even sticks it in. He leans his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a hold of himself. His fingers swipe rapidly at your clit, trying to get you as close to the edge as he is. He can’t embarrass himself. He has to be good for you.

Your legs shake and close over his hand, and you try tugging him by the wrist to push him away, but he’s too intent on making you cum to be deterred by that. “Fuck, Kai, stop, you’re gonna..!” Your voice is getting high-pitched and whiny, and your pleas for mercy are really only working against you; if anything, it only motivates Kai further.

“It’s okay, just let go,” he urges, watching your face to see if you’re close. Your eyebrows are upturned, eyes glazed over with lust, and suddenly you look a lot less like a hungry wolf and more like a poor little lamb. He realizes then that the most important thing in the world right now is getting you to fall apart under him.

“Ah—oh, god,” you cry, hips rolling up into his hand as he keeps his relentless pace. He watches arousal drip from your empty cunt, leaking down to the mattress, and it’s the most enticing sight Kai’s ever laid eyes on.

“Come on, cum for me. Promise to stuff you so good when you do,” Kai urges, feeling dizzy at the sight of your twitching body. You must be so close. Every part of him aches for your climax.

“Fuck, cumming..!” you gasp out, grasping onto Kai’s arm for dear life. He loves this feeling, it’s like you need him, like he saved you, like he showed you divinity. It gets too much to his head, and he knows at that moment that he just became addicted. He’ll keep searching for this high for the rest of his life.

He lets up once your body starts convulsing too hard, using his hand to gently hold your waist down instead. He looks at you like you’re something magnificent. A part of him still wonders if this is real or not, but his mind could never make up something this life-changing.

He leans down to kiss you, something deep and hungry, portraying all the need that’s nestled its way into his being. Your hands find his shoulders easily, and it feels like they were meant to be there. Kai thinks your bodies must have been made to touch each other.

You pull away from the kiss, smiling up at him like a little devil. “I thought you said you were gonna fill me up now?”

Something about you saying that makes everything seem much more real all of a sudden. Anxiety strikes its way back into Kai’s stomach, and he doesn’t know if he is greater parts fear or lust when his hand finds his dick again.

“I will,” he promises, and he prays you don’t hear the shake in his voice. He holds back a gasp when he brings his tip to your entrance. You’re soaked, and he feels the way your hole flutters pathetically for him. You need him. He almost feels possessed at the thought.

He bites his lip hard as he starts to push in. He’s trying not to get ahead of himself, but you’re so easy to get drunk in. You’re so tight, he would have stuffed you with his fingers if he’d known you’d be squeezing him like a vice.

He bottoms out with a gruff moan, holding onto your waist for dear life. He can’t believe this. He’s inside you. He’s in love with you. He’s as close to you as he could possibly be. The physical world constrains him from tying your souls together infinitely, but the intimacy of this is almost good enough.

How does he prove himself worthy for you? He feels himself getting lost more and more in a fantastical world in which you love him too, and the two of you are making love. But that’s not what this is. You just want him to fuck you.

His hands trail down to your hips, holding you still as he starts to pull out a bit. He’ll give you what you want. He’ll prove himself capable, make sure you know how well he can satisfy you. He’d spend a lifetime making you believe him if he could.

Your breath catches when Kai bottoms out again in a hard thrust. “You’re big,” you say with a little giggle, hands coming up to rest on Kai’s shoulders.

“T-thanks.” He doesn’t know if you’re laughing at his stutter or at his response, but either way it makes his face flush. He fucks into you at a steady pace now, slow enough to keep himself from cumming.

Your hand trails up to the nape of his neck to grip his hair, and it makes Kai whine. You roll your hips up into him, meeting his thrusts deliciously, tugging harder at his hair when he speeds up a little. You’re making things really hard for Kai right now. He wants to give you the best time of your life, but you keep hypnotizing him with how sexy you are.

He can’t be selfish. He brings a thumb to your clit and relishes in the way you groan out at the stimulation. “Just like that,” you praise, clutching onto him a little more desperately.

“Wanna be good for you,” he says, letting his hips buck harder against you. He’s never felt so brainless in his life; he only acts on instinct as he chases his orgasm and your own. There’s a primal urge to claim you, to paint your walls with his seed.

Your back arches up into him, like you’re presenting yourself fully to him. His free hand snakes up your shirt to find your tits, playing with them as he pleases, watching your reactions to everything. You look so overwhelmed. Your mouth hangs open with broken whines as Kai keeps stimulating you, and the sight has his stomach clenching in threat of climaxing soon.

“Kai,” you moan, accompanied by some garble of words that he can’t quite decipher. He doesn’t know if that’s because you’re unintelligible from how good you feel, or if it’s because he’s so far off in his own need to make you cum that everything else is blurred out.

Your walls start tightening around him now, and he knows you’re cumming when you throw your head back with a cry. He almost bursts inside you at that moment. He feels like something more than human, like only the most divine of beings should be able to see things like this. He burns the image in his mind.

“Where can I cum?” he asks, jackhammering into you as he chases his high. You’re whimpering from the overstimulation, but Kai thinks you can take it for just a few more moments.

“A-anywhere,” you stutter out. For the first time, Kai thinks you look breakable. He has a scary thought of wanting to ruin you.

“Inside you?” he asks, coming down to mouth at your neck. You whimper when he bottoms out again and grinds against you.

“Wherever you want,” you say.

Fuck. It’s that same second he spills inside you, almost as if your words were what allowed him to cum. He groans into your shoulder, hands squeezing at your flesh while your cunt milks him dry. He will never get closer to heaven than this.

He’s not sure how many minutes have passed by the time he’s picking himself back up, hovering over you, still sheathed inside your walls. All he knows is that you look even more beautiful now than you have before, and the urge to confess his love to you falls over him once again.

“Is this gonna change things?” Kai asks. He hopes you say yes. He hopes he made you see him in a new light, that you suddenly realized he’s the man of your dreams and you need him to be with you forever.

“No,” you answer, running your fingers through his hair. “But we probably will fuck again. That was mind-blowing.”

Kai’s still a little too hazy to process that. “Alright,” he says. He collapses back down on you, figuring he would take advantage of the moment and hold you like this a little longer.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Admittedly, Kai didn’t think this through very well. He’s pacing around his bedroom, going on and on to Yeonjun about how much he messed up and how scared he is to see you again. Yeonjun lays on Kai’s bed, much more relaxed than Kai is.

“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Yeonjun says. Kai can’t believe how he can be so casual about this. “You can still tell her how you feel.”

“No I can’t! I should have told her before we had sex, this is a nightmare!” Kai holds his head in his hands, trying to keep it from exploding. The amount of stress he feels right now is probably enough to guarantee him heart problems later in life.

“She won’t care, dude. Just tell her you choked,” Yeonjun reassures. It does very little to comfort Kai, though.

“I’m not gonna tell her. I don’t think I can.”

“Yes you can. If you don’t tell her, I’ll ask her out myself.” Kai’s not sure if Yeonjun’s threat is legit, but it strikes a bit of fear in his heart anyway.

“I’ll tell her in, like, a month. That’s enough time, right?”

“Why not tomorrow?” Yeonjun counters.

“Are you crazy?! We had sex two days ago! If I tell her tomorrow, I’m gonna look pussy-whipped!”

Yeonjun laughs, “Well…”

Kai rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I’m not telling her until next month.”

“You’re just gonna push that date back over and over again. Get it over with sooner, that way you don’t have to worry about it all the time,” Yeonjun explains.

“You don’t get it. This is hard for me. Have you even been in love before?” Kai asks, pausing in front of the bed so he can look Yeonjun in the eye when he answers.

“I guess not,” Yeonjun says, shrugging like he doesn’t see how that would matter. “You know I give good advice about dating, though. I can look at it objectively because I’ve never been in love.”

Kai doesn’t have a response to that—not because Yeonjun’s right, but because he thinks Yeonjun’s reasoning is so ridiculous. Yeonjun doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel even a quarter of the yearning Kai holds for you. He doesn’t know a fraction of the fear of losing you.

Yeonjun starts up again, “You’re seeing her tomorrow anyway, so you might as well.”

Kai shakes his head. “I can’t. I can barely handle seeing her tomorrow as is.”

Yeonjun sits up, clearly taking the conversation more seriously now. “Why though? You act like you’re so doomed, but I guarantee you that hooking up once isn’t something to cry about.”

“That’s the problem, it wasn’t just a hook up for me. I will never be the fucking same again. I literally can’t move on.” Mild irritation laces all of Kai’s words.

“Then take a step back and chill out. The more you stress about this, the worse you’re going to make things,” Yeonjun says. He still sounds so unphased about it all. Kai wishes he could make him see how pressing this really is, how this actually feels like life or death for him.

“How am I gonna take a step back when I see her and talk to her all the time?” Kai asks. That’s just scratching the surface; he doesn’t even mention how his every thought goes back to you, how everything in the world reminds him of you one way or another. His devotion toward you feels like it’s embedded in his bones, like it’s part of his wiring. There is no him without an undying love for you—the two cannot be separated.

“I don’t know, dude. I don’t wanna sound like a dick, but if you don’t want my help, figure it out on your own,” Yeonjun says, exhausted.

Equally exhausted, Kai sinks down the wall until he’s sat on the floor. “Let’s just stop talking about this for now,” Kai sighs out.

It’s quiet in the room for a minute as the tension slowly dissipates. Then, Yeonjun chimes in again with a five-star idea: “Wanna get drinks?”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Kai thought he’d be too scared to see you today, but he proves himself to be horribly wrong. As soon as you call him telling him to come over, the only anxiety he feels is in the form of antsiness to see you again. He doesn’t waste a second before driving to your apartment. He could walk, but that would just be more time lost.

He realizes the moment he walks into your bedroom that maybe he shouldn’t have been so careless before coming here.

Your eyes fall to his shirt. “Is that One Direction?”

“No.” He looks down at his shirt only to see the five boy band members staring back at him. He looks back at you, hopefully concealing the fear he feels from his face. “Yes.”

You laugh. Oh god, do you think he’s a loser?

“It’s my sister’s shirt,” he explains quickly. “It was too big for her, so she gave it to me.”

“Please go out in public wearing that,” you say. “I’ll literally treat you to lunch right now.”

Kai feels his face flushing in embarrassment. “I don’t even like One Direction!”

“You do now! I think I’m in the mood for a discography dive, actually,” you laugh. Kai hides his face in his hands as he trudges his way over to you, falling backward onto your bed. He feels your hand run through his hair as your laughter dies down.

“Do you have any of my sweatshirts here?” Kai asks, even though he knows you do.

“Nooooo, I don’t want you taking those from me,” you whine.

“You’ll get it back, I just don’t want to go out like this.” You pout at him before getting up and rummaging through your closet. You throw a sweatshirt at him when you find one, and Kai is quick to throw it on once it lands in his lap.

“It feels like a crime for you to be covering them up,” you say, brushing your hand over where One Direction’s faces once were.

“It would feel like more of a crime letting people think I’m a modern-day Directioner.” Kai relishes in the way you laugh at that.

“You’d be such a Niall girl,” you say with an amused glint in your eye.

“I don’t even know which one Niall is.”

“He’s”—

“And I’d like to keep it that way,” he cuts you off.

“Fine. No one ever wants to talk One Direction with me anyway.”

Kai laughs, and he’s a little starstruck by how pretty you look when you smile at him like this. “Where do you wanna go today?” he asks, changing the conversation.

You shrug. “We can just drive to the city and see what’s around,” you offer.

“Do you wanna just head out now then?”

“Let me get ready and then we can,” you say, getting off the bed.

It’s a miracle how normal Kai’s been able to act so far. He still looks away when you change your clothes, wanting to be respectful, but he wonders if there’s even a point to it anymore. His face heats up when he thinks about how you said you’ll probably have sex with him again.

Yeonjun’s words from yesterday come back to Kai, how he seemed so confident that Kai should confess to you today. For a second, he considers it. Yeonjun’s so much better with girls than Kai is, it would probably be stupid to not take his advice. But then Kai remembers that there’s no stakes when Yeonjun talks to girls; he doesn’t go after his best friend like Kai does, he goes after random girls at random parties that he’ll never see again.

For Kai’s own good, and for the sake of your friendship, he can’t tell you today. Even if it means swallowing down his compliments when you come to him all ready to go. Even if it means staying silent while being at risk of going into cardiac arrest, heart beating rapidly from how pretty you look in the passenger seat of his car.

Kai makes the mistake of letting you control the music on the ride there. He conveys his disappointment with a single glance to you when he hears you play What Makes You Beautiful. You’re grinning so hard that your cheeks must hurt, but your joy is contagious, and Kai finds himself smiling against his will.

“What? It’s your favorite band!” you tease. You turn up the volume as the chorus hits, singing the lyrics to him. Kai can’t help but laugh. He might have to buy a hundred more stupid t-shirts if this is what he’ll get every time.

Once you arrive downtown, Kai walks with you as you look for an intriguing store. He usually lets you pick out what shops you enter, but he catches sight of a building that calls out to him. “Let’s go here,” Kai suggests, motioning toward the sign on the store.

“Palm reading? Since when did you get so spiritual?” you ask.

Kai looks at you for a second, admiring your smile. “I just think it might be fun,” he says. “You don’t like it?”

You shrug. “I’m just not super into it. I’m down to watch you get your palm read, though.”

The shop is typical for a spirituality store—there’s crystals, tarot cards, incense, and everything else Kai usually sees at these places. He walks to the woman managing the register at the back, eyeing the board behind her that displays their services.

“Oh wow, they do mediumship here,” you say quietly as you follow behind Kai. “What the hell is an aura reading?” There’s a bit of amusement in your voice, and Kai hopes the worker doesn’t hear you.

“I don’t know, I’ve never done those,” he whispers back to you. He smiles when the woman behind the counter comes up to him, greeting her quietly.

“How can I help you?” she asks.

“Could we do one of those palm readings?” Kai says, pointing up at the text on the board describing the palm reading service.

“Just that? Would you like me to look at anything else?”

“Just the palm reading,” Kai answers. The woman calls out another worker to watch the store, then directs you and Kai to a room at the back.

“Oh, this room is tiny. It’s like a closet,” you say with a laugh, and Kai hopes the woman knows that you say this with no malice. She motions for the two of you to take a seat at the small table in the room. The chairs aren’t very comfortable—they’re pretty hard, and they squeak when you both sit in them, but Kai thinks of it as another charm to the place.

There’s a lot of unlit candles in the room, and the light instead comes from a lamp that stands in the corner of the room, casting the room in a yellowish glow. Spiritual posters line the walls, as well as shelves that hold huge crystals and other trinkets Kai doesn’t quite recognize. He looks to you for a second, to which you return his glance with a smile and a raise of your brows. His heart races a little, sickly sweet feelings for you rising in his stomach.

“Would you hold out your hands?” the woman says, and Kai immediately places his hands palm-up on top of the table. He suddenly feels nervous, as if he’s baring something as sacred as his soul rather than just his skin.

He’s not sure what he wants to hear today. He hasn’t done anything like this before, but the worker seems nice enough. Kai doesn’t know how to tell if someone is the real deal or not when it comes to spiritual stuff, but he trusts this woman’s vibes. She’s funky, in a good way.

He wonders if palm readings can say anything about love. With you right here, perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t ask.

The worker hums as she assesses Kai’s hands. He can feel them starting to get clammy from the nerves, antsy to just hear whatever she has to say. He hopes he doesn’t have bad fortunes.

The woman rests her thumb over a deep line that runs across Kai’s palm. “Your life line is very pronounced.”

Kai blinks at her. “What does that mean?”

She runs her finger over the full line. “It’s a long, deep line. Usually that means you’re energetic, and you’ll have a successful life. You might be good at sports too.”

You laugh beside him, and if his hands weren’t busy getting read by this lady he would’ve used them to shove you. “Please don’t mind her,” he says, feeling his face heat up.

“There’s just the capacity for you to be good at sports. And it doesn’t have to be a very physical sport,” she continues. Great—your laughter made the palm reader start scrambling for an explanation. She thinks he’s unathletic now.

“I am good at sports,” Kai says, feeling like he has to prove himself. “I like working out.”

“Yesss, and he loves bowling,” you add.

“What? She just made that up,” Kai defends. “I don’t like bowling.”

“He was a pro bowler in high school.”

“No. You’re a pro liar.” Kai is also failing to see why you find it important to sell this lie to the palm reader. He’s lucky enough that the reader doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your antics.

“You seem to have a lot of emotions,” she says, finger lying on one of the other prominent lines in Kai’s palm. He sees you smirking in his peripheral, and he tries his very best to ignore it. “Do you usually repress what you feel?”

Oh gosh. He makes a point to not look at you, but the first thing he thinks of is how he’s been holding in his feelings for you for years. He’s been bottling that up for a while—a lot of other emotions, too, but namely that one.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he answers with a nod, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“All the time,” you correct. “He rarely opens up.”

The palm reader hums in acknowledgement. “I can see that. You might want to work on expressing your emotions more. It’s not good to let everything sit in your body.” She looks him dead in the eye to make her point. Kai nods and gulps, feeling a little intimidated.

The reader releases Kai’s hands and turns her face to you. “Would you like a reading?” she asks. You wave your hand in denial.

“I’m alright, thank you. Hey, you got him dead on, though. Congrats,” you say, smiling at the lady and getting out of your chair.

“Thank you,” Kai says, fishing his wallet from his pants. “How much is this?”

“Ten dollars,” the woman answers, taking the cash from Kai when he hands it to her. He runs over to where you stand at the door, waiting for him with a smile. The moment the two of you step foot out of the building, you’re already going on about how fake and scammy this gig is.

“That lady was so full of shit. I could probably do this job. It was actually meant for me cause I love to lie,” you say. You stop walking and turn to face Kai. “Here, give me your hand.”

He hesitates for a second and braces himself for whatever insane story you’re about to come up with.

“Oh yeah, fingertips of a bowler,” you start. You cackle when Kai immediately tries yanking his hand from yours at that, but you keep a solid grip on his wrist. You trace over a line in his palm. “This one means you like long walks on the beach. And this one means you want to go back to the car and give me head.”

His interest is piqued. “For real?”

You drop his hand. “Yeah, says exactly that. That’ll be ten bucks.”

“I can think of a better way to pay you,” he says, unable to contain his grin. He takes your hand and speeds to his car. He doesn’t really care how desperate it makes him look. You’re giggling the whole way there, and the noise just goes straight to his cock. Maybe he is pussy-whipped.

He urges you into the backseat as soon as you make it to the car, getting in behind you and slamming the door shut, too eager to get his hands on you. Your smile doesn’t leave your face when he leans in to kiss you, but that doesn’t stop him at all. He cradles your jaw in his hand, keeping your face connected to his as he works his lips against yours.

“Hope no one catches us,” you giggle, only pulling away long enough to say that before being taken by Kai’s kiss again. Kai doesn’t let your words get to him; he’s too horny to think about anything besides boning you anyway.

Kai hovers over you, and there’s not much space in the backseat of his car, but he’ll sure as hell make it work if it means getting his face between your thighs. He wastes no time pulling down your jeans and your panties, yanking off your top and bra too so that you lay fully nude beneath him.

His eyes scan your body hungrily, taking in your skin at its most vulnerable. “You’re pretty,” he says as his hands find your tits, squeezing them and listening to you sigh at the feeling.

“J-just pretty?” you tease.

“And sexy,” Kai says, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it until he hears you whimper. “And so gorgeous,” he adds before moving to your other nipple. He’s greedy—he wants all your pleasure to be his own, for you to only associate sex and satisfaction with him.

You gasp and arch into him. Kai catches your movement, holding your back to keep you pressed close to him as he continues showing you how beautiful he thinks you are. He could spend lifetimes doing this. He was made to worship you.

Your hand curls in his hair, and Kai wonders if you could cum like this, just from some nipple stimulation. With the way you’re panting and moaning into the air, he thinks you might. He’ll have to try that someday. Today, it’s not enough. Today, he craves you more carnally. He starts dragging his lips down your body, trying not to smile in satisfaction when your breath hitches.

He brings his head between your legs, staring at you with intensity blazing in his eyes. He wonders if your skin is buzzing too. He wonders if you’ve never felt more alive than now, just like him.

“Can I?” he asks, gently maneuvering your legs to rest over his shoulders.

You lean up on your elbows to watch. “Mhm,” you hum with a small smile.

He can’t be bothered to tease you—it would probably be more torturous for him than you, anyway. He dives in right away, bringing his tongue to your folds and tightening his hold on your thighs. He can’t count how many times he’s jerked off to the thought of this. He doesn’t even care that he’s cramped in the tight space of his car, all he cares about is that he finally knows how you taste.

His tongue swirls at your clit, gliding along the bud with determination. He’s dying to feel your legs clamp around his head. He wants to be suffocating, to feel the air slowly leave him as he laps at your pussy. He grunts against you, moving down to tongue at your entrance.

He presses his face further into you, aching to get closer than what’s physically possible. He curls his tongue up inside you, huffing out a laugh when your thighs jolt at the sensation. He repeats the motion until he hears your moans get high-pitched and breathy, and he feels like he’s on top of the world. Nothing could be better than this.

Your hands grab at his hair, desperate and shaking and so needy, and he can’t help but feel the urge to take care of you. “Fuck, how are you so good at this?” you ask, sounding all worked up. Kai thinks it’s very cute. He doesn’t answer, of course—he’s a little preoccupied.

Your words motivate him to go further, lapping at you with more fervor. His brain turns to mush, reduced to primal instinct that begs you to cum all over his tongue. He grips onto you tighter when your hips start running away, not letting you escape him. You whine out as he mouths at your pussy; it’s filthy and messy, but Kai couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to have you.

“Kai—Kai! Like that, shit, you’re so fucking good.” Your legs start closing around his head, and Kai thanks the universe for putting him in this position. You twitch and gasp as you get closer and closer to your climax, hands tightening in Kai’s hair.

He’s feral now, and his vision might be blacking out, but he fucking loves this. He doesn’t stop or slow down, and the payoff comes in the form of his name tumbling from your lips as you finally cum. He can’t get enough, continuing to lap at you even as you try to tug him away.

“I’m sensitive!” you yelp when he comes up to your clit, taking it between his lips and sucking until you cry. He doesn’t do it to be mean, he’s just so crazy about you. He wants you to cum over and over again, but you keep trying to pull him away, so he finally lets up.

He comes up to you for a kiss, taking your hand to hold it as he pants into your mouth. He doesn’t care about catching his breath. He doesn’t want to waste time on insignificant things like taking in air. He only wants to breathe you in, to be overwhelmed with the way you take over his senses.

Your free hand clumsily tries to push his pants down, and he resorts to helping you out after a few failed attempts. He doesn’t separate from the kiss for a second as he gets his cock out, lining it up to your entrance needily. He pumps his shaft in his hand as he sticks his tip in, eating up your moans as they pass from your mouth into his.

Maybe he’s too in his head, but this feels like more than sex between two friends. This feels too transformative to be anything casual. He pushes in further, breaking from the kiss to watch your face as he bottoms out. He brushes your hair back, then lets his hand rest on your cheek. His thumb rests over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. You have beautiful lips.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth the same moment he starts thrusting inside you. He feels the vibrations of your moans as he fucks into you, groaning at the way you clench around him.

“You take me so well,” Kai grunts out, pushing his thumb down on your tongue so your mouth opens up. You look like a wet dream. He brings his other hand to your breasts, playing with your nipples. You mewl, and he finally takes his thumb from your mouth so he can kiss you again.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel ready to burst. He pinches your clit, trying to bring you to the edge with him. You tug his hair, pulling his face away so you can stare into his eyes as you get closer to cumming.

“Cum inside me,” you urge, sliding your hand down from his hair to his neck. You hold his throat in a possessive grasp, and Kai almost sees God in that moment. His hips buck into you faster, motivated by your fingers slowly tightening around him.

Kai bottoms out and bursts inside you with a moan, letting your walls squeeze around him and milk his cock. He moves his fingers over your clit rapidly until he feels you convulsing around his shaft; his head spins from both the noises you make as you orgasm and your hand around his neck.

You finally let go, and Kai gasps for air, leaning his head down into your shoulder as he rides out the last of your highs. He runs his hands all over your body, cherishing the feel of your bare flesh. He licks the skin at your neck and shoulder mindlessly, still foggy from how turned on he is.

He pulls out after a minute, pulling his head from your shoulder so he can watch the way his cum drips out of you. He grins at the sight, and he knows it’s perverted and gross, but he loves the way it spills out. He can’t have his cum dripping onto his car seats, though, so he has to put your panties back on and make sure your cunt keeps it all in.

“How you feeling?” you ask, still laying down and catching your breath.

“Good. That was so good,” Kai breathes out, staring at your lips, then your eyes.

You smile at him. “Is that all you want to say?” you ask.

No, it’s not. He wants to say he loves you. He wants to say that this means more to him than you know. He wants your lips beyond these slivers of moments, he wants your body beyond these hookups. Do you know that? Do you know he wants to say all that?

He grabs your hand and laces his fingers between yours. The lines embedded in his palms spell out a path that was fated for loving you. He’s more sure of this now than ever before. There’s his answer.

“That’s all,” Kai says.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“I don’t get it,” Yeonjun says. “Why’d you hook up with her again if it fucked you up so bad last time?”

Kai sighs, “Cause I’m stupid. I don’t know.”

Kai’s not sure how debriefing with Yeonjun after hanging out with you became such common practice, but it at least offers him some sort of reprieve from suffering alone. Now he doesn’t have to mope around crying about his lost chances with you. They’re sitting in Yeonjun’s car in the corner of some parking lot, since Yeonjun didn’t want to just hang out at Kai’s place again.

“Are you ever gonna confess?” Yeonjun asks. He sounds like he lost hope in Kai.

“Yes, I am,” Kai says, not knowing how to bare himself to Yeonjun like this. “Just not yet.”

“Mhm,” he gives an unconvincing hum.

“I am,” Kai insists.

“When? Ten years from now, when she’s already settled down without you?” That pisses Kai off a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Yeonjun continues, “Listen, dude. For your own sake—and for mine, at this point—just tell her you love her. And not in a month. Tell her today.”

“I’m not seeing her today,” Kai reasons.

Yeonjun puts the car in drive. “Yes you are.”

“Oh my god, you’re not taking me to her place,” Kai says, but Yeonjun’s already pulling out of the parking lot and heading out. Kai’s eyes go wide. “You’re not.”

“I am.” What the hell?! Kai’s not ready for this! You don’t even know he’s coming over!

“I don’t know what to say!” he exclaims, starting to panic.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yeonjun says.

“I just saw her yesterday! You’re making me look desperate!”

“You are desperate,” Yeonjun laughs. Kai doesn’t find it funny. Kai can’t really find anything funny right now.

“I can’t do it. I’m not doing it.”

Yeonjun doesn’t even respond; he just keeps his eyes on the road and continues on the route to your apartment. Kai’s getting flashbacks to when he first tried confessing to you. That was around a week ago now, and look where that attempt got him. He's more pathetic than he was before.

Of course he wants to tell you how he feels. It’s not like Kai wants to be such a coward about this, but the fear of you rejecting him and scaring you off forever is mortifying. Yeonjun doesn’t understand how paralyzing that idea is. There would be no kind of hurt stronger than the one of you turning Kai away. He knows he can’t make you love him, and while he would simply die to have his feelings be reciprocated, he can’t force it onto you.

Yeonjun’s approaching your street now, and Kai has never felt closer to death in his life. There’s no chance he’s getting out of Yeonjun’s car. He’ll rot away here in the passenger seat before he confesses to you.

Yeonjun turns to Kai when he parks by your apartment complex. He raises an eyebrow when Kai doesn’t make a move to get out of the car.

“I’m too scared. I can’t,” Kai says, sounding completely sure of this.

Yeonjun’s quiet for a few seconds, pursing his lips in thought as he decides on what to say. “How much do you love her?” he asks.

This is a stupid question. “You know how much. It kills me how much.”

“So act like it. Pick yourself up and go to her like a man. Quit ruining your own life—she’s not gonna want some bum who can’t even work up enough courage to say he loves her,” Yeonjun says, and his words are harsh, but they strike some kind of determination in Kai. “Dude, I don’t know any guy who deserves her more than you. You’re the best. I mean it. You gotta go get her.”

Kai’s palms are sweating and his heart is racing, but there’s a fire lit beneath him now. Yeonjun’s right. Even if it’s the end of all things, Kai has to tell you his feelings.

Yeonjun continues, “Do it. It’s not as bad as you think. You have to do it.”

Kai finally opens the car door, and he can feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. “I’m gonna call you later,” Kai says before shutting the door. He hears Yeonjun cheer him on as he walks off, letting his feet lead him to your door.

It all feels too familiar when Kai’s standing at your doorstep. He has no script this time. He couldn’t begin to try and conjure one up—his nerves are making him jittery and scatterbrained. There’s no backing out this time. Yeonjun’s words ring in Kai’s mind. He has to do it.

“Oh, hey,” you say when you open the door. Kai steps inside and gathers his breath. “Did something happen?” you ask.

You stare at him with concern, and he figures it must be because he’s visibly anxious. He tries to get himself together, straightening his posture and breathing slower.

“No, not really,” he answers.

“You look like you’re ready to pass out.” You glance at your living room. “Did you want to sit down?”

“No,” he says, then musters up whatever courage he has to grab your hands. He clutches onto them desperately, as if you ground him, as if you remind him to be brave. “I just want to tell you something.”

Your eyes dart between his like you’re trying to find his words before he can say them. “What is it?” you ask.

Kai’s whole world has been building up to this moment. It’s finally time. He breaks the dam open, letting his vulnerability loose.

“I love you.” His heart hammers against his chest.

“I know,” you say.

“No, like—I love you,” he emphasizes, squeezing your hands.

You smile. It’s breathtaking. “I know. Yeonjun told me.”

Yeonjun—what?!

“Are you kidding me?!” Kai forgets everything else he wanted to say in his horror. That fucking asshole, he’s dead! Kai can’t believe this! He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised; this is such a Yeonjun thing to do. “When did he tell you?!”

You laugh like this is all so funny, meanwhile Kai’s world is crumbling down. “The day before we first hooked up,” you answer.

No fucking way.

“You knew this whole time?” Kai asks.

“Yup,” you confirm.

“Why did he tell you?”

“In case you pussied out. Which you did,” you answer. “And because he knew I’m in love with you too.”

Kai doesn’t quite process what he heard. “Huh?”

You grin and roll your eyes, and then you’re pulling Kai’s face in so you can kiss him. His head spins. He’ll wake up any second now. Your lips feel very real, though, and far beyond what his dreams could conjure up. They’re soft and sweet and just as delicious as he remembers.

You pull away. “I love you too,” you say. “You should be my boyfriend.”

Kai’s in disbelief. You love him—the words echo in his mind on a constant loop. He can’t think about anything else; all he can do is pull you back in for another kiss and make it count. This is your first kiss officially together, after all.

“You should’ve asked me before,” Kai breathes out, holding your face dearly. “You knew I would’ve said yes.”

You giggle, “I like the chase.”

The world around him fades away as Kai devotes his full attention to you. Nothing else in the universe could mean more than this moment. You drag him to your bedroom, and he follows eagerly, grinning victoriously the whole time.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to finally say it,” you tease as you push him onto your bed, straddling him and resting your hands on his chest. “Or that I had to hear it from Yeonjun first, a week before I heard it from you.”

“He fucking sucks for that,” Kai says with a little laugh. He holds no real malice toward Yeonjun, but he will definitely be having a word with him later. Honestly, Kai couldn’t even be mad if he tried right now. With you smiling like this on top of him and Kai finally being able to call you his, nothing could bring him down.

You bring Kai’s face to yours for a quick kiss, then you pull away to throw off your shirt. “Let’s make it feel like the first time,” you say, lifting off of him to take off your bottoms.

“It always does with you,” Kai says sweetly as he pulls his own pants and boxers down. You spit in your hand and bring it to his cock, pumping him quickly to get him fully hard. You bite your lip as you twist your hand over him, earning a choked out moan from Kai. He brings his hand to your folds, rubbing at your slit with just as much fervor.

“Do you want me to ride you?” you ask, a little out of breath from Kai’s hands on you. His head nearly explodes at the thought of you riding him. He wants you to do whatever you want. He wants you to use his dick to make yourself cum ten times over, if that’s what you’d like.

“Yeah, fuck, come fuck me,” Kai begs just as breathlessly. He places his hands on your hips while you position his tip to your entrance. You have fun with it, sliding the head of his cock through your folds until Kai starts whining.

You grab his face so he’ll look at you when you start sinking down on him, and the eye contact is so intense, but Kai doesn’t dare look away. He lets you dip two fingers past his lips, and he sucks them diligently, moaning around them when you sink down on his cock all the way.

You grind against him, slow and sensual, while Kai swirls his tongue around your digits. He wants you to feel his devotion. He wants his love to be so apparent that you could never doubt it. His insides are lit aflame with desire, a need to be claimed by you. You don’t know it, but you’ve carved your name into his soul. He’s eternally yours.

“I love you,” you whisper. You put your body to work, keeping all the passion and sensuality in the moment as you start riding him. Kai gasps, and you pull your fingers from his mouth, bringing them to your own to suck his saliva off of them. The act is so dirty, but it makes Kai’s dick twitch inside you.

“I love you too,” he whimpers. You take your saliva-coated fingers to your clit and rub it as you hasten the pace of your hips. His hands find your tits, squeezing the flesh and thumbing at your nipples. Your mouth drops open, and your eyes fall to Kai’s lips. He smiles as he leans in, kissing you and capturing all your moans.

He holds onto your hip so he can buck up into you, trying to get you both to your orgasms. “Cum with me,” you breathe into his mouth. You don’t have to tell him twice.

He bottoms out and releases inside you, cock twitching as his seed spurts out. You’re cumming right along with him, legs trembling and hands clutching onto Kai to keep yourself up. He watches your stomach tense up as you ride out your high. You’re the hottest sight to be seen.

Kai feels euphoric, like the world has blessed him to be the luckiest man on earth. The happiness bubbling inside him makes him feel like he could explode. He’s all giggles and stupid little smiles, peppering your face with kisses.

“I can’t believe this is real. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he says, staring at you like you’re something precious.

“This didn’t feel real to you?” you ask, rolling your hips over him. He’s sensitive, and the motion makes him jolt. You laugh and pull yourself off of him.

“I’m ridiculously in love with you. I wish I had the words to tell you how much,” Kai professes.

“What a shame. I would’ve loved to hear it.” You peck the tip of his nose.

If that’s a challenge to get Kai to try, he gladly accepts. “I never believed in destiny until I fell in love with you. I don’t think a love this strong existed anywhere else, I think I’m the first person to love someone this hard.”

Kai will dedicate his every next breath to you. He’s yearned and longed for years, with a force much stronger than a human heart has. Feelings like this are bigger than life itself; they’re bigger than celestial bodies, bigger than metaphysical concepts. Feelings like this haven’t yet been given words to describe them.

He feels like a winner when he sees you fluster at his words—getting you to blush is not an easy feat. You look away shyly, but your lips are tilted up in a cute smile.

“Well, I love you too,” you say. Kai doesn’t need the fancy words from you; this much is more than enough. He steals a kiss from you once more.

Kai doesn’t forget to call Yeonjun when he gets the chance, figuring he should still have a word with him. It goes to voicemail. That’s fine. He leaves a very kind message for his friend to find when he decides to check his phone.

“You’re seriously the worst. You’re unbelievable. Call me back when you can, you’re gonna want to hear this.”

notes: ahhhhhh what do we think?? 🙈🙈 i’m issuing a formal apology to the one direction fans and haters who had to sit through the 1d bit. extra apology to niall girls. i also apologize to the bowling community. contrary to what this fic may imply i really do respect you guys. lmfao i hope you enjoyed this! always happy to hear ur thoughts :)

taglist: @dawngyu @fancypeacepersona @hyukarma @kveclair @mental-hollows @moaadiry 🤍

#txt x reader #huening kai x reader #txt smut #huening kai smut #txt fic #huening kai fic #txt hard hours #huening kai hard hours

243 notes · View notes

charmed-asylum · 20 hours ago

Text

GIRRRRRL ONCE AGAIN IM SNAPPING MY DIVA FAN OUT AND SNAPPING MY GOD DAMM FINGER OOOH GIRL I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING LORD MMM MMMM MMM. Nah bc she ain’t that stupid and with Sarah and Wheezie. Lets me realistic give the bene of doubt . What if Ward wanted the land and dad like no whole time. Makes sense why Rafe ain’t moving in to her land but snatch her up and shit. Like if it’s a real thing why didn’t they discuss this with the will or something no out side party to approve of this. You want the land I’m giving you money which again if Ward was doing so much why didn’t they not sale the horse why did they not gain the staff of what not others had and can share if it in fact a REAL THING. Also Rafe you can’t be more idk non bull in a china house shit. What would few days even do huh nothing ain’t nothing but a shit on a cracker. Huh.

Let be realistic you know not only did Rafe lose his shit seeing her in her outfit but I bet even Ward did a 👀. “The long-sleeve, cropped sweater that featured a soft ruffle trim that barely grazed your midriff, paired with a high-waisted, flowing skirt that swayed with every step” I feel bad because again he manipulating her to do stuff but she justifies it with things like oh I like to do it anyway and a thought of what happens if I don’t and do. “ You certainly knew how to get dolled up, like Rafe said, and lucky for him, you liked makeup and clothes that made you feel breezy and feminine” even at the end all he doing is manipulating her I’m sorry but I’m adding the fact that yes they just met but out of all the girls OUT OF ALL OF THEM he choose her so someone some how she got pick he could go to a shit tone of people but he went to her and they just met how the fuck does Wheezie know shit about her and she don’t know shit about them two days two days she knew them. That’s it.

Again out girl may say she a bimbo bc she got bimbo ways but girl yesssss remember that shit .” When the room grew quiet, Rafe’s words rattled around in your head. You’d always done what your father had said, let him lead you in all aspects of your life, because you trusted him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your father expected you to trust someone else. In the end, he was the reason you were here now. He’d handed you over to someone else, like, what? A trade deal? The whole thing was completely unreal” I wonder what was the convo between John B and Rafe. Girl don’t be looking at his goods it’s a trap 🪤

Weee we meet wheezie omg thank you father of god huh use her girl use her a s shield. “ You liked her instantly “ When she was talking about what Sarah never had time to do I wonder if reader become that sister wheezie always wanted also what did they tell her regards the reader bc she acting like she should know a shit tone then she does. Does she know of anyone from the neighborhood.

AGAIN OUT GIRL AINT NO BLONDE HAIR BIMBO WOO WOO” It wasn’t urgent, but you had hoped to speak with Ward sooner rather than later. Part of you wanted to officially see the contract he’d wrote up with your father. Could two men really decide together that you should be married off? Was that still legal? “

Do you think the look Rafe gave reader was of possession more than shock or pleasure. Or his tone, Rafe’s voice cut through the growing tension, his tone firm, almost possessive. He makes me huh “ You won’t need to be over there, it’s no place for a woman “ Like 1st chapter I got better things to do now it’s MINE ERRRREREEEE WOOF WOOF 🐶

Sarah ain’t waiting for nothing lol

Rafe touch and firmness Man U need to go tho a year book and jerk off or something. Like damn he in that much of a rush I have to say even Ward should be a little worried like don’t this seem a little unstable and with Sarah calling bullshit even Wheezie shim in like damn .

Rafe sure as hell went from it’s a duty to know it’s about legacy with a puff out chest. Idk I feel he so calculated that what part real or not real it’s like an abusive man or a criminal trying to reason on why they do what they do. I just feel bad bc this reminds me of what she said in part one about family and shit he must of teacher diary ( something I can see him doing) once start talking about this bit I’m like yup he got the biggest breeding kink if I didn’t ever seen one. I’m just huh this shit got me getting high blood pleasure and I read it again I get mad again

rough hands, soft chains [2] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, loss of virginity, rafe is HUGE, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)

In which you meet your new family, the Camerons, and learn Rafe's true intentions.

word count: 5.1k

part one

rafe cameron masterlist

The spare outfit you’d packed for your failed escape attempt was a delicate two-piece set in white. The long-sleeve, cropped sweater that featured a soft ruffle trim that barely grazed your midriff, paired with a high-waisted, flowing skirt that swayed with every step. The lightweight fabric was a reflection of your usual preference for comfortable clothes. A handful of other items hung in the closet, clearly not yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept whatever offering the Camerons had left for you.

After giving your reflection a look, you turned your attention your room. You floated over to the vanity, a rustic wooden display decorated with gold trinkets. You’d only packed the essentials, meaning you’d limited yourself to mascara, concealer, blush and lipgloss. You slid onto the matching stool decking to touch up your makeup, wiping away the smudged mascara and applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. Lip gloss always had a way of brightening your mood, even now. You certainly knew how to get dolled up, like Rafe said, and lucky for him, you liked makeup and clothes that made you feel breezy and feminine.

When the room grew quiet, Rafe’s words rattled around in your head. You’d always done what your father had said, let him lead you in all aspects of your life, because you trusted him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your father expected you to trust someone else. In the end, he was the reason you were here now. He’d handed you over to someone else, like, what? A trade deal? The whole thing was completely unreal.

Something caught your attention outside the large windows. Rolling pastures stretched out before you, dotted with fences and patches of wildflowers swaying gently. Your gaze drifted toward the yard below. Rain trickled down slowly but you realized the figures moving in the distance, behind a tall white fence, were Juliet and John B. Making his way to the fence’s edge, now adorned in a work jacket and dark hat to protect from the rain, was Rafe.

They were soon deep in conversation. Your eyes lingered on Rafe’s figure a little too long before shifting to Juliet, whose movements were graceful and unbothered. She had been alone for so long, your father had been forced to sell the other three horses your family owned years ago, and her care had undoubtedly suffered as your father’s health declined. Surely, the Camerons had at least a hundred horses and the resources to ensure Juliet was well cared for and had proper company. For a moment, you wondered if she might be happier here, happier than even you.

You were grateful for the distraction when a knock came at your door an hour later. You expected it to be Rafe, but a fleeting thought made you pause, would Rafe even bother knocking?

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find a dark-haired girl standing there, no older than fifteen. She was smiling, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Hey," she said, giving you a once-over with a playful look. "I’m Wheezie, Rafe’s little sister.”

So this was the other Cameron sibling? You smiled instinctively and offered your hand. "Oh, hi! I’m Y/N."

You blinked, studying her more carefully. She looked nothing like Rafe, and in that moment, she seemed almost... approachable. Less intimidating. Her warmth, however, felt almost out of place given the situation.

"I like your outfit," she said, her gaze scanning your clothes and makeup. "And your makeup. Ugh, I wish I could do mine like that. Sarah never has time to show me how."

“Sarah?” you asked, a little confused.

"My older sister," Wheezie explained, raising an eyebrow as if surprised. "Rafe’s never mentioned her?"

You shook your head, realizing she might think you'd known Rafe longer than just today. “Uh, no. He hasn’t.”

"Well, there’s three of us," Wheezie continued, her voice casual. "And Rose, our step-mom."

“Oh, okay,” You nodded, taking in all of the information. You weren’t at all used to meeting new people, “It’s nice to meet you. Can I ask you if Mr. Ward is home yet? I kinda need to speak with him.”

Wheezie’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. “Him and Rose have been gone all day. Cattle auction, I think. They probably won’t be back until dinner.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. It wasn’t urgent, but you had hoped to speak with Ward sooner rather than later. Part of you wanted to officially see the contract he’d wrote up with your father. Could two men really decide together that you should be married off? Was that still legal? Wheezie, sensing your hesitation, brightened up and added, “I could show you around the house in the meantime.”

You thought about it for a second, then smiled. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Joining Wheezie out in the hallway, your tour began. Wheezie led you to Rafe’s room first, just beside yours. “He likes to keep it locked,” she said with a grin, “Or else I’d totally snoop around with you.”

You liked her instantly. Moving down the hall, you passed Ward’s study, a room that felt both timeless and functional. It had a desk covered in papers and shelves filled with books. Next was the master bedroom, a room with dark wood furniture and soft linens.

Finally, Wheezie opened the door to the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled the room, and large armchairs were scattered around a grand fireplace. It felt like the perfect spot for quiet moments.

You couldn’t help but feel small in this place. It held the warmth of a family home but it was massive, the ceilings too high, and had decor that screamed “we’re wealthy”.

Downstairs, the living room was the first stop, a grand space with towering ceilings. Soft leather sofas and enormous windows that offered a breathtaking view of the stretching land and mountains in the distance.

Moving through the open archway into the kitchen, you took note of counters made of polished stone, dark wood cabinets, and the appliances all state-of-the-art. The kitchen was bustling with a couple of workers, one chopping vegetables at the counter, the other pulling something out of the oven. You noticed a door that led out to a terrace.

“These are all Rose’s renovations. She’s really into interior design, and all that stuff.”

“And the people. They work here all the time?” you asked, intrigued.

“My Dad can grill, but Rose doesn’t cook at all. So they get help,” Wheezie explained with a shrug. “I think she likes having everything perfect, you know?”

“She does have really nice taste,” You spoke genuinely, fumbling with your fingers as you looked around.

Past the kitchen was the dining room, where a long, weathered table was set for what could easily be a dozen guests. The chandelier above was massive, its crystals catching the light and casting a glow over the room.

Wheezie led you into the garage next. The space was expansive, with polished concrete floors and a collection of vehicles parked neatly in their spots, sleek trucks, a few SUVs, and a couple of classic cars you assumed were more for show. Near the back of the garage, you spotted a few horseshoe-shaped saddles hanging on the wall, alongside an array of hunting gear. There were rifles and ammunition neatly organized on the shelves, a few pairs of boots stacked by the door, and weathered hunting jackets hanging from the walls. It was practical, but still had the polished look of the rest of the house, like nothing here was ever out of place.

“Do you ride?” Wheezie asked as you took in the details of the room.

“Yeah, I have a horse named Juliet,” you grinned. “Do you?”

“I can,” Wheezie replied with a shrug. “I’m not great at it. Sarah’s better, and Rafe—well, he’s good at things like that.”

“Does Sarah live here too?” you asked, curious.

“Yeah, but she’s been MIA for two days.” Wheezie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t tell anyone this,” she continued, glancing around before leaning in closer. “She and John B. are a thing. And she hangs out with his friends.”

“It’s a secret?” you asked, intrigued but still unsure of the family dynamics at play.

Wheezie nodded, her eyes flicking to the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. “My dad wants her to be with someone whose family is... more prestigious, if that makes sense?”

You processed that for a moment, nodding slowly. “But my family’s not... prestigious. But Ward wants me to marry your brother.”

A mischievous glint sparked in Wheezie’s eyes. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Is it true that Rafe got you pregnant and that’s why you have to live with us?”

You froze for a split second, then blurted out, “I am not!” You suddenly realized how loud you’d been and lowered your voice, grabbing Wheezie’s hand as you whispered urgently, “I am not.”

“Other people don’t think I’m pregnant, do they?” You continued, “Because I don’t think I’ve done anything that could lead to that…”

You questioned yourself for a moment, feeling a pang of uncertainty. You’d learned about the birds and the bees just once, when you were eleven, and it had been before your mother died. After that, your education had been limited, and anything beyond what she'd explained was a blur of confusion.

What you were certain of, though, was that the kiss with Rafe couldn’t have led to that. You had never heard of anything like that happening from a simple kiss. To your knowledge, you needed at least to sleep in the same bed for that to happen, and you and Rafe hadn’t crossed that line. Before your mind could wander to that possibility, Wheezie spoke.

“I’m not trying to be rude, just curious,” She said with a smirk, her tone light and teasing. “No one around here tells me anything.”

A few hours later you entered the dining room again with Wheezie. You’d spend a good amount of time in her room and she’d explained more about her family, including more details about Rafe. You learned that she was Rafe’s soft spot. That he was cold to almost everyone except her. Ward had a lot of expectations for him and Rafe did about everything he could to appease his father.

“I think Rafe just wants to do things his own way,” Wheezie had mused. “But, you know, my Dad has other ideas. He’s been trying to get Rafe to be more... ‘like him.’”

Kindly, you’d accepted her request for you to help her with her makeup. You’d done hers like yours, with bright blush and shiny lipgloss. She was so excited that she practically skipped down the stairs after, her happiness infectious as she bounced in front of you. A part of you couldn’t help but smile. Was this what it was like to have a sister? The feeling was new and strange, but warm, like something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Rafe looked you over, as if he was offended by your choice in clothing, “What did I do?” You asked, innocently.

Maybe he didn’t think your outfit was cute.

“Come sit next to me,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something possessive, as if he were commanding you rather than asking. He waved you over.

You hesitated, looking at Ward, who gave you a reassuring, welcoming smile, and then at Rose and Sarah. Sarah’s gaze was sharp, watching you with a kind of calculating curiosity, while Rose barely seemed to notice, her eyes distant and uninterested.

You exhaled slowly, making your way over to the seat next to Rafe. Your knees brushed against each other but he didn’t move his.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. I’ve known her family for years, and after that everything’s happened, she’s going to stay with us. She’s been through a lot.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose murmured, almost absentmindedly. “It’s lovely to have you here with us.” Her tone wasn’t cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm, either.

Ward’s words seemed genuine, but you didn’t understand fully why he spoke so kindly. The two of you were practically strangers. Wheezie smiled brightly in reaction. Sarah, on the other hand, was looking you over even more closely than Rafe. You could see the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“I have a question-” She blurted out.

Ward interrupted, “I’d watch yourself, young lady.”

“I just want to make sure everything’s clear,” Sarah said softly, her voice quieter now. “I’m just... trying to understand why, that’s all. A marriage seems a little bit rushed, don’t you think? They didn’t even know each other before today.”

“They didn’t?” Wheezie raised an eyebrow.

The pressure in the room increased, “Sarah,” Ward began to warn her but it was Rafe who spoke up next.

Rafe’s voice cut through the growing tension, his tone firm, almost possessive. “It’s not rushed, Sarah,” he said, turning to look at her. “It’s just what it is. No need to complicate it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the sharpness of Rafe’s gaze making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He answering for you, as if you didn’t have a say in how things were perceived.

Sarah didn’t flinch. Her eyes held a quiet defiance. As if to change the subject, Rafe continued, “What is that on your face, Wheeze?”

“It’s called makeup,” She shot back, annoyed, “Y/N did it.”

Rafe turned his head towards you, “It’s a little much for someone her age, don’t you think?”

“I think she looks really pretty. I started wearing makeup way younger than her,” You responded quietly but honestly, “That’s how you, like, get good at it.”

“See,” Wheezie stuck her tongue out at her older brother.

Suddenly, you felt Rafe’s hand touch your knee underneath the table. The warmth of Rafe’s hand on your knee sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite focus on anything else. His touch was unexpected, as though he’d done it without thinking, and yet, there was something deliberate about the way he kept his hand resting there.

Dinner was officially served moments later. Rafe’s hand remained there on your knee as you all began to eat the carefully prepared steak, potatoes and asparagus. Your steak was already cut into a pieces, a luxury that you didn’t even know others experienced.

Sarah pushed around her asparagus, “How do you feel about moving in with us so suddenly, Y/N? I mean, do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?”

You paused, unsure of what to say, your gaze instinctively shifting toward Rafe. His hand was still on your knee, but the grip felt firmer now, like he was holding you in place, keeping you from saying something that might upset the balance of things.

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but when you opened your mouth, it all just came tumbling out. “It’s kinda overwhelming,” you started, your voice soft but a little unsure. “I miss… I miss my Dad. And you guys have all this land, and this house is so huge, it’s hard to wrap my head around it all.” You glanced at Sarah, then back to your plate. “And, like, I didn’t think I’d get married this young, but… if it’s really what my Dad wanted…”

You trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed. Sarah’s gaze softened slightly, “It’s a big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Up until that point, you hadn’t realized you had a choice in all of this. You could see she wasn’t questioning you out of judgement. She almost looked concerned.

“Enough, Sarah,” Ward spoke sharply, “This is bigger than what one person thinks is right. I don’t expect you to understand but it’s about responsibility. Rafe is growing up and he’s decided to take on new responsibilities. I don’t see why you can’t be supportive.”

“I just think she deserves more time to decide,” Sarah said.

“There isn’t a rush. I’m not rushing them, that’s for certain. Rafe and Y/N will take the time to get to know each other.”

The room fell quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. You glanced at him and noticed the subtle shake of his head, as if dismissing the entire idea. “What’s the point in waiting? You can plan a wedding in a few weeks, right?”

“Rafe, son, don’t you think two should spend some time together?”

“No, Dad, we’ll get married as soon as possible. If Y/N wants to have a real ceremony, Rose can plan it, but I’d be down to just go to the courthouse.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Rafe,” Sarah leaned forward in her seat, “Are you actually crazy?”

How did we get here? You had no answers, just a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe you should’ve said something, but the lump in your throat made it hard to think.

“We’ll figure it out” Rafe said, cutting her off. He turned his attention to you, his gaze intense but unreadable. “Right, darling?”

The way he looked at you made your stomach twist. It was as though he was asking you to confirm something you didn’t fully understand yourself. You opened your mouth to respond, but Wheezie chimed in before you could.

“Dude, that’s like, so not romantic!” she exclaimed, scrunching her nose. “You haven’t even proposed yet!”

Sarah seized the moment, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Exactly. At least ask her properly, Rafe. Or are you afraid she’ll say no?”

The air at the table grew heavier. You glanced at Ward, who looked ready to intervene, but Rafe beat him to it. His lips curled into a tight smile, though his eyes flashed with something darker. “You think I’m afraid of that, Sarah?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

All you could think about was the way Rafe’s hand hadn’t left your knee, his grip steady, as if anchoring you to him despite the chaos swirling around the table.

“Can we drop it, please?” Rafe asked, his tone deep and final.

“I want Y/N to stay,” Wheezie decided.

“We all want Y/N to stay,” Ward clarified.

“Well, good,” Rose chimed in, her smile polished and hollow. “Then it’s settled.”

At the end of dinner, Ward leaned back in his chair, addressing you, “You’ll find we take care of our own here, sweetheart. Anything you need, you only have to ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure what else to say.

“We should get going,” Rafe announced abruptly, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. His hand left your knee, only to find the small of your back as he helped you up.

Wheezie pouted. “But we haven’t even had dessert!”

“Next time, Wheeze,” Rafe replied, his tone firm. “Come on, Y/N.”

You followed him out of the dining room, feeling the eyes of his entire family on your back.

“Where are we going?” You asked, trying to keep up with Rafe’s long strides. He’d given you his jacket and asked you to put on your boots, before guiding you out the front door. You clutched the jacket tightly, the night beginning to turn cool. The sky was still heavy with the remnants of rain but an orange and pink sun began to lower in the sky, peaking behind soft, gray clouds, “Rafe?”

High grass tickled the bare legs hidden beneath your skirt as you walked into the fields, “Just for a walk. That okay with you?”

“You know, sometimes I think you really don’t care what’s okay with me.” Rafe flashed you an amused look, “Oh yeah? Maybe I like making decisions for you.”

You snorted in disbelief but your heart fluttered nonetheless.

"What's the real reason you brought me out here?" You asked, pushing the conversation forward despite the tension.

Rafe stopped and turned to face you, his expression unreadable for a moment. He studied you, like he was considering his words carefully. "Maybe I just wanted to see you without all the noise around us. No distractions. Just you and me."

The ranch stretched out before you, vast and quiet. The ground beneath your feet was soft as you walked, fast enough to follow Rafe’s steps. A faint hum of crickets began to rise in the distance.

A modest building tucked near the tree line, far from the main house came into view, “That’s the ranch hand’s quarters,” Rafe explained, “You won’t need to be over there, it’s no place for a woman.”

The sun continued to hang lower as you walked, casting a golden hue over the land. Rafe led you further into the sprawling escape, pointing out different landmarks, “This land’s been my family’s for generations. But my Dad was the one who made it what it was today. It’s very important to me. This land and all the hard work that’s put into it.”

“My dad’s tough on me but it’s his legacy, you know? It’s more than just making money or raising cattle. I don’t know, I just want to protect what I have. Make sure my kids and my grandkids have it, ya' know?”

He didn’t look for your understanding, his words genuine, but the look on his face was guarded. He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, “You don’t to get to be part of something big and not feel like you’ve got to give everything you have to it.”

“What if…” Your voice trailed as you tried to collect your thoughts, “How do I know it’s something I want to be apart of?”

“As my wife, you’d stand beside me. You’d build with me. Raise our children. Make a home. You’d make everything that I’m working towards, worth it. That’s a life with purpose, yeah?”

As he spoke, his voice deep and steady, you found yourself drawn to the way his features seemed to soften, despite the intensity of his words. Those blue eyes were focused on you with an intensity that made your throat go dry.

He stood taller now, the weight of his words pressed in on you and you could see the full picture he was painting. It wasn’t just the land. It was you. It was him. It was a family.

“Yeah,” You agreed, the word leaving your lips before you could stop it. Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to his lips. They were slightly parted, the edge of his mouth curling just a bit as he spoke, and for a moment, you forgot where you were.

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed, a knowing look on his face, and his hand found the small of your back, “I owe you something, don’t I?”

“Owe me?” Your voice faltered. What was he talking about?

Rafe didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply pulled you forward, his hand firm against your back as he guided you through the tall grass. You didn’t have time to question him before the two of you reached a secluded barn, tall and clay-colored, tucked far away from the main house. The air smelled faintly of hay and wood, the earthy scent of the ranch settling around you. But you barely had time to take in your surroundings before Rafe was pulling you into him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, until his lips were on yours.

The kiss Rafe Cameron had promised you.

All those thoughts you had about the land, the future, everything he’d said, it all slipped away.

Someone, something, had overtaken you. Something ached inside of you, a part of your very being that had never been satisfied. You felt like an animal, desperate, grabbing at Rafe’s shirt, wanting him closer. He was already pressed tightly against you but deep down you wanted more.

His lips weren’t as gentle as you remembered, they enveloped your mouth, his tongue tasting you, his arms keeping you where he wanted as he explored you.Without warning, he tugged you into an empty stall, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. His hands were at the edges of your jacket now, pulling it open, his fingers brushing against your skin as the cool air of the barn nipped at your exposed flesh.

A startled yelp escaped your lips as you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, the fabric sliding higher until it was gathered above your hips. Your eyes flew open, but Rafe was relentless, his mouth still claiming yours with fervent, unyielding kisses. You didn’t know exactly how babies were made but you had a feeling you were getting closer than you’d ever had before. Before you could process it, Rafe lifted you effortlessly, his hands sliding to cup your bottom as he held you tightly against him. Part of you began to panic.

Then, with deliberate care, he laid you down. not on the rough ground but on his jacket, which was spread beneath you. Darkened eyes met your panicked ones. This was much more than a kiss. Although you’d enjoyed that part of the exchange, you weren’t sure you wanted more, “Rafe,” You whispered, your voice uncertain, as he moved his mouth from your lips to the sides of your mouth. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of sensations. You pushed at his chest and felt you were pushing against a boulder. There would know way to get from underneath him, even if you tried, “Are… you gonna put a baby in me?”

He paused, lifting his head to look you in the eye and you had to remind yourself to breathe in that moment, “Jesus Christ. You’re something else, you know that?” Rafe grinned and some of your uncertainty went away. His reaction made the moment feel more lighthearted, like there wasn’t a boundary being crossed, like his intentions were innocent.

“I like the kissing,” You admitted, “It feels good b-but I’m scared–”

Rafe shushed you, peppering gentle kisses along your jawline, until he reached the side of your neck. Your thighs clenched tightly, your head tilted back, and you couldn’t control your moaning. Rafe spread your legs with his own, his jeans brushing against the smoothness of your thighs. He pressed his lower half into you and you felt something as hard as a rock, rubbing against your panties. It was then, your core started to feel like it was on fire.

“Don’t be scared, it’ll just hurt for a moment,” Rafe spoke against your skin, huskily, his voice almost sounding like he was in pain, “You’re just gonna lay still for me, I need you to help me to take care of something.”

“Hurt?” You questioned, your mind hanging on that word. Then you thought back to your question. He hadn’t really answered.

He seemed to ignore you again, his mouth moving lower on your body. He pulled your shirt down, and as your breasts spilled from their constraints, he left kisses on your nipples. Your head tilted back again when he took one of your nipples fully into his mouth, “Rafe,” You whispered but the sound of his name only seem to push him further. His fingers traced the edge of your panties before he slipped his fingers inside, brushing over your folds. You were wet down there, you realized, and mostly out of embarrassment, you started to pull away, “Please don’t touch me there.”

You watched his pupils dilate as he stared down at you intently. He kept one hand in your underwear and wrapped his other around your throat, quickly, as if his body was reacting instinctively to your defiance.

“Don’t tell me that,” Rafe said, almost growling, and your hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to push away his hand as you struggled to breathe, “I have to touch ya' here, darlin’. I’m gonna be your husband. This belongs to me, understand?”

Your eyes widened as he rubbed circles over your sensitive skin. Your hips bucked in reaction and you silenced your moans, knowing you only had so much air to breathe, “Say you understand. Say yes.”

You nodded your head quickly, “Yes,” You whispered.

You were grateful when he loosed his grip around your throat, “It’s a good thing you’re wet. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just means this is what your body wants, baby. You already want to make me happy.”

You weren’t quite sure at what moment your body decided to freeze. Your nerves were overwhelmed, of course, and it seemed like you’d come out less scathed from the situation if you did as Rafe said. You could stay still and take it. There was something happening with Rafe you didn’t understand but he was acting as though he needed something and you were only one who could provide it. You could stay still and take it if it would make him happy, right? It’s a good thing to make other people happy.

You focused on the kisses on your lips, the way his soft mouth moved methodically over yours. The faint jangle of metal pulled you back to the moment, a sound you barely registered until you felt the press of something impossibly hard, slowly pushing against a place you hadn’t realized could take him. His manhood, you assumed, what made him different from you. It hurt like he said it would but not for just a moment. Were all manhoods this size? This is what your body really wants?

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the edge of strain. His hand brushed over your trembling thigh, steadying you as your body tried to accommodate him. “You’re okay. I promise.”

He started to rock into you once you felt completely full to the brim. Initially, it felt even worse than him pushing all the way inside you. Tears fell and your breath grew rapid, “It hurts,” You whimpered, “It really hurts.”

“It’s okay,” He said, maintaining his pace, “You’re okay, darlin’. You’re doing great. It’s just your first time. Gotta get used to me, that's all.”

“Are-are you putting a baby in me, Rafe?” You asked, your voice an innocent whisper. His grip on you tightened as his rhythm grew more deliberate, his words spilling out in a low growl.

“Fuck yes, darlin’,” he said, his voice thick with unrestrained desire. “I’m gonna put a baby in you.”

His hands, his words, the pain between your legs that was slowly turning to pleasure, it made you dizzy, and you couldn’t keep track of your thoughts. You belonged to him? A baby? It didn’t make sense, but part of you felt comforted by the intensity of him. You trusted he knew more. Everything’s okay. You were okay. It felt like something you were supposed to be, so you let go and let him have you.

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)

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akira-dulbar · 2 days ago

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The life you left behind-

2/3: surveillance

parte 1 part3 part4

Summary: After discovering he has a son, Jason decides to follow/monitor his son and his mother from a safe distance, fearing that if he gets too close, he could ruin everything.

Warning: Stalking, attempted robbery, violence, mention of teen pregnancy.

Note: I saw that you really liked the first part, now I'm afraid you won't like the second part. Sorry if that's the case. Haha. Anyway, this all has bad articulation. Sorry.

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Jason has been through a lot: he lived on the streets, was adopted by a billionaire, became Robin, died, was resurrected, and became Red Hood, all at just 21 years old. He's lived and seen more than anyone should. Honestly, he felt prepared for anything…

But…

Never a father. Now they can't blame him. His biological father was a bastard (who, thank God, is in prison), while his adoptive father let him die (although they were already talking about it), so he never imagined being a father… and one at 15!

That's why, when Tim and Damian told him about the existence of a 6-year-old son wandering around Gotham City, he thought it was some kind of revenge after a bad joke he'd played on them a few nights ago while they were on patrol. But when he looked at the Batcomputer screen where all the evidence was (hell, there were also three DNA samples), he felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, and before he knew it, he'd fainted.

Now, they couldn't blame him. Jason could be everything: a murderer, a criminal, a vigilante, a mob boss, an older brother, a disaffected son, among a thousand other things!

but never a father…

never a father…

He didn't know how to be a father. He barely remembered that school. When he died and they put him in the Lazarus Pit, it helped him physically but not mentally (in fact, it made him worse). Many of the memories he had disappeared, and others are like a fog that can't see anything. That's why he didn't suspect he had a child or that he'd gotten a girl pregnant (hell, he thought he was still a virgin when he died!) He doesn't even remember the girl (which leaves a bad taste in his mouth, although it's not even his fault).

That's why, a month after the discovery and having a breakdown, he decided he should at least see the child. Also because Alfred said he should at least see him, even if it's out of the corner of his eye. Because what he did (or didn't do) couldn't be undone.

When he found out that there was a cafeteria across the street from the kindergarten where his son attended (he had a son for God's sake!), he thought he could see him from a safe distance, sitting at a table by the window that gave a great view of the entrance to the kindergarten, what he didn't expect was that his older brother Dick would decide to join him.

"No one asked for you to come," Jason looked at Dick, who was sitting in front of him drinking a smoothie. He didn't want him there. He felt like he needed to do this alone.

"Oh, come on. You spent a month locked up in one of your safe houses without talking to anyone, and when you finally get out, you expect me not to support you?" Jason knew Dick meant no harm and that he was also excited to meet his son (he still can't get used to that word).

"If I talked to anyone, I talked to Alfred, who's better than any of you." Alfred has always been the voice of reason in the family and the best person to talk to about problems. After all, the others have communication problems (like him).

"And that's great, but you don't just have Alfred, remember? We're here too. You're not alone, Jason."

"I don't know why you're helping me here."

"I support Morar. You'll meet… no, more accurately, you'll see your son for the first time. Today, I think you need all the support we can offer." Instead of feeling grateful, Jason can only feel desperate.

"Listen, Dick…"

"Hey, look, look!" Dick kept pointing at something on the other side of the window.

Jason watched as the children started to leave the yard, all with their respective mothers or fathers. Some were running, others were jumping like crazy and talking so fast that you probably couldn't understand half of what they were saying, but you could see their parents just nodding and smiling at what they were saying. They seemed happy…

And for a moment, Jason couldn't help but imagine if he'd known about the pregnancy, if he hadn't died alone, maybe… maybe he'd be one of them, one of those fathers holding their children's hands and telling them about their day in kindergarten, what they did, what they discovered, what they learned…

What it would be like… what it would be like to hold their hand in his, such a small hand compared to his large one, how easy it would be to pick them up and rock them when they were sleepy…

Jason couldn't help but let his mind wander, so many things he'd missed and wouldn't be able to experience…

"Hey look, there's this one." When Dick said that, Jason quickly looked up, and what he saw made him freeze in place.

There was a boy with a book against his chest, looking from side to side, possibly searching for his mother. He realized that yes, he was indeed his; the relationship couldn't be denied.

The boy had Jason's hair, eyes, and facial shape, but there were some things that were different, like the shape of his nose and mouth, which were different from his own. He must have gotten him from his mother.

Jason lowered his eyes to get a better look at the book the boy was holding, realizing it was a book about Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Jason put a hand to his mouth as he smiled. It was one of his favorite books too. Apparently, the boy had the same taste in books as him. He remembers when Tim told him that when he went to get the boy's DNA, he saw a pile of books on a shelf in his room. Jason wondered what other books the boy liked and if there was another one that was Jason's favorite.

"Wow, you have a very cute son. I'm sure he got him from his mother." Oh, right. The mother wondered how you were. Did you also like books like him? How well did you know each other? Why did you want to keep the boy? (Don't get him wrong, for him it's a fair question.)

The boy, unaware that his biological father was just a few steps away, began to run to the side. Immediately, both Jason and Dick became alarmed and jumped up from their respective places (after all, why would a child run so suddenly if it weren't for danger?)

But the two calmed down almost instantly when the boy jumped into the arms of a woman who picked him up and did a few somersaults with him. They both sat down, realizing who it was. It was you, the woman in the photos, the girl Jason had impregnated (to whom he owed a ton of child support, damn it).

You, the woman in question, were dressed in a formal office-style outfit. You put the boy down, who quickly started jumping up and down and showing you his book, perhaps talking about the pages he'd read at recess. If anything, you just smiled and nodded at everything the boy said.

Jason watched as you took the boy's small hand and started walking back the way the young woman had appeared. He just watched as the two of you walked away from the garden… away from the other children and parents… away from her.

"They seem happy, don't they, Jason?" Dick turned to look at Jason after seeing you turn a corner and disappear.

"Yes, very happy." Jason just stared back the way the young woman had gone. They were happy… very happy and fine… without him. (Although he couldn't blame them either.)

-------

After seeing his son and his mother for the first time (he's getting used to the word), he learned a little more about them. Although Tim and Damian had already done so and gave him a folder with all their information, he didn't accept it because he decided he wanted to do it himself.

So when he found out your name, he was happy to finally put a name to your face (because he was getting tired of calling you the mother of his child or the pregnant woman). But what did surprise him was his son's name. When he found out he had a son, he tried to completely ignore it. He didn't want to even see it in print because he'd be accepting something he wasn't ready for.

But now it was different. He was already accepting the fact that he had a son, and he'd even seen him when he came out of kindergarten, so he felt ready for the name.

Turns out no, he wasn't ready.

Peter…

It didn't take a genius to figure out where the name came from. Now, there was no way to confirm if he'd been named after him or if it was just a coincidence. But even if I don't know you, you seem like a woman who would do that.

In any case, when he discovered where he lived, he started patrolling the area. Even though it was a bit far from his territory, he didn't mind; in fact, he was glad. It meant they were further away from danger (even though every corner in Gotham was dangerous).

Sometimes, he would just sit in the building next door, looking out your apartment window and watching you interact in the living room, or just eating while watching a movie. It was comforting to see those moments; it was like the relaxation therapy Jason needed so much. His favorite moments were when you were in his son's room and listening to you read a page from one of the books Peter had in your room, or when the two of you would simply play with the Superman and Wonder Woman figurines.

While Jason was on the fire escape trying to stay hidden listening to everything they were saying and feeling a warmth in his heart, after all his son has the same tastes in books and superheroes, everyone in the family knew that Jason was a fan of Wonder Woman and knowing that his son was too just made him smile like crazy and when he found out that Peter wasn't a Batman fan like everyone else in town, all he could do was jump for joy (finally someone who thinks like him!).

He loved those moments, they were relaxing and comforting, although he didn't like how his mind sometimes wandered to the idea that he too could be part of those moments, that he would also read books to his son and you, and that at some point you would be asleep on the floor all cuddled up together.

Because of that, he always wondered what would have happened if he had been buried from the beginning.

He would have been there for his birth, for his first words, the first time he walked. Hell, he barely thought about whether they could have been a happy family, if things with you had worked out and he would be there, a happy family of three.

But there was no going back now. They were better off without him… without Jason Todd, a mafia boss, who was broken, and who could surely ruin everything at any moment if he got involved with you.

That's why it was better this way. After all, you were better off without him…

Without a disaster like him…

------

It had been two months since Jason had patrolled the area near your house and your son's (he realized he loved calling Peter his son). The incidents were mostly minor, just a few burglaries here and there and nothing more. That's why he was happy, hoping he could see you through the apartment window that night too.

Although he quickly realized neither of you were in the apartment, but had gone to buy some things for tomorrow, since you forgot to show up at the last second. Jason realized you were a very forgetful woman; he wouldn't be surprised if you forgot his son in the garden one of these days, although he was sure it had happened before.

When you and the boy went outside (you being the one carrying Peter because he'd fainted from exhaustion after such a long day), Jason followed you both closely at a safe distance to make sure everything was okay, which everything was at the time. But when the two turned a corner and Jason also saw a man standing in front of them with a knife in his hand and trying to snatch your bag, which was difficult considering you were carrying Peter.

"Weren't you taught to respect women?" Jason was happy to still be wearing his Red Hood helmet.

Both people turned to look at him. The robber paled when he saw him, while you seemed more surprised to see him.

"Red Hood… what are you doing here? This isn't your territory."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's good to get out of your comfort zone." Jason pulled out his gun, pointing it at the robber.

"You'd better think about your next move." Obviously, the bullets he had weren't lethal, since Batman convinced him to, but the robber didn't need to know that.

With that said, the robber dropped his bag and ran to the opposite side of the street from where he'd appeared, leaving the three of them alone again. Jason was about to put his gun away and leave when he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked up at you, who was smiling at him, still carrying an unconscious child, who didn't seem to be bothered by the small commotion.

"Thanks for saving us." This wasn't good. Jason didn't want them to get involved with him in any way, much less as a Red Hood.

"Yeah, well, it's best if you don't go out at night at this time again." Jason wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Even so, you helped us a lot. If he had stolen from me, I'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome." Jason was about to turn around and walk away to a safer place to keep watching them.

"What´s…" But it seemed like you wanted to keep talking.

"What?" Jason turned to look at her.

"What's your name? I'm .… and he's my son, Peter." She already knew that last part.

"Honey, don't you know me?" Okay, he didn't want to call her that; it was something natural that just slipped out.

"I know who you are."

"So? I can't reveal my identity to you. It's called a secret identity for a reason." Jason thinks you've gone crazy for asking him that. It wasn't because he heard her put her hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh, that confused him.

"I know who you are… but I want you to tell me." What? Jason was confused.

"Do you want me to tell you who I am? Even though you already know who I am?" Jason could only watch as you nodded while searching for something in your other shopping bag.

"Red… Red Hood…"

"Okay, Red Hood, here you go. Take this as a thank you gift." You handed Jason a juice box while he was still confused.

"Thanks again for saving us." You smiled one last time at Jason while he was still frozen in place watching you and his (still asleep) son disappear from sight.

Jason could only stare at the juice bottle while wondering who he had gotten involved with when he was younger.

That night, Jason dreamed of a girl smiling at him at school while asking him his name.

-------

I'm afraid you won't like it, but anyway, I'm proud of what I did (what I did in Spanish, the English is purely a translator, because my English is so basic that it's not enough for all of this).

If it is well received again, part 3 will come out, which is the reader's perspective on how she met Jason and what happened to her decide to keep the child (and yes, it's the last one, I think?).

Anyway, I hope you like it. I don't know much English.

#alfred pennyworth #batfamily #damian wayne #tim drake #pero solo mención #dick grayson #no use of y/n #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader

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saltcxrcle · 17 hours ago

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medicine ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: persuading sam to go out to the bar with you was easy, but it's not like he needed much convincing when it came to you.

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem!readerノ wc: 3.3k warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', smut, porn with no plot, feat. sam munchester!, dry humping, oral f&m receiving!, 69ing, finger sucking, protected p in v, riding, praise, aftercare, fluff, loverboy sam!, is titled and loosely based on the unreleased song by harry styles, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: you guys voted for this, so you shall receive the smut you freaks! jk love you guys and i had so much fun writing this hehe (can you tell i have a thing for his forearms lol). also would highly recommend you guys listen to the song either before or during this fic but enjoy <33 sam winchester masterlist

SAM WAS SO GLAD YOU HAD YOUR OWN ROOM.

He pushed you hard against the door, lips attached to yours as his hands found purchase on your ass. Sam smiled against your lips as you let out a slight squeal at the feeling of him squeezing and massaging your ass through your jeans.

You ran your hands up his chest, leaving one on his shoulder as the other one clutched at the back of his head. Your fingers ran through his silky smooth hair before tugging at the strands. He let out a low groan as his hips involuntarily jerked against you.

You tugged at the strands again, making his lips detach from yours with a small ‘pop,’ a strand of saliva being the only thing connecting the two of you.

You smiled at the slightly dazed look that Sam had on his face. “We should probably get inside. Unless you want to give everyone a free show.” You joked.

“Right, yeah we should.” Sam nodded, seeming to remember the two of you were outside of your room.

Sam let you turn around in his arms, hands resting on your hips—his breath ghosting over your cheeks as his face moved to bury itself in your neck. You could barely open the door, distracted by the soft kisses Sam was placing along the sensitive areas of your neck.

Sam smiled into your neck at the sight of you fumbling with the lock. He was glad that you managed to rope him into coming out with you and Dean tonight. But it’s not like he needed much convincing from you—he always found himself wanting to be around you, and this was no different.

Dean took no time finding someone to chat up and eventually go home with tonight, leaving you and Sam to your own devices. After having a few drinks, he felt loose and relaxed for once. Sam enjoyed being around you and loved that he had your undivided attention. You didn’t drink often, but you enjoyed a cocktail or two when you were out with the brothers after a successful hunt.

You had about two, almost three Dirty Shirleys tonight, the vodka hitting you slightly, but the buzz you were feeling got canceled out with the fries you and Sam had ordered to share. The cherry that was floating at the top of your drink was resting against the ice in your nearly empty drink.

“Can I have that?” Sam asked from beside you, pointing to the cherry in your drink.

“Sure.” You plucked it from your glass and held it out to Sam, thinking he was going to grab it from your hand.

Sam was feeling bold, the alcohol bolstering his confidence. His intense gaze never left your eyes as he ducked his head down and grabbed the cherry from your hand with his mouth—his lips wrapping around your fingertips, drawing the fruit into his mouth.

Your mouth fell open slightly as the tension between the two of you grew exponentially—his eyes fluttered, letting the tartness of the cherry coat his tongue. You couldn’t help how your cunt clenched around nothing as you saw Sam’s jaw move as he chewed on the cherry slowly. You had to look away from Sam, your cheeks filled with heat as a spark of desire ignited in your lower belly.

It didn’t help that the low lighting of the bar seemed to cloak Sam’s sharp features but made his hazel eyes practically glow in the dim lights.

Sam couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction. “You okay?” He ducked down and asked quietly in your ear.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat, trying to mask the shiver that went down your spine at the low rumble of his voice. “Just peachy.”

Sam chuckled quietly. He rested his hand on your thigh. “Did you want to head back?”

The two of you quickly left after he posed the question, his hand on the small of your back leading you out of the bar. Luckily, the motel the three of you were staying at was within walking distance of the bar, so it didn’t take long for the two of you to make it back.

Once you arrived at your room and before you were going to ask Sam if he wanted a nightcap, his question threw you off completely.

“Can I kiss you?”

You stared at him before quickly replying. “Yes.”

It didn’t take long for Sam to pin you to your door once you got it open, and the two of you made your way inside. Your hands immediately found their place in his hair as his lips moved against yours. You couldn’t help but softly moan at the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours—being able to taste the cherry he had eaten only moments ago with the faint hint of whiskey that he had been sipping on earlier.

Sam swallowed your moan as he kissed you. His hands roamed over your body before finding the back of your thighs. He quickly lifted you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist without any hesitation. Sam walked the two of you to one of the beds in your room before sitting on it with you in his lap.

You couldn’t help but grind against his denim-covered bulge, making him groan against your lips. His hands landed on your hips to aid you in your movement.

Your lips finally detached from his as soft moans left your lips. Sam’s lips found your neck again, biting and sucking at the skin as you continued to grind against him, sparks of pleasure zipping through you as your clit rubbed against your underwear.

Sam’s lips eventually left your neck, and he made quick work of your shirt—almost ripping it from how recklessly he pulled it off of you. You all but clawed at the brown button-up he was wearing. It was unfair how well this color suited him. He had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms—and you were salivating at the sight of them all night.

The two of you stared at each other when your shirts were discarded.

“You’re beautiful.” Sam murmured as his hands traced up and down your back as he gazed up at you, his hazel eyes filled with reverence and desire.

“Could say the same thing about you.” You replied as your hands landed on his broad shoulders.

Sam’s cheeks flushed red at your earnestness. He leaned in and kissed you softly, making your head spin from how different this kiss was compared to the passionate and lust-fueled ones from earlier. You couldn’t help but pour your feelings into this kiss as Sam did the same.

You eventually pulled away from his lips, giggling when his lips chased after yours. Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sound, his heart filling with warmth.

You reached behind you to unclip your bra, letting it fall off your chest and throwing it somewhere behind you. Sam leaned in and kissed your neck, his lips trailing down the soft skin of your chest. A soft moan left your lips as you felt his lips wrap around one of your nipples—the unoccupied breast being held in his other hand, squeezing and kneading at it.

“Fuck Sammy.” Your words came out breathy as your hands tugged at his hair.

A groan came from deep in his chest. His mouth left your breast as his lips landed on yours again. Sam’s hands wandered down your body and to your jeans. His hands were insistent as he tugged at your pants, trying to get them off of you.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at Sam’s impatience. You grabbed his hands, pulling away from his lips.

“Slow down, pretty boy.” You got up from Sam’s lap to shimmy your jeans off, leaving you in your underwear in front of Sam. You resisted the urge to hide away from Sam’s gaze, but he looked at you in awe—his cock jumping at the sight of you.

“Your turn.” You smirked as you walked in between Sam’s open legs and unbuckled his belt as he kicked off his shoes.

He helped you as you unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down along with his boxers, his hard cock springing up from its confines. You tried not to drool at the sight of it. The tip was red and leaking precum—all you wanted to do was taste him. You ran your hands up his thighs, but he caught them before they could make it to their destination.

Sam quickly grabbed you, and in a blink of an eye, you were straddling Sam’s face. His eyes were trained on the damp patch on your underwear caused by your arousal.

“Wait, but I want to suck you off.” You stopped Sam before he could think about burying his tongue in you.

“That can wait.”

You pouted before you smiled in realization. You managed to get Sam’s hands off of your thighs long enough to turn around to face his cock.

“Baby, you don’t have to– oh, shit.” Sam cursed when he felt your warm hand wrap around his dick and started to stroke him slowly.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction before dipping your head down and kissing his weeping tip. Another groan left his lips at the stimulation his cock was getting. Sam remembered that your covered center was right in front of him.

He pulled your underwear to the side. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, honey.” Sam couldn’t help but praise as he swiped his thumb through your wet slit.

A shiver went through you at the feeling of his fingers on you. “Could say the same thing about your cock.” You managed to say before wrapping your lips around the tip and engulfing it with your warm mouth.

“Fuckk.” Sam moaned out at the feeling of your hot mouth on his cock. “Feels so good baby.”

You hummed around his cock before you started to bob your head, stroking whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

You jumped when you felt Sam’s tongue swipe through your slit, his tongue laving over your cunt before sucking your clit into his mouth. A muffled whine erupted from your lips at the sudden stimulation, and you couldn’t help how your hips chased Sam’s mouth when he pulled away.

“You taste s’good. Been wanting this for a while.” He confessed as he adjusted your underwear to the side again. Sam scowled at the offending garment.

You felt something rip, and you pulled away from Sam’s cock long enough to turn around to see Sam throw your now ruined underwear on the floor.

“Sam! You could have—” You cut yourself off with a moan as Sam buried his face in your pussy, his tongue diving into you, and his hands gripped your hips tight.

Your head fell to his hip as Sam devoured your cunt. The sounds that were coming from your slick cunt and Sam was downright filthy. Your teeth scraped along his skin when you felt his thick fingers fill you as his lips sealed around your sensitive clit, licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves.

A groan left Sam’s plush lips, feeling your teeth sink into his skin. You just barely remembered to keep sucking Sam off. The pleasure you were feeling overrode anything you were trying to do. But you started to stroke his cock again, putting your mouth on him once more.

The coil in your lower belly started to get tighter and tighter as your body grew warmer as Sam ate you out. You could barely focus on getting him off, pulling your mouth off of him and letting the moans and whines escape you as you tried to jerk him off.

“Shit Sammy, I’m gonna cum.” At your words, Sam seemed to double down in his efforts, his fingers hitting that spot that no one has been able to hit before, and he sucked at your clit harder.

You came with a cry, letting go of Sam’s cock to grab at his thigh. Sam let out a hiss of pleasure, feeling your nail bite into his skin, his cock twitching at the sensation. Sam worked you through your orgasm before he slowly pulled away so you didn’t get overstimulated.

Once you calmed down, Sam was able to manipulate your pliant body so you were lying on top of him, face-to-face with him. His chin and lips were covered in your slick, but you didn’t care as you kissed him. The kiss was tender as Sam smiled into it. Sam licked into your mouth, and a low groan left you as you tasted a mix of yourself and Sam on his tongue.

You started to grind against Sam’s hard cock, covering it in your slick, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths at the feeling.

Through the haze of lust that clouded your mind, you managed to remember something. “Condom?” You asked as you pulled away from Sam’s lips.

“In my pants.” Sam gestured to his discarded jeans on the bed.

You nodded. You got up and grabbed Sam's jeans, checking his pockets until you felt the foil packaging of the condom. Once you grabbed it, you checked as you climbed back onto the bed.

You saw Sam trying to get up and reach for it. “Nope, stay there. I wanna ride you.” You sent him a sultry grin.

Sam huffed, but a smile pulled at his lips, and he shook his head. “Fine.”

You tore open the wrapper and quickly rolled the condom onto Sam’s long cock. You straddled him once more and grabbed its base. Lining it up with your entrance, you slowly sunk on top of him.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of Sam’s cock stretching you open. The sting of his thick cock sent sparks of pleasure through you. Sam stared at your face, seeing it twist in desire as you slid his dick inside of you.

Both of you let out matching moans once you had taken him to the hilt. Fuck, you felt so full, his tip just barely pressing against your g-spot. You were already so overwhelmed with the feeling of him but started to move up on his cock before going down just as slowly before starting a rhythm of riding Sam.

There was a familiar burn in your thighs as you rode Sam, making you falter ever so slightly in your pace, and Sam noticed. He moved his hands to your hips.

“Doing so good. You’re such a good girl, taking my cock so well.” Sam praised as he helped you ride him, his hips thrusting up and meeting you as you sank down on him.

The motel room was filled with low praises and groans from Sam, which mixed with your whining and babbling about how good he felt in you. At some point, one of Sam’s hands left your hips to cup one of your cheeks. He started to kiss and bite at your neck as the two of you moved in tandem with one another.

Sam eventually moved from your neck to look at your blissed-out face. As you moved, his thumb slipped into your mouth, and you instinctively started to suck on it like you would his cock.

“Fuck.” His cock twitched as he felt a zip of pleasure down his spine at the sight of you sucking his thumb. “You close? I can feel you clenching around me. Shit, your cunt is so tight baby, love it so much.”

Sam pulled his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with a bruising kiss as he used his spit-slicked thumb to rub against your clit.

You practically sobbed against his lip. “M’close!”

“Come for me. Let go f’me pretty girl.” Sam pressed harder against your clit, and you crumbled around him with a silent cry.

Sam thrusted up into you twice before burying into your convulsing cunt, biting at your shoulder as he spilled into the condom. Sweat coated both of your bodies as you calmed down from your orgasms. Sam let you rest on top of him as his cock softened in you. But after your breathing went back to normal, you peeled yourself off of him and winced slightly as his dick slipped out of you.

You landed on your stomach with a slight huff escaping your lips. You looked up at Sam as he rested on his elbows, looking down at you. You sent him a smile, which he returned. He leaned down and gave you a tender kiss before getting up from the bed. He took off the condom and tied it up before heading to the bathroom to toss it.

You moved your back as he was in the bathroom. You were resting your eyes, taking in the bliss-filled silence, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm. You heard the water running in the bathroom but thought nothing of it.

Sam eventually made his way back to the main room. “I really hope you didn’t fall asleep on me.”

“Nope, just resting my eyes.” You opened your eyes to look at Sam. He had managed to pull his boxers back on but had a towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You were a little disappointed that he wasn’t naked anymore but still drank in his shirtless torso.

Sam set down the glass of water on the nightstand before he took the towel he wet with warm water and gently cleaned your cunt, being mindful of how sensitive it was. He dotted soft kisses along your bare skin as he wiped you down. After he was done, Sam grabbed the glass of water and brought it up to your lips.

Your chest warmed at Sam’s actions. You drank at least half of the glass, leaving the rest for him to gulp down. When the cup was empty, he sat it back down on the nightstand, and you gave him a kiss, pouring all of your gratitude and affection for Sam into it.

Sam all but melted into the kiss, cupping your face with his free hand before you broke it—resting your forehead against his. You reluctantly moved away from him, knowing you should go to the bathroom before you fell asleep.

You kissed his cheek before standing up from the bed, and your legs shook slightly as you walked towards the bathroom.

Sam tried to stifle a laugh, but a snort escaped him when he saw you trying to walk normally.

You whipped your head around to glare at him. “Shut up! It’s your fault anyway.” You tried to be stern, but you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Sam’s smug grin.

“Sorry.” You damn well knew that he wasn’t sorry at all, but you flipped him off as you turned back around and went to the bathroom. You heard his bright laughter through the bathroom door, making you grin.

Once you were done with the bathroom, you exited the bathroom to see Sam underneath the covers of the other bed, his head whipping over to you and sending you a soft smile. You couldn’t help but return it as you picked up his brown shirt, putting it over your naked body and buttoning it up before you slid in right next to him under the covers.

Sam didn’t say anything about wearing his shirt, but he loved seeing you in his clothes, so he had absolutely no problem with wearing it. He turned off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. Both of you let out contented sighs as the two of you settled in each other’s embraces, legs intertwined with one another and arms wrapped around waists and torsos.

Sleep came easy to you both, finding peace in each other’s arms and something more in either of your hearts.

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nujeskz · 3 days ago

Text

Orphic - Hwang Hyunjin

Pairing: Hyunjin x designer!reader

Genre: Friends to lovers, mutual pining.

Synopsis: You and Hyunjin have always been inseparable—best friends, confidants, and, unknowingly, each other’s greatest longing. As a designer, he’s your muse, the canvas for every stitch, every fabric choice, every creation filled with the words you’re too afraid to say. But when years of silent yearning come to a breaking point one late night in your studio, a single kiss threatens to unravel everything—fear, hesitation, and the love that’s been woven between you all along.

warnings: no proofread, mutual pining, emotional tension, slight angst, hyunjin is reader's muse, kisses, let me know if I should add anything else! wc: 1.5k

Author's note: in honor of hyunjin's day! this is something i had in mind for a while, I hope you all like it ! And happy birthday to my bubu♡

Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated!

The steady hum of your sewing machine fills the room, a rhythmic pulse that mirrors the quiet thrum of your heartbeat. Fabric scraps litter the floor, colorful remnants of your relentless creativity, while stray threads tangled around your ankles like whispers of unfinished ideas. You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, exhaustion creeping into your muscles. When your gaze flickers to the clock, it’s nearly midnight.

But that doesn’t stop you.

Without hesitation, you grab your phone, fingers moving with a familiar ease as you type out a message. You don't need to think about the number—you know by heart.

You’re threading a needle when your phone buzzes on the desk, vibrating against the sketchbooks piled high with unfinished designs. The soft glow of the screen reflects the name you’ve come to associate with both comfort and chaos: Hyunjin.

You don’t need to check the message. You already know what it says. He’s on his way, because you called him — like you always do. And he’ll come, because he always does.

A flutter stirs in your chest, one you've tried to suppress more times than you can count and you scold yourself for it. Hyunjin is your best friend, your canvas, your muse. He’s not yours to keep, no matter how much you wish otherwise.

The door swings open without a knock, and there he is, standing in your dimly lit space like he belongs here. His freshly buzzed hair is still damp from a shower, tiny droplets clinging to his skin. He’s wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, the sleeves swallowing his hands, paired with cargo jeans that sag lazily around his waist. He looks nothing like the sleek figure he becomes when draped in your creations—nothing like the version of him the world gets to see.

“What disaster am I modeling today?” he teases, collapsing onto your worn-out couch with a dramatic sigh, legs sprawled like he owns the place. You don’t mind; he’s been a fixture in your space for as long as you can remember, the living canvas to your creations.

You roll your eyes, tossing a cushion at him. “It’s not a disaster. And if you hate my designs so much, stop coming over.”

“I never said I hated them,” he grins, effortlessly catching the pillow. “I just like giving you a hard time.”

Your fingers curl against your sleeve as warmth creeps up your neck. You gesture to the clothing rack, where tonight's creation awaits. The piece you’ve made is bolder than usual — a fitted, asymmetrical jacket, intricate embroidery trailing along the back like poetry, paired with tailored trousers that hug the body just right.

Hyunjin whistles low, standing up to examine the outfit. He stretches, and for a fleeting second, the hem of his oversized hoodie lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. Your pulse stutters.

“You made this for me?” he asks, voice laced with something unreadable.

“Of course,” you murmur, forcing yourself to look away, feigning interest in a stray thread on your sleeve. “Who else would I make it for?”

He disappears into the bathroom to change, and when he steps out, you forget how to breathe.

The sharp angles of his jawline stand out more with the buzzcut, and the clean lines of the outfit mold against him like it was meant for no one else. He’s like a living sculpture, every angle carefully carved, every movement fluid and precise. You’ve memorized his form over the years—his shoulders, the curve of his collarbone, the length of his limbs. But now, standing before you like this, he’s something more.

“Well?” he prompts, spinning around with a smug grin. “Do I look good, or do I look amazing?”

He looks stunning, as always, but it’s not just the clothes. It’s him — the way he carries himself, the way he looks at you like you’re the most interesting person in the room, even when you’re silently stitching for hours.

You swallow hard. “You look… perfect.”

⭑.ᐟ

It wasn’t always like this.

Hyunjin used to live in oversized shirts and beat-up sneakers, his hair long enough to tie back. He had no interest in fashion, claiming it was “too much effort” to care about what he wore. But then you started designing, and he started modeling, and bit by bit, you transformed him.

He let you mold him, shape him, change him.

His closet shifted from basic streetwear to an eclectic collection of pieces that screamed you. And somewhere along the way, your designs changed, too. The pieces you made for him became more daring, more intimate. Low-cut necklines, snug fits, fabrics that clung to his skin like a second layer of you. And not once did he refused.

You taught him how to carry himself differently, how the right clothes could alter his presence. You buzzed his hair on a whim one night, your fingers trembling as they skimmed his scalp. He trusted you completely, letting you shape him like clay, never once questioning why he was always your first call.

And now, when Hyunjin walks into a room, people notice. His presence is magnetic, drawing others in with effortless ease. You pretended it didn’t bother you when he came back with stories of girls slipping their numbers into his pockets. You smiled and nodded, ignoring the ache in your chest.

He never knew the truth — that every stitch, every fabric choice, every outfit was a love letter you were too afraid to write with words.

⭑.ᐟ

“Stand still,” you mutter, adjusting the sleeve of the jacket.

Hyunjin obeys, but you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and intense. You try to ignore it, focusing on the garment instead, but your hands are trembling, fingers brushing against his skin more than necessary.

“Why do I feel like a doll?” Hyunjin murmurs, voice softer now, laced with something unspoken.

“You are,” you reply absentmindedly, fingers brushing against his skin as you adjust the lapel. “My muse.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t notice — or you pretend not to.

Silence settles between you, thick and unyielding. You step into his space again, fingers smoothing down the fabric against his chest. Your brow furrowing in concentration. But Hyunjin… Hyunjin is watching you with something fragile, something raw.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence.

Your heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, shifting slightly. “I don’t know. You get all quiet when I get close to you. Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you whisper, throat tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop, watching you with a softness that makes your chest ache.

You finish pinning the last adjustment, stepping back to admire your work. But Hyunjin doesn’t move.

He just looks at you. He watches the way your teeth graze your lower lip, the way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought. And suddenly, he can’t do this anymore.

He’s loved you for years, silently, hopelessly. But standing here, with you so close, your hands on him, your voice calling him your muse like he’s something precious — it breaks him.

And then—

He moves.

His hands find your waist, tentative yet urgent, and before you can react, before you can stop this, he pulls you in and kisses you.

It’s sudden, messy, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that steals the air from your lungs. Your eyes widen, body frozen in shock, and as quickly as it happens, Hyunjin pulls away, panic flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, stepping away like he’s been burned. “I—I don’t know why I did that. I’ll go.”

He turns to leave, but you grab his wrist, heart pounding.

And without thinking—without hesitation—you pull him back. And this time, you kiss him.

This time, it’s slower, more certain. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, holding him close, grounding yourself in him. Hyunjin exhales against your lips, his hands tentative as they find your waist.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I thought you’d be mad,” Hyunjin whispers.

A shakly laugh bubbles from your throat. “I’ve been in love with you forever, Hyun.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“That’s why you’re my muse,” you confess, voice breaking. “I needed an excuse to keep you close.”

Hyunjin lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he pulls you into his arms. “I thought it was one-sided.”

You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. “You idiot.”

And when he kisses you again, there’s no hesitation, no fear. Just love, stitched between the seams of every design, woven into every thread, waiting—patiently—to be unraveled.

That night, you don’t finish your adjustments. The blazer lies forgotten on the floor as Hyunjin pulls you onto the couch, cradling your face like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

And maybe you are — but so is he.

Your muse. Your best friend. Your love.

Yours. Finally.

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deadly-diminuendo · 1 day ago

Text

A Fitting Reunion

a tailor (spawn) astarion x fem!tav reader fic | nsfw | ~13.7k words

(dividers by @saradika-graphics)

Summary: After a rather embarrassing experience at the reunion party, you have been nervous to see Astarion again. You manage to gather the courage to visit his tailoring shop for dress alterations—and to be a better friend to him. And maybe there is just a little part of you that still hopes for something more. But he couldn’t possibly want that—or could he?

Tags/CW: anxiety, piv sex, oral sex (both ways), post-game, fluff/smut/mutual pining

Read On AO3

Or read below...

Breathe.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again. Then again. And again.

You can do this.

He is your friend.

A friend you used to sleep with.

A friend you never stop thinking about.

Ever.

Hells.

You have not seen Astarion since Withers’ party. The one where you drunkenly suggested you would not mind taking a stroll together back into the woods where the two of you once used to go. You could still remember the way.

You might have phrased things a little less delicately at the time.

And of course he said no.

“Darling, flattered as I am, I think it’s best we get you to bed. Your own bed, to be clear.”

A more gentle rejection from him than you perhaps deserved. What must he have thought of you? Coming on to him like that when you knew a night of passion was probably the last thing on his mind? You are supposed to care about him, not treat him like a piece of meat.

Not that you ever thought of him that way—but still you worry how it seems.

Fuzzy though the details are, you remember enough to know Astarion was the one to ensure your safe journey home that night. The one to step through the portal with you, to help you up the stairs, to tuck you under the covers. And how did you repay him?

You made yourself a stranger.

You should have gone to see him sooner. Apologized. Been a real friend.

Granted the party happened only a month ago. A month is not too long a wait, is it? People live busy lives. Some of your friends you only see a few times a year.

Or maybe it has not been long enough. Maybe you are making too big a deal of this, and you will only be making an even greater fool of yourself by doing this now.

The garment bag draped over your arms feels heavier and heavier. Maybe a purely social call would have been a wiser choice than this transactional one. On the other hand, you do want to show your support for his new business venture. Any friend would do that, right?

Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe.

You repeat your exercises as you try to calm your rapid heartrate. A near impossible task knowing he will be able to hear it the second you walk through that door. Gods, your heart is hammering so hard that you worry he might already hear it through the walls. Curse his vampiric senses.

You can still turn back around. Come back another time. When you are ready.

Who are you kidding?

You will never be ready.

But, if the choice is between now or never—between the shame of showing your face or the pain of never seeing his again—you know what you have to do.

Swallowing your pride, you manage to free a hand enough to turn the handle, lean against the door, and push.

The bell rings.

Its shrill announcement of your arrival sends you spiralling. You think of running. Hiding. Just dropping to the ground and crying.

But there will be no escape because the second you hear that achingly familiar voice sing out the word, “Coming,” your feet are frozen to the floor.

Then comes the inevitable moment, when you see him and he sees you, and you look away, and you look back, and you try not to avert your gaze, and you try not to stare, and gods help you through this for his beauty stuns you still.

He briefly mirrors your silent stupor before you see the crinkle of his eyes and the crook of his charming smile. “Hello, darling.”

Frantically you ask yourself what this means. You sift through every detail you know about the man before you as you try to deduce the thoughts running through his mind. Whether he is truly happy to see you or if he only pretends to be. Whether this is his real face or once more the mask.

You have imagined this scene a million times, practiced every possible variation of it in your head, but when you try to think what to say your mind runs blank. You settle for a few words that are simple and true. “It is good to see you, Astarion.”

“And same to you, my friend,” he says, and you manage a small smile. Are you really worthy of being called his friend after all this time apart? Is an honest-to-goodness friendship even possible between the two of you?

You do not speak so he continues. “And might I add that you are looking more delicious than ever.”

Oh. He is flirting with you. Falling back on old habits, perhaps. Or maybe he seeks to lighten the mood, to ease you into a conversation that clearly makes you feel awkward. Nothing more. Still your heart flutters as it always used to back in those early days.

Back when you were foolish enough to believe he might be your forever.

“I was hoping you could help me,” you tell him, trying to get yourself back on track. “I have a gown that needs alterations. I take it you have heard about the upcoming Ravengard ball?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, reaching out to take the garment bag from you, and though you are glad to be free of its weight, you are not quite sure what to do with your hands. “I have been invited myself, but honestly, I expect the whole affair to be dreadfully boring. I suppose I could always introduce a little chaos into the mix myself, but…” He shrugs. “I’ll likely just skip it.”

“You’re not going? Not even for Wyll?”

Not even for me? That third question burns in your mind but you dare not ask it.

“We were not exactly the best of friends if you’ll recall.”

That is true. You remember many a tense exchange between them—Wyll needlessly cruel at times, Astarion spitting back with an understandable but equally vicious venom—no real surprise that the unlikely alliance between a monster hunter and a vampire spawn would also be an uneasy one.

The fact that you once shared a dance with the Blade did nothing to help matters. The tenderness in his touch and the awe in his eyes told you he wanted something beyond friendship. A true love, a happily ever after, a tale straight out of the pages of a storybook—tempted though you were, you could not envision that future with Wyll. Not while you were still spending your nights tangled up with Astarion.

Even knowing now how it all turned out you would not have chosen differently.

You consider encouraging him to attend, expressing how much you would appreciate having his company there, but you let the moment pass as you follow him deeper into the shop. “It seems you have done quite well for yourself,” you comment—your words still feel more stilted than you would like, and your gaze meanders about the shop rather than meeting his—but at least you are here.

And he really has done well for himself, you think. The front of house proudly displays a tasteful array of apparel—a combination of carefully curated selections from local clothesmakers and his own elegant and inventive fashions. Perhaps you should have commissioned him to design your dress in the first place.

“I have, haven’t I?” He lets out a little hmph as he considers it. “I thought this life might be a little, uh… pedestrian, for my tastes, but… to my surprise, I like it. It suits me rather well.”

“I agree,” you say with a genuine smile as he stops you in front of a series of curtains—the dressing rooms, you assume. Sure enough he pushes one open and gestures you inside, hanging the garment bag on a hook.

“Well, darling, let’s get you out of those clothes and into that dress, hm?” Your breath hitches. You almost let your imagination run away with you, but of course he gives you your privacy. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

You peel off each layer one by one, trying not to think about the fact that your former lover is on the other side of this curtain, trying not to remember the slow and sensual ways he used to strip you bare.

But you do think about it. You do remember.

You are just friends now, you remind yourself. No more. And no less, you hope. To be without him all this time has left a hollow in your heart. You want to fill its empty spaces with his presence. You want him to be part of your life again.

So why does being here only make your heart ache harder?

And why are you still so godsdamned nervous?

You sigh and slip into your gown, admiring its A-line silhouette and its delightful shade of purple. Not quite the right fit, but that is why you are here after all. Astarion can surely fix that for you. He does work wonders with his hands.

Hands that you now realize will have to lace up the back of your dress because there is no way you’ll be able to accomplish that by yourself.

Hugging the loose garment tight against your chest, you call for help. “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to fall into peril right here in my dressing room. You do seem to have a knack for finding trouble wherever you go.”

“Just… come in, please.”

He pushes through the curtain and you are instantly and acutely aware of just how snug this little space is.

“Ah, you need to be tied up, I see.”

Of course he would choose to phrase it like that. Now you are thoroughly convinced he is thoroughly enjoying your embarrassment. He always did like to make you squirm. In more ways than one, the Astarion in your head adds. Ugh. You feel a fleeting sense of relief as you spin around, but the mirror betrays you, putting your mortified expression on full display while the look on his face remains a mystery to you. The chuckle you then hear at least helps you picture his smirk.

He takes his time with you. Like he always did. Words he once said echo in your mind. A treat like you deserves to be savoured. Does it tempt him still to be so close to you? To sense your blood pumping through your veins? To see your neck so deliciously exposed? You ponder and you reminisce and you catch yourself tilting your head to one side.

It seems the tempted one is you.

You wonder if he noticed. He may be ‘tying you up’ as he so eloquently put it, but you feel more like he is undressing you. Like he is uncovering you bit by bit, inch by inch, piece by piece. Like he could reach into your mind and read your most intimate thoughts even though the tadpoles are long gone.

“There we are,” you finally hear him say, snapping you back to reality. You pause in front of the mirror together and you wonder what it isn’t telling you. What he thinks when he looks upon you.

“A fine choice, my dear,” he says as you both step out of the dressing room. “Much better than those hideous rags and that horrid armour you wore on the road.”

You roll your eyes at him. “That horrid armour kept me alive. Forgive me for picking function over fashion.”

“Oh, come now, fashion need not be sacrificed. Yours truly had both, thank you very much.” He gives you a playful bow.

You snicker—and then a full-fledged grin spreads across your face. To have this bit of banter with him again feels right. A bit of good-natured ribbing is something you can handle. What you do not know quite how to handle is—

“Luckily for you that smile more than made up for your questionable wardrobe.”

And just like that you no longer know what to say.

Astarion guides you over to a fitting platform, circling you as he sizes up what needs to be done. And though you know this is all about your dress and not you, you begin to fidget under his intense scrutiny.

“Much too long, obviously,” he remarks. “Typical. It should be taken in at the waist, too. We must do justice to that pretty figure of yours after all.”

Another flirtatious comment from him, another internal panic for you. You are not given much time to ruminate on this one though before he asks you a question that catches you off guard.

“Did you bring your shoes?”

“My shoes…?”

“Shoes, darling,” he says, elongating the rounded vowel as he repeats the word. “You have heard of the concept, surely. They come in pairs? You wear them on your feet?”

“I know what shoes are,” you insist, glancing towards the open dressing room where your trusty boots remain on the floor.

He follows your line of sight, and you nearly laugh when you look back to witness his eyebrows raise in horror then furrow again in exasperation. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. You will not be wearing those ghastly things to a ball.”

“They’re comfortable, and no one will be able to see them,” you say with a shrug and a smile, and this time you do laugh at the indignant noise he makes in response. Really, you did plan on wearing something more suitable—but you are enjoying this little opportunity to vex him.

“Absolutely not. As an upstanding citizen of this fine metropolis, I cannot stand idly by while you commit this outrageous crime against fashion.”

“Upstanding citizen, huh?”

“Of course,” he says with that mischievous smile of his. “I’m hardly the ‘help every poor unfortunate soul in sight’ type—that, my dear, is unique to you and you alone—but perhaps a smidgen of your do-gooder nature has rubbed off on me. Now,” he continues, returning to the matter at hand, “let me find you some decent shoes. We’ll need them to measure the length.”

Ah, that makes sense. You pout and you nod, playing your little game, but you do look forward to a new pair of shoes. Your adventures did leave your boots well-worn, not to mention covered with so much gore and grime that not even repeated scrubbings could remove all the stains. Your boots really did see everything.

He disappears into another part of the shop then reappears with a few options in hand—a selection of flats and modest heels you can actually picture yourself walking in—all simple but elegant. He knows just what you like.

“Sit and try these on,” he says, extending a hand out to you—an offer to help you down from the platform you presume—and you take it.

His touch is pure electric shock. Or maybe it is only the chill of undeath that leaves you shivering. And then you think on it, that pleasing tingle, the texture of his skin, the way his long, slender fingers interlock perfectly with yours, and your heart is fluttering, and he lets go all too soon, and you are lost. Empty. Incomplete.

And right now you are not ready to consider what that means.

You push your confusion out of your mind as you take a seat on the edge of the platform, refocusing on the task at hand. You pick out a pair of off-white kitten heels and try them on, and you find yourself pleasantly surprised by how comfortable they feel. To be sure, you take a few steps, you test other pairs, you return to the first—yes, these will do.

“Satisfied?” Astarion asks, and you nod. “Good. Back up you go, darling.”

You step onto the fitting stand once more—without assistance this time, which is somehow both a relief and a disappointment. Astarion sets about his work, pulling pins out of the small cushion tied to his wrist and pushing them through the hem, all while you stare into space and contemplate whether or not you should say anything.

You should say something, you decide. You did manage to catch up with him a little at the party last month before your drink got the better of you, but you are doing a poor job of it now. You’ve barely even talked. Not really. How can you call yourself his friend if you cannot even gather the courage to speak to him?

“How are you?” you blurt out. Those few trite words do little to express how much you truly care for his well-being, how every day you wonder if he is fed, if he is safe, if he is happy. Quickly you add, “With the whole ‘vampire tailor’ thing, I mean. No monster hunters at your door, I hope?”

His nature clearly isn’t a secret. The many mirrors give him away if nothing else.

“Not a one,” Astarion says, glancing up at you from where he kneels. “I am, after all, one of the great heroes of Baldur’s Gate. The fact that I also happen to be a vampire spawn is not so much a threat, but an… eccentricity. And a bit of eccentricity is right at home in this city.”

“I’m glad no one is giving you any trouble,” you say. Another question needles your mind, one you are almost afraid to know the answer to, but you ask it anyway. “And… are you feeding well?”

“I have my sources.” Oh. Good. That is good. Yes. Definitely. Not like it matters who or how. Not like the mere thought of him sinking his teeth into someone else crushes you. Not like the scene plays out in your mind no matter how much you don’t want it to. Your eyes shut. Your stomach twists. Your heart sinks.

“None quite like you,” he adds, and beneath that sultriness he so likes to tease you with, you detect a softness there. Or maybe it is only a trick of the imagination. A pretty lie you tell yourself.

And yet, when your eyes flicker open, all you can see is his boring back into yours, staring, seeking, searching.

Breathe. You must breathe.

And then the moment is gone, and he shifts out of your sight, concentrating his efforts on the back of your dress.

The minutes pass in screaming silence.

You wish he would fill your ears with little jokes, or idle chatter, or something, anything to save your mind from spiralling. Anything to save you from you.

You regret all you have done wrong and all you have failed to do right. And yet, you want, and you yearn, and you hope.

“It really has only ever been you, you know.”

His words shock you back to your senses and suddenly he is standing on the platform with you, mere inches away.

“Oh,” you say. Gods, what else can you say?

All is quiet between you. He fusses with your straps, and the fabric of your bodice, pins everything into its proper place. A hand lingers at your waist.

“You once told me that the world can be a kind place. That has been truer than I expected. But no one has been more good to me—and good for me—than you.”

What?

No. Whatever you think this is, you are wrong.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you protest, your heart pounding. “That night at the party… I wasn’t thinking, I… I know it wasn’t what you… I’m so sor—”

He stops you, shushing you softly. “Oh, no, no, love, you will not apologize for that. A little drunken fancy is nothing to be ashamed of. You were nothing but sweet. And it was sweet of you to worry. Unnecessary, but sweet.”

Your head is spinning. You were far from a good friend that night. You did him wrong. You were so sure.

But he does not seem offended in the least.

Quite the opposite, really.

“Although,” he says, and you hear the mischief in his voice as he leans in to speak into your ear. “I am rather curious about those pretty words you said when…”

The bell rings.

The two of you startle and separate.

“Oh, Astarion, dear?” a voice calls out, singsong yet sharp.

The scowl that then sullies his features tells you all you need to know. He curses under his breath before singing out an answer. “Just a moment, Lady Furrington. I am finishing up with another client.”

Astarion is all business now as he checks over his handiwork, and as he ushers you to the dressing rooms, and you cannot help but to mourn what could have been had no one else stepped foot through that door. You wonder what he would have done. What he would have said. What might have sparked between you.

You will lie awake tonight wondering and wondering and wondering.

You pause together just outside the dressing room, and he says, “My apologies for the abrupt finish, darling. Her requests are endless, but her coin purse is bottomless. Enough so that an extra charge here and there goes unnoticed.”

“You have to do what you have to do,” you say with a shrug. You take a step into the change room, and to your surprise, he follows you inside. You shoot him a quizzical look.

“The laces?”

“Uh, yes. Right. Thank you.”

He reaches around you as he begins to pull them loose. He is close. Impossibly, maddeningly, enticingly close. His gaze falls to your lips and, gods, you can almost taste his.

“Astarion?” cries out that same shrill voice.

He steps back. Another moment lost forever.

“Come back tomorrow night?” he asks.

Sooner than you thought, but you do not question it. You simply say, “Yes.”

You leave. You start your trek home. And, as you walk, an inkling of something forgotten—something you wanted to forget—itches within your brain. What was it he mentioned about that night? Something about ‘those pretty words’ words you said?

You think, and you think, and you think, delving deep into your fragmented memories, searching for the missing pieces you need to complete the puzzle.

You stop in your tracks.

You remember.

That night, as he put you to bed, at the height of your foolishness, you told him the most mortifying thing you could have told him.

But in wine there is truth.

You felt it. You said it. You meant it.

You love him.

It was the right choice. The right choice. The right choice.

How many nights have you lain awake, desperate to believe in the truth of those words? You thought one day they would sink in and soothe you. Instead their endless echoing always felt more like a pulsing headache.

Funny that, last night, the very opposite thought is what kept you awake.

What if, all this time, you were wrong?

You were so sure back then that friendship was the right choice. A hard choice, but the right choice. Never had anyone given him anything without the expectation for more. You could be that person, right? You should be that person. You wanted to be that person. A friend was what he needed. What he deserved. That superceded any silly notions of romance you had in your head.

Your offer of friendship meant everything to him, or so it seemed. Not a friend in the world until you, he said. His sincerity and his soft words melted your heart, and when he took your hand in his, and gazed into your eyes, you knew you were hopelessly in love with him.

You fought it. You denied it. You cried and cried and cried over it.

Still your feelings stayed the same. And so you did the only thing you could do. You resolved to keep your secret hidden under lock and key.

As if anything in this world under lock and key is safe from the likes of Astarion.

You love him. You have always loved him. You still love him.

And it seems he knows it, too.

And maybe, just maybe, there exists the teeniest tiniest trace of a possibility that he might be interested in you?

No, no, no. Surely you are mistaken.

He thought about kissing you, though, didn’t he? You saw him glance at your lips, right? Or did you?

No, no, no. A figment of your wild and wishful imagination, nothing more.

He would never want you.

Still you primp and you preen before the mirror like you are prepping for a date, not a dress fitting. Still you want to impress him, enamour him, pretend you stood a chance with him. Still you wonder and you worry that, maybe, improbable as it seems, you did once stand a chance with him, denied him and deprived him, denied and deprived yourself.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Those words of his still echo in your memories. You thought, then, that friendship was the realest thing you could ever hope to share. But, if you let yourself try, you could have been something more, couldn’t’ve you?

Maybe he did want you, could want you, does want you.

And if he does…

No. Do not let yourself go there. Do not get your hopes up. Never get your hopes up.

You take a moment to breathe, pull yourself from the mirror and leave through the front door. You will go to this appointment and you will be normal and you will be sane and you will be the friend you promised him you would be, not some gawking idiot full of foolish desires.

Twenty minutes is what it takes to walk from your place to his. Twenty minutes of exercise? A good thing, of course. Twenty minutes of cycling through these same tired thoughts ad nauseum? A not-so-good thing. That will not help you through this.

Maybe it won’t make much of a difference. After all you are quite capable of sending yourself into a frenzy in a mere twenty seconds let alone twenty minutes.

When you finally arrive at his door your head is still swimming.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You did it yesterday. You can do it again today.

The bell rings.

The silence that follows is enough to deafen you.

Well, it would seem you underestimated yourself before. You thought it would take twenty seconds to achieve total panic? More like five.

Astarion appears in the blink of an eye, all elven grace and vampiric mystique, emerging from what feels like out of nowhere but in reality must have been somewhere back of shop.

He is somehow even more gorgeous today, if that is even possible. His hair, perfectly coiffed; his vest, exquisitely embroidered; his whole ensemble, impeccably tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders and slender waist. His sleeves are rolled up, and his shirt is a little more open than it perhaps needs to be at the chest, and gods, are you blushing?

You are here for a reason, and that reason is not to ogle him, tempting though it might be.

“Darling!” he says, greeting you with that brilliant smile you so adore. “I’m glad it is you, and not a certain patriar that so rudely interrupted us yesterday. There is only so much of that particular displeasure I can endure. My patience is thin enough as it is.”

“And yet you have managed to endure,” you remark, laughing a little at the thought of him attempting to navigate customer service. “The coin is that good, huh?”

“Oh, it is. Satisfying as it might be to deny my services to the worst offenders, a few of these annoying but harmless ones must be tolerated. Bad for business otherwise. Today, though, I made a point of keeping my schedule clear of all other distractions. My only priority now is you.”

You. The way he purrs out that one little word sends a thrill throughout your body.

But you must not read into that. You must temper yourself.

Be normal. Be sane. Be his friend.

“Alas, your gown is not quite done yet, though. I was just finishing up the hem when I heard you come in. It won’t take long. Follow me into the back, if you will?”

“Oh, uh, of course,” you say. You had expected more or less a repeat of the previous day—trying on the dress, making sure it fits correctly, changing back into your regular clothes, returning home. A nice, predictable order of events.

You like predictable. You like all its safeties and comforts. You like how it acts as a balm to all your anxieties. If you can predict, then you can prepare.

Unpredictable, though. Unpredictable is unnerving. Downright terrifying, even. And yet it is rife with possibilities.

The best things in your life have come from unpredictable. The greatest adventure you’ve ever had. The happiest memories.

The man you love more than anything.

Even if what passion you shared was fleeting. Even if this platonic connection is all that remains. Even if that glimmer of hope you cannot quite quash, no matter how unwise you think it, crushes you one day. You will still tend to and treasure your bond in any and every way you can.

So you take a deep breath and you follow him.

Astarion leads you into a room just big enough to double as a work area and a storage space. Rolls of fabric, diverse in colour, pattern and texture, fill the shelves lining the walls. What you notice most, though, are the in-progress projects draped over the mannequins. You would love to watch him at work. You suppose you will get one little taste of that now.

You also spot the base of a staircase in one corner, and that sparks an even greater curiosity within you. This lower floor is his business, but that upper floor is his home. A place entirely his own, and you hope he has filled it with anything and everything that makes him feel safe and happy and free. Maybe he will invite you up those stairs someday—you are friends after all—but for now you both seat yourselves across from each other at his work table.

“A good thing you came to me for this, darling,” he says, and you try not to stare as he licks the tip of his thread and pulls it through the eye of his needle with ease, “—else you would have been out of luck. Wait times are usually much longer than this.”

That is true, and you know you should have planned for this better. The ball is only a tenday away. “Oh, I’m sorry for the rush, you didn’t need to—”

“Hush, hush, my sweet,” he says, a gentle chiding that reminds you of yesterday. “It was not a bother. Not in the least. Although…” He pauses and smirks. “You haven’t paid me yet.”

Aghast, your mouth drops open, but he stops you before you can blurt out your hundred apologies.

“Now, I know that one so honest as you would never make such a mistake on purpose. Our time was cut short after all. Then again, not all of our gold was acquired by honest means, was it?”

“Thanks to your thievery,” you remind him. “Gods, you practically cleaned out the whole Counting House.”

“And yet I don’t recall you objecting. True that I picked many locks during our adventures, and why was that I wonder?” He makes a show of his hums and his haws and then one final aha. “Oh yes, that’s right. Because you asked me to.”

“Our mission was important,” you insist. “We needed gold, intel, resources… We did what was necessary to succeed. To survive.”

“Oh? Tell yourself that if you must, darling, but I think you just liked to watch my hands.”

That comment instantly warms your cheeks—and the realization that you actually have been watching his hands as he starts to sew absolutely scorches them. When you glance up to his face, you find him grinning at you.

And just like that you’re grinning too. You are embarrassed, yes, but you must admit there is something especially endearing about seeing Astarion like this—the skill, the passion, the care he puts into his work, the way his smile softens as he settles back into his state of calm and contented concentration—he looks happy.

It makes you happy. It makes you calm—or at least as calm as you can be under these circumstances. It makes you love him even more.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” he says, shifting back in his chair, pulling the garment from the table and into his lap, pulling farther away from you. Have you been staring too much? Has he taken offense? Does he no longer want you here?

He pauses, and gives you a pensive look, and you look back, lost as to what to do or say or think. Maybe you should go. Give him some space. But, he invited you in, didn’t he? Said it wouldn’t take long? You can’t just leave.

And you don’t want to leave. You hope that he doesn’t want you to leave either.

He breaks the silence with a chuckle, resuming his stitching like nothing has changed. “You never were. Not that I mind, though. If you want to watch a master at work, then who am I to deny you?”

“I can hardly see what you are doing now, though.” You try to keep your words matter-of-fact. Try not to show just how unsure and insecure you are in this moment. In too many of your shared moments.

“A shame. I’m afraid you will have to settle for admiring the stitchwork when it’s done. And it will be well-worth the admiration, I assure you.”

You try to read him. He gives nothing away, offering up no more than a little smirk as you study him. He was always better at reading you than you were reading him.

You want to know. You need to know.

“I will,” you say, and that need to know brings out a boldness in you that was not there before, and though your inner voice scolds you and screams at you, you add, “though I would rather admire you.”

His eyes briefly flicker to yours, then back to the dress. You swallow hard.

“Then, by all means, bask in my presence and shower me with your praises.”

Good. No scrunching up his nose, no recoiling in disgust, no sign you went too far. But neither did he give you any indication that his feelings mirror yours.

Not that you truly expected that, of course.

Still you continue to examine him closely. He seems relaxed, focused, comfortable. There is a hint of fang to his smile and a gleam to his eye, and when he next glances at you, he raises an eyebrow.

Wait, does he actually want you to praise him? Should you? What can you even say? Oh, Astarion, you are clever, and funny, and talented, and gorgeous, and I am completely, absolutely, madly in love with you?

The greater your panic, the greater his amusement, until he can no longer resist clicking his tongue at you. “So shy now, darling. And yet you were not the least bit shy for me the last time I had you on your back.”

Oh. Whatever you expected, it wasn’t that.

Your wide-eyed, open-mouthed, heart-thumping shock earns a hearty laugh from him.

“Gods, you’re so adorable.”

Words fail you, and so you let out a giggle, its pitch too sharp, its volume too loud, its presence awkward, your presence awkward.

“It’s a good thing, my love,” he says softly, sincerely. “Trust me on that.”

My love. You zero in on those two words, and though your head tells you to dismiss them, your heart tells you to keep them and to cherish them.

And you are growing quite the little collection of words to thrill and fill you. Adorable, on your back, tied up, pretty figure, looking delicious, that smile, nothing but sweet, good to me, good for me. My love. You have not forgotten a single thing he said.

But you know it would be foolish to treat every flirtatious remark and sweet nothing as a romantic overture.

Even if you want to. And, oh, how you want to.

You seek distraction now, glancing at the table in front of you. It is a rather cluttered space, various tools of the trade scattered about—spools of thread, scraps of fabric, scissors and needles and pins—but what catches your eye most is a messy little pile of papers. Sketches.

“Are those your designs?” you ask, nodding towards the stack, leaning a little closer—just enough to imply a second question: “May I see them?”

“Yes,” he answers, and though he rolls his eyes, he smiles. “Go on, then. Take a look.”

Carefully you gather up the pages and begin your perusal. His sketches immediately impress. Astarion, the artist—you had never pictured it—but perhaps it should come as no surprise that a man with a skilled hand and a keen eye would take so well to pencil and paper. The time, the effort, and the creativity he poured into these—into every aspect of his work—is clear, and you are glad to see this side of him.

One by one, you look through the sketches, giving thoughtful attention to each and every one before moving on to the next. Some are still in their early stages, little more than rough outlines, while others are fully realized with intricate detail and vivid colour. The designs range from the everyday to the formal, from the simple to the elaborate, from the masculine to the feminine, and everything in between. A little something for everyone.

It eases you, this repetitive motion, this comforting quiet, this sweet glimpse into the life of the one you love.

Until you see it. Until your fingers tighten against the paper. Until you freeze.

Not because of the clothing, but because of the model. The shape of her figure. The shade of her skin. The style of her hair. The familiarity of her face.

It’s you.

He drew you. Like you are his muse. Like he could not help but to think of you. Like he is as in love with you as you are with him.

No, you try to tell yourself, this must be some coincidence. And even if it isn’t a coincidence—and really you should just admit to yourself that this cannot be a coincidence—it cannot mean what you want it to mean, right?

Maybe it is just because you are his friend. A real person he can easily visualize in his mind’s eye. Yes, that must be all this is. Yes, of course.

You quickly flip through the remaining pages. There is no Karlach, no Gale, no Shadowheart, no Wyll, no Lae’zel, no Halsin, no Jaheira, no Minsc—not that any of them got to know Astarion as well as you did, though. All you find are faceless figures, generic and unremarkable. Until, oh, there you are again. Oh, and once more. And again. And, by the gods, again.

“Did something catch your eye, darling?” Astarion asks, lips curled into a smirk, looking and sounding every bit like the cat that got the cream.

You pull that first sketch of you out of the pile and set the rest down, holding it in the air for him to see. “Is this me?”

“Ah, come to think of it, I did have you in mind when dreaming up that particular outfit, yes.” He shrugs, and the nonchalance of it all vexes you.

“And not only this one?”

“Not only that one, no. I do think of you often, you know.”

No. You don’t know. But maybe you are beginning to know. Beginning to let hope blossom in your heart, brave and beautiful and boundless.

He pauses his work, stares at you a moment, meets you eye to eye—and, gods, you feel like you are connecting heart to heart. Soul to soul. He speaks again, eventually, shifting back to a less serious, light-hearted tone. A retreat into his own comfort zone.

“What more can I say? I like to imagine you in my clothes, darling.”

And out of them, you can almost hear him say. Honestly you could go for a little body to body as well, but you know not to push him. Hells, you are not even a couple.

You never will be, says a different voice. An unwelcome voice. Your own voice, ever cruel and destructive. But maybe that voice of yours is wrong. Maybe it isn’t never. Maybe it is just not right now.

And you can live with not right now.

“Actually,” Astarion continues, “I’m not sure imagination is enough anymore.”

You blink at him.

“I’ve always thought working with a live model could spice things up a little. Someone to be my canvas, so to speak. Perhaps you might be willing to step into that role sometime? I rather like having you around.”

He wants you here more often. Does not mind being up close and personal with you. Wants to be up close and personal with you.

The very notion of it makes you giddy with an excitement you are no longer able to contain, and so when you open your mouth, what slips out is, “I like you, too.” Gods, what are you saying? “Like being around you, too.”

Embarrassing, yes, but you decide that grin upon his face and that laughter rippling out of him are worth it.

“If it is what you want, then I will be here.”

“It is what I want,” he says, and there is a conviction to it that sets your heart fluttering. You watch as he reaches for a pair of scissors. “Well, darling. It’s settled then. And I am pleased to tell you your dress”—a pause, a snip—“is complete.”

Oh. You were starting to wish this would take the whole night.

He sets down the scissors, the needle, and what remains of the thread upon the table, standing as he smooths out the gown—and that is when you realize it. That thread. It is thick and gold, not fine and colour-matched like you would have expected. Granted, you are not the expert here, but it is a curious choice—and a choice that makes you curious.

But, before your mind can wander too far down that path, Astarion’s voice startles you back to the present.

“Well, darling? You do realize you will have to try it on again?”

“Yes, of course,” you say, your chair screeching backwards as you push yourself out of it. “And thank you. For everything.”

“It is my job, after all,” he says, slathering his words with a thick coat of exasperation, but even he cannot hide the pride underlying them. “And for you? It is my pleasure.”

Always the flirt. But, for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to believe there might be more to it than a little teasing or empty flattery.

And, small and insignificant as it seems, you are still wondering about that thread.

He leads you out of the back room and over to the dressing rooms, back to that same snug space you shared with him yesterday, pushing the curtain to one side and hanging up your gown. You step inside and pull the curtain closed.

You undress, and you think, and something he told you tickles your brain. Something about the stitchwork. “It will be well-worth the admiration, I assure you.”

Hmm. Maybe you should take the time to admire it.

You lift the hem and examine its inner edge, following that neat, flawless line in its circle, not a single speck of gold to be seen—

Until you find it. A hidden message, simple in design, yet elegant in execution. Four words. Four earth-shattering, heart-warming, life-changing words.

I love you too

You want to laugh and you want to cry and you want to sing. You want to wrap your arms around him and squish him and squeeze him until he can take no more. You want to tell him how much you love him, tell him a thousand times, then a thousand more, and gods, you want to hear him say it.

But to embroider those words so lovingly into the fabric is the sweetest confession he could have made to you.

You love him even more for it.

You can hardly wait to tell him—properly this time, not uttered out on some drunken late night like before—but, for now, you slip into your dress, and step into your shoes, trying hard to suppress the squeals begging to burst out of you.

He loves you. You spent so much time—too much time—convincing yourself that such a thing was impossible. But he loves you.

You exit that little room, and you see him, and you know it would only take seconds to close the gap between you and hug him and never let go. But, your dress is hanging open in the back, and you’re shaking, and you don’t want to ambush him with your touch if he is not yet ready for that.

The moment will come.

Or maybe it is time to take control of this. You will find that moment, and if you don’t, then you will create it, and then when you do, you will make it count.

Automatically he walks towards you, steps behind you, laces up your bodice, so close yet not close enough. You wish you could touch him, and the next thing you know, he is offering you his hand, and so you take it, and you squeeze it.

And he squeezes yours back.

He guides you onto the fitting stand. You catch a brief glimpse of yourself in the surrounding mirrors—the perfect fit of your gown, the way your smile shines—but the only thing you want to look at is Astarion.

He completes a single revolution around you, and when he stops in front of you, and you beam down at him, he stares back in admiration, in adoration, in awe. Like you are the sun itself. Like you are the centre of his whole world.

How could you not have known?

“You love me?”

His eyes grow wide as those words fall out of you. It’s all surprise, at first. But then it is openness. Vulnerability. “Ah. So you saw it already, then?”

“Yes,” you murmur, afraid to make a wrong move lest you wake up from this dream before you hear those words you want to hear more than anything. “You love me?”

Silence. You panic, and you retreat, pulling back, looking away. “Not that you need to say it out loud, of course. Not if you don’t want t—”

“I love you.”

Your eyes snap back to his. You watch him draw nearer and nearer, and you feel his hands find their place at your hips, and you breathe in that nostalgic scent of bergamot and brandy.

“I love you,” he says again, and you are so happy you could cry.

You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug that feels like home. You needed this. You needed him. And, when his arms wrap back around you, you know that he needed you, too. Here, both of you are snug, and you are safe, and you are loved.

And though you know he must know it by now—that he must see it in your eyes and feel it in your embrace—you say it anyway. “I love you, too.”

You both pull back, but only a little, just enough to smile at each other.

“This time on my own,” he begins, “it has given me the chance to think about what I truly want. All of this,” he says, gesturing around the shop, “I may not have expected to end up in a life this domestic, but… I’m happy. Mostly happy, anyway.”

He pauses, and you tilt your head, waiting, wondering, hoping.

“I want more. I want a partner. And who better than the woman who stood by my side through everything? Who always treated me with kindness and understanding? Who I just so happen to utterly adore? I want you.”

Tears well in your eyes, and you are smiling so hard it hurts, but you are sure this is the happiest moment of your life. “Then I am yours.”

And then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.

You melt into him, into his softness and his sensuality, into the comfort of his embrace and the heat of his touch. This is perfect. This is right. This is where you belong. You pour all of your affection into every press of your lips, willing him to feel your devotion, your desire, your love down to his very core. But, when you part your lips to meet his tongue, he breaks away.

You fear something will break inside you—but his reassuring grin steadies you.

“Just a quick moment, darling,” he says. “There is but one little thing I need to do.”

Astarion steps off the platform and heads towards the front of the shop. At first you are confused. And then you understand.

The bell rings.

The ‘open’ sign is flipped to ‘closed.’

The lock clicks in place.

And, tonight, the bell will ring no more.

Astarion locks the door and locks eyes with you.

You remember the day you met him as if it were yesterday. Little more than a beautiful stranger to you, back then, all elegance and ice. Even as your lover he felt unreachable, with you by midnight and gone by morning, no more real than a dream.

But now, as you gaze upon him, he is warmth, and he is sweetness, and he is truly, honestly himself. Mask off for you and only you.

Unbelievable, really, how far the two of you have come. And yet, with your whole heart, you believe it.

The man before you is your best friend. Your love. Your partner.

And tonight, together, you will take your first steps towards a life intertwined. Whatever that looks like.

And, gods, what does that look like? What comes next? Will he invite you into his arms? Into his home?

Into his bed?

The mere thought of it, you all wrapped up in him, sets your mind racing and your heartrate rising. There is a familiar hunger to his pretty eyes as he draws near, and you wonder if that rapid rhythm in your chest is still, to him, the irresistible siren song it once used to be. If he longs to taste your blood, your lips, your—

Oh, but you should not get too far ahead of yourself. He might not yet want what you so evidently crave. You must not forget that.

You can be patient. You will be patient. You will give him as much time as he needs.

Not that Astarion is making this easy for you. Certainly not with the way he grins his roguish grin, nor the way he wiggles his fingers as he reaches a hand to you, coaxing you down from the platform.

Maybe patience is not so necessary after all.

But surely there are important conversations to be had, which you very much want to have, and surely a night of sweet kisses and cuddles would be a good place to start, the perfect place to start, even, no matter how much you want to—

Oh. A hard pull, an audible gasp, and you are flush against Astarion. His intense stare is holding you in place just as much as his hands on your hips are.

“What’s that look for, my dear?”

“What look?”

“That mind-going-a-hundred-miles-a-minute look. We’re not overthinking now, are we?”

“No.” It's a weak attempt at denial, and you know it. “All right, maybe a little.”

“A little, she says? Just a little? Well, even if that were true, I’m afraid even a little is simply unacceptable, sweet love. Not when I’ve got you like this. Whatever shall I do with the likes of you?”

His hands shift upwards, every bit eager as they sweep along the curve of your waist, every bit assured as they cup your face. In his eyes you see your whole world spinning, and your mind continues its endless spinning along with it.

“Well, darling. I suppose then I’ll just have to kiss”—a brush of his lips—“you”—so plush and perfect against yours—“senseless.”

There is an urgency to the way he kisses you now, to how his tongue tastes and his teeth tease, and it makes you drunk with desire you have too long denied. You match his every insistent press against your lips, the need blooming between you escalating into a feverish frenzy. Your mind is indeed rendered senseless—but your body is awash with sensation.

His mouth leaves yours, leaves you breathless and boneless, but still wanting more. And more is exactly what he gives you as he kisses a trail along your jaw. To your neck, perhaps? No, to your ear, and you giggle when he nibbles at your lobe.

He whispers, "Come upstairs with me?"

As if there were any chance you would say no to him now. "Yes."

And yet he makes no moves to whisk you away. Instead he pulls you back into the blistering heat of his kiss, his apparent haste to have you making you doubt whether you will even make it up to his quarters at all. His every impatient touch has you envisioning how he might take you—bent over his worktable, or pushed against the dressing room wall, or laid out on the floor, anywhere, everywhere—until, oh, he is tugging loose the ties at your back.

It is all suddenly a bit too much. A bit too fast. A bit too real.

Is he actually truly ready for this?

Astarion instantly senses the change in you, moving back, but keeping close. And even though he is calm and composed, and gives you a kind smile, you cannot help but feel that this precious moment is in ruins, and the reason is you. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Oh, my love. Always so full of apologies even when there is no need for them. How about we go upstairs, make ourselves comfortable—change back into your everyday clothes first if that would suit you better—and we'll sit and have a chat, hm?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. "That sounds wonderful. Truly."

"Good," he says, nodding towards the dressing rooms. "Off you go, then. I'll be waiting right here."

You make your way inside, glancing at your flustered face in the mirror before you slip out of your gown, your worries creeping their way back into your frazzled mind.

Where did it all go wrong?

To connect through touch is something you want desperately. And, by now, you are almost entirely sure Astarion wants to share in that with you, too. But therein lies the problem: almost isn't enough, is it?

What if he is only doing this because he thinks it will please you?

And how can you be sure when you hardly know how to be sure of anything?

Part of you still feels ashamed for lusting over him, knowing all that you know. The other part of you just feels ridiculous—here you are, pulling on layer after layer of clothing, when every indication suggests he wants to get you naked before the night is through.

You analyze every moment you've shared tonight, searching for even the slightest of signs that this is all just a performance.

Yet you find none.

Maybe the best thing to do is to just trust him. Trust him to make his own choices, to decide his own limits, to navigate all of this together with you.

After all, if you are sure of only one thing in this world, it is that Astarion loves you.

You gather the hem of your dress into your hands one last time before you leave it behind, tracing over every line and every loop of his embroidered message, committing those beautiful words to memory. It is exactly what you need to bring a smile back to your face.

And, when you finally step out of the dressing room, Astarion matches that smile the moment he sees you.

The two of you walk hand in hand into the back room and up, up, up the stairs, your anxious anticipation growing with every single step you take.

"I'd tell you I'd give you the grand tour, but I'm afraid my home is far too humble for that," he remarks, and for the first time tonight, you notice a bit of a shake to his laughter, an irregular height to its pitch.

And here you thought that the only nervous one was you.

What if that means—

No, you'd better not worry what that means.

No matter what happens, you will be here for him as he is here for you.

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it's perfect. And I'd take a nice, cozy, humble home over a palace any day."

"I might not have always agreed with that sentiment, but now?" Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, he pauses long enough to smirk at you before twisting the knob. "I find that I do."

You step inside, taking in as much of the surrounding space as you can. The only light emanates from the fireplace, its flickering flames casting a sensual glow across the room. The open layout is typical of city merchants' quarters—no walls needlessly taking up the already limited space—a sitting area on one side, a small disused kitchen on the other. A pair of strategically placed dividers offers some sense of separation, and behind them—oh, yes, that is most definitely his bed.

Best not to linger too long on that thought.

Although you do make a mental note that it is big enough for two.

Taking both your hands in his this time, Astarion pulls you towards the loveseat in front of the fire, playfully pushing you into its comfy cushions and planting a single kiss upon your lips that you hope is a promise for many more.

He does not yet take his place at your side, however, instead lighting a candle on the coffee table—and it is then you study the scene before you.

A now-lit candle. A vase home to a single blush-pink rose. Two goblets and a bottle of your favourite red wine. A spread that is romantic. Meticulous. Premeditated.

You let out a chortle.

"What?" Astarion asks, eyes narrowed, but lips curved into an unmistakable smile.

"It's just so"—a bigger, brighter laugh bursts out of you—"so obvious."

"Obvious? Obvious?" He tosses his head to one side as he scoffs. "Are you really only realizing this now? Darling, I have been obvious this entire time. You, on the other hand, have been hopelessly oblivious."

And, in retrospect, you can admit that it's true what he says. The evidence was everywhere, even if you could not, would not, thought you should not believe any of it.

But you do now.

He settles next to you on the loveseat, warmth rushing to your cheeks at his sudden nearness. His fingers, cold to the touch though they are as they interlock with yours, do nothing to cool you. No, if anything, they have quite the opposite effect; the whole of you hot and molten beside him.

"Tell me, love," he begins, the purr in his voice and the mischief in his grin telling you he intends to use every ounce of his charisma to its fullest extent. "Should I have serenaded you with song? Recited to you a sonnet? Scattered a trail of rose petals from your door straight to my bed?"

"Maybe, though it's not too late," you suggest. "If you would like to regale me with music and poetry, I won't complain."

"Oh, my dear. I wouldn't be quite so sure of that. I am a man of many talents, yes, but I'm no bard. Although, if the result is hearing you laugh again, then it might still be worth a try."

You grin. "Then try."

Astarion clears his throat dramatically, and with his back tall and straight, and his nose held high in the air, he starts to speak.

You cannot even begin to take him seriously.

"Your skin so sweet and lips divine, / your blood the most delicious wine. / Each precious bite is my delight; / so let me make you mine tonight."

"You're ridiculous," you say—but you are indeed laughing.

"Why thank you, darling," he says, lowering his head in a mock bow. "Ridiculously eloquent, I hope? Or ridiculously charming? Ridiculously good-looking, at least?"

"Just ridiculous."

He gasps. "Oh, how you wound me. And here I was, professing my profound affection."

"It sounded more like you just want to eat me."

"Maybe I do want to eat you"—he leans in enticingly close—"in every sense of the word."

There is no mistaking his meaning now, is there?

You want this—you can feel it in pounding heart, and your weakened limbs, and your aching core—you want, you want, you want.

And yet you fear. Fear falling back into the dark depths of doubt, panic dragging you deeper, deeper, deeper down until you're drowning.

But you do not fall for it is Astarion's hands that keep you safe on solid ground.

"Oh, my sweet, lovely, darling girl."

And it is not only his hands, but his voice that soothes, and his eyes that blaze with such fierce certainty that you wonder how you could have ever failed to see just how much he cherishes you.

"Let me state the obvious because it seems obvious is what you need: I love you."

How new to your ears those words still are and yet you already think the sound of them sweeter than any song. You beam at him, because of course you do, and he beams right back, because of course he does, because this, this togetherness, is what you both want, what you both need, what you both deserve.

That look, so full of adoration, beckons you forward, and so you move in slowly, kiss him softly, hold him sweetly. He does the same, at first, an arm wrapping around your back, the opposite hand snaking its way down to cup your backside. Not that you resist. Nor do you resist when, unexpectedly, he pulls you hard against him, laughter bubbling out of you from the surprise and the clumsiness of it. And yet, here you are now in his lap, and here he is guiding your legs to straddle him, and it dawns upon you just how suggestive this new position is.

Even the slightest roll of your hips might have… well, quite the arousing effect.

Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing, the sneak.

And, if this is how he wants you, then that must mean—

"And," he says before you can finish the thought, "I want to explore anything and everything that loving you means."

Anything. Everything. Never have those two words sounded so sublime, his voice like velvet, his implication indisputable. Your imagination runs rampant, unlimited and unsuppressed, your mind opening itself fully to passion and possibility.

And you hope imagination will blossom into beautiful reality.

Astarion buries his face into your neck, peppering it with little kisses—maddeningly where you know he knows it tickles—revelling in every giggle he draws out of you. Vexing though it is, yes, the levity of it amuses you, calms your nerves.

You did, back in those early days, feel most ease with him whenever you would let yourselves be silly. You remember it well. Perhaps so does he.

And then—when tension fades, when you are limp and pliable in his arms—the mood shifts. Then, he kisses you where it doesn't tickle. Then, those sounds spilling out of you are decidedly not laughter.

His mouth moves to meet yours. A heady mixture of love and lust swirls about in your mind, and you succumb to it, to him, to every brush of his tongue and graze of his teeth. Almost embarrassing how little it takes to make you squirm about in his lap—but his body answers yours just as readily, the twitch of him against you leaving no doubt to his burgeoning desire.

This is really going to happen, isn't it?

"And"—you mourn the loss of his lips—"if all of this is somehow not obvious enough"—but his husky tone has you enraptured—"then let me be clear: I will not be satisfied tonight unless and until I've fucked you thoroughly."

Oh. You stare in stunned silence, mouth agape, as you process the filth you just heard: his lust stated so exquisitely explicitly that you long to press into the hardness you know you will find there, kiss him wildly, pleasure him endlessly.

And that, you decide, is exactly what you will do.

But your affection is too soft and too shy to plunge any deeper without testing the waters first. You kiss him once, then twice, then again and again and again, tentative touches turning tender then teasing as your courage grows. Astarion welcomes it all, wants more of it all, urging you to take this further in all the ways he can: pulling you closer, holding you tighter, kissing you harder. When at last your hips begin to undulate against his, he matches your rhythm, eager for you to feel the full length of him against your wet and wanting core.

With shaking hands you unfasten the singular clasp that had been holding his vest closed. That ever anxious part of you waits a moment for his objection, expects it, dreads it—but it doesn't come. Instead he only gives you his gentle encouragement.

"Go on, love. Undress me. Touch me."

You nod and you smile. Yes, there is anxiety in your anticipation, but so is there desire that drives you, and elation that thrills you, and such deep, overwhelming love for the man before you that how could you not want to devote yourself to pampering him?

Button by button you work your way down his shirt, exposing more and more of him until every fastening is undone. You examine the hard planes of his chest, first with eyes and then with hands, delighting in the way his smooth skin and firm muscle feel beneath your palms. He purrs his approval, rocking his hips against yours with such abandon that you curse your clothes for preventing him from pushing inside you.

Your fingers trail downwards, delicate but daring as they dance towards their destination. When at last you reach to undo his trousers, your eyes dart up to his, one last search for any sign he doesn't want this—but the look he gives you, part lust, part unwavering, undying trust, tells you what deep down you already know.

And it is all the permission you need.

Your attention returns to where he wants it to be. The sight of him, his arousal straining against fabric in his desperation for you, intensifies the throbbing between your own thighs. And so, with eager hands, you set him free.

You know his body well. Studied him with all of your senses. Learned how to glide and twist him into a whimpering mess with only a hand. And yet, practiced as you are in his pleasure, you cannot help the gasp that escapes your throat when you finally set eyes on his cock. To see him so riled and ready, to know it is all because of you—it fills you with awe, and with pride, and with overwhelming desire to put all you have learned to good use.

You start with a stroke of the hand, sliding up and sliding down his shaft, pulling the sweetest of sighs from his lips. Oh, how you love it when he is needy like this, hips moving in time with your every repeated motion. You keep touching him and teasing him, hand gliding up and down and up and down, thumb sweeping across the milky bead gathered at the tip.

But what you really want is a taste.

You lean forward for a kiss—only a fleeting peck, nothing more—and, if the way he huffs and pouts is any indication, it isn't enough. But you have quite a different use for your mouth in mind, don't you? You withdraw your hand, and he opens his mouth in protest, but no words come—for by now he is wide-eyed and mesmerized as you lick your thumb clean, savouring his salty taste. You lower yourself to your knees.

"May I?" you ask, smiling slyly up at him.

"Oh, my love. There are few sights so delightful as your lips wrapped around my cock."

His lewd words bring fresh heat to your cheeks, and he laughs.

"Hmm, I must say that flustered look of yours does have its appeal, too," he says, and you try to maintain your composure as you grab one of the little couch cushions, settling it comfortably beneath your knees. "Especially when it means you're imagining me inside you."

Oh, that unabashedly wicked, aggravatingly arrogant, adorably lovable man. The advantage might be his now, but he won't be the one holding it for long.

"And," he continues, growing more smug by the second, "come to think of it, there are many, many positions that suit you just as beautifully. Like when—"

The words die in his throat as you lick a languid stripe along his length, earning from him a low, pleasured groan. The sound pleases you immensely. But what a shame it would be if he were to leave his filthiest fantasies unspoken.

If he loves to tease you so, then why should you not do the same?

You run your tongue all over him: exploring every inch, tracing every vein, flicking against the tip, but never quite taking him into your mouth. When you have him whimpering the way you like, you pause just long enough to prompt him to say what he failed to before: "Like when…?"

"When— gods—"

Oh dear, it seems language is lost to him again the very moment your lips close around him. You bask in your triumph, sucking him and swishing him with your tongue, watching the way he watches you. And though at times his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back, his gaze always finds its way back to you.

You keep working him, using your hands to pump him and play with him as your mouth performs its magic, rediscovering all the little things that drive him wild. It feels good to make him feel good. It feels even better knowing how much he truly desires this.

"You want to know what I like best of all?" he manages, eventually, his tone dark and throaty; you hum your enthusiastic assent, and the vibration of it sends a shudder through him.

But the words he says send a shudder through you.

"The sight of you lying utterly helpless beneath me."

Oh. Well. You do love this—relishing his pleasure as you bob your head along his length—but you very much love that, too. You remember well how it felt. How letting him have his way with you could awaken either of his extremes. The vampire at his most feral, or the man underneath, a secret softness reserved only for you.

When all was done between you, you used to worry those tenderest moments were only part of his act. But maybe you were wrong.

Maybe they were always real.

"I've been thinking about you"—you ache more and more for your own satisfaction now though you never stop giving him his—"fantasizing about you ever since that night at the party. Wondering what it would be like to have you in my own bed."

And you know at once his bed is soon to be your destination when he leans forward to give you a gentle nudge. You still, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop.

"And, my love," he whispers into your ear, "I intend to find out. Now."

Far be it from you to deny this beautiful man anything he wants.

Astarion rises to his feet, shrugging off his open shirt and pushing off his trousers. To see him like this, so gorgeously and gloriously nude, leaves you speechless.

"Well, darling?" he says, shamelessly eyeing you up and down. "I assure you you'll have much more fun without your clothes."

Needing no further encouragement, you start to disrobe—but your pace is found wanting and Astarion is all out of patience. He steps forward, tugging and tearing at your layers, eager for you to join him in his state of undress. Sure enough you hear a button clack against the floor, fallen victim to his reckless haste.

"Careful!" you insist, but really, you're more amused than annoyed.

Not to mention aroused.

"Oh, don't you worry, my dear. I'll fix that right up for you."

"You'd better."

"Of course. I'm your personal tailor for life now."

For life. This really is it for you, isn't it? You are his, and he is yours, and for however long you both walk this realm, you will spend your days and your nights together.

You wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would he.

When at last you are beaming and bare before him, Astarion takes a step back for a better look at you.

He stares.

And then he strikes.

You are swept into his arms, into his passion, barely conscious of anything but the feel of skin against skin and lips against lips—though it is abundantly clear he is a man on a mission. He pulls you along in his mad shuffle to reach the bed, sacrificing finesse to gain speed, unable to wait a second longer than necessary to have you.

And indeed he wastes no time in lifting you onto the mattress and pushing you flat on your back beneath him.

"Finally," he growls and he grins, and you're already there bucking on the bed before he has even touched you where you need him. "Finally I have you right where I want you. Right where you belong here in my bed. Right here with me."

The thought of this one day becoming your bed—your home—thrills you almost as much as his impatient touches do.

But, as eager as he is, he still recalls exactly how to excite you. Still gives ample attention to all those places most sensitive and secret. Still treats your body like his sanctuary—a sacred thing to be revered, to be relished, to be worshipped.

And, as he settles between your thighs, you know the pleasure he'll, oh, so willingly provide will be nothing short of divine.

He starts with a single lick—one long and languid glide along your slit—and already, all at once, it's too much, and it's not enough, and it's the most wonderfully perfect sensation you have ever known. It pulls from you a shake and a cry, and in turn, a soft laugh from him as he takes pride in his ability to please you. He licks you a second time, and then a third, and again, and again, until his tongue is lapping at you with a steady fervency.

The bliss he brings you is better than you remember. Countless times you tried to relive your memories—desperate to return to him, if only in daydreams—but your fingers always paled in comparison to the way his tongue dips inside your cunt and flicks against your clit.

Although maybe it is better than ever now that you know he loves you.

You grasp for his hand and he grabs it gladly.

And he certainly knows how to work you well. You writhe about, your moans mewling and wanton, your body wanting more, more, more. The pleasure you crave is close now. You glance at your lover—mussed up curls and pink-tipped ears, his attention focused wholly upon your undoing—and to know that Astarion is the one making you feel this way intensifies the heat coiling in your centre.

A little more is all it will take. You ready yourself for it, your grip tightening, your limbs trembling, your feet bracing against his shoulders. And, when he tongues you with the quick, precise flicks you like best, you yield, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into you. Astarion does not relent, continuing to devour you until you are thoroughly sated and spent.

You lie there, panting hard, basking in the pleasant tingle that still lingers in the aftermath of your orgasm. Gods, you haven't felt this good in ages. And, from the smug smile that begins to spread across his face, it seems he knows it, too.

"Well," Astarion says, licking his lips as he sits up. "You look positively wrecked, darling. And all because of me. You want more, don't you?"

Such self-satisfied bravado. Not that it stops your core from clenching at his suggestion. Nor do you deny him when he shifts over you, cock gliding along your swollen folds, ready to push inside.

Oh, you want more very, very badly.

And so you invite him in. "Yes."

Slowly Astarion sinks into your sex until he is buried to the hilt. A perfect fit. You did always take him exceptionally well. He pulls back, and pushes in, and pulls back, and pushes in, coaxing gasps and moans out of you, ensuring you feel each and every inch of him as he makes love to you.

And it is love, this time. Love that underlies the lust in his eyes. Love that fuels the languorous rhythm of his hips. Love that urges him to lavish you with little kisses.

You return his love in every way you can: touching, holding, caressing, kissing, enjoying all that is nostalgic and all that is new. You roll your hips. You cry his name. Surely the extent of your adoration is made abundantly clear—but, if by any chance all this isn't enough, you sing it out loud: "I love you!"

He lets out a laugh, a soft and elated little sound. "I love you, too."

But, for all his sweetness, so is there carnality, frantic and feral and finally free. He thrusts harder, moves faster, pours all of his passion into every motion he makes. Of course you are more than happy to allow him this indulgence. The addictive friction, the lewd noises of bodies colliding, the delight of being filled so completely—every intoxicating detail feeds that familiar heat building within you.

Sensing your impending release, Astarion lifts his head from where it had been nestled in your neck and draws back just far enough to reach a hand between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. You imagine you must be quite a sight—all shivering and squirming under him as you begin your surrender to bliss—but his stare is locked only upon your eyes.

And it is then that you lose yourself to the euphoria he gives you. Then, that your walls clench around him; then, that you let out a keening cry; then, that pleasure radiates from your core to every extremity of your body. And where you go, Astarion is quick to follow, groaning as he empties himself inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, and you pull him into a tight embrace, vowing you will never, ever let him go again.

You missed him so much. Love him so much. And, to be with him like this, so close and connected, makes you feel that all is finally right in this world.

A comfortable and contented silence falls between you.

Until it breaks.

"I wasn't entirely honest with you before."

His words hang heavy in the air as panic takes hold. What if this was too much, what if this was too fast, what if he did not want any of this at all?

But then, when you feel like you might never catch your breath again, he takes your face into his hands and grins devilishly. "What I really like best of all is that I can take a single glance at you and tell just hopelessly in love with me you are."

Oh, that infuriating and wonderful man.

"Don't scare me like that!" you say, scolding him. But, despite his foolishness—maybe because of his foolishness if you're really being honest with yourself—you lunge forward for a kiss. Then another. And another.

When your lips breaks apart, and his eyes are again heavy-lidded with lust, he makes his suggestion: "Perhaps I might… find some way to make it up to you?"

You think a moment. And then you grin. "Why, yes, I do happen to have one idea in mind. About the ball… be my plus one?"

He does not roll his eyes, nor does he complain of the tedium he'd have to endure, nor does he make any attempt at denying you. He answers only with a soft smile and a single word.

"Always."

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angstywaifu · 1 day ago

Text

No Strings Attached Part 2 - Garrick Tavis.

For all the comments begging me for a part 2, and a birthday request for some Garrick angst/smut. Enjoy.

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Pet Names. Semi Public Sex. Mentions of injuries and nearly dying. Very minor onyx storm spoiler (signet related).

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“Come on sweetheart. You can’t die on me.”

I cry out in pain as I’m jostled around. Each movement causing unbelievable pain. The last thing I remember… fuck what was it? All I can focus on is the blinding pain. How it consumes me. How it’s all I can focus on right now.

”Move! Now!” That voice commands, the jostling movement increasing and becoming more erratic.

I faintly make out gasps and whispers, but they move past me too quickly to focus on them. I force my eyes open to see the familiar stone of Basgiath rushing past me before I quickly shut my eyes again as we turn a corner, causing me to scream in pain again.

”I got you sweetheart. Almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

Their voice is getting more frantic every time they speak. And I can’t blame them. I feel like my life is literally draining away. Can feel the darkness pulling at the edges of my mind, as if calling me to give in and join them. And it’s so tempting. It feels so calm. So relaxing. And I know if I follow, all my pain will go away. Slowly the darkness creeps in further and further, the pain slowly subsiding. My body finally relaxing. Barely registering the frantic movements of the person carrying me as they break into a run. Their voice so distant and faint compared to what it was. Just before the darkness fully pulls me in, I look up into a familiar pair of panicked hazel eyes.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but I feel like I’ve been lying in the same position for a very long time. My body stiff and sore from not moving. Bright light burns my eyes as I try to open them, groaning as my body protests at the movement.

”Take it easy.” A soft caring voice tells me, feet shuffling over to me.

I use my arm to block some of the sun that’s coming from the window to see a healer cadet rushing over to me. She smiles softly at me as she looks over me, clearly checking to see how my vitals are.

”How long was I out?” I ask her, my voice hoarse and scratchy from not being used.

She turns, grabbing a glass of water that she holds out to me to take. I smile at her and eagerly take the water from her, draining the glass in seconds.

”A few days. You had some very serious wounds and mender Nolan had to do a few sessions to get you all healed up. If you’re boyfriend hadn’t gotten you here so quickly, I don’t think you would have made it.” She tells me, her lips pressing into a tight line.

I furrow my brow. Did she say boyfriend? Who the hell was she talking about? She must sense my confusion, and motions with her towards something on my other side. I turn my head to see a large figure slumped into the small chair, legs sprawled out with their arms and head hanging off the chair. Riders wear black all the time, not much variation in our wardrobe. But there is no denying that Garrick is wearing the same clothes from the other day, my eyes stopping on blood that still stains his hands slightly.

”He’s not my boyfriend.” I tell her, turning my head away from him and holding the glass out to her.

She looks surprised as she takes the glass from me. “You might want to tell him that. He’s refused to leave your side since he brought you in. Wont even go to any of his classes. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

I go to object but she’s already turned and walked away, leaving me alone to ponder her words. Love…. the last thing I would use to describe what ever Garrick and I did have. And what we did have was long gone.

”Clearly it isn’t with how he rushed you here as if his own life depended on it.” My dragon drawls in my head.

”I’m alright, thanks for asking.” I snap at him.

”If you weren’t alright, I would know. You are fine despite probably needing a few more days to recover.” He tells me, practically feeling the eye roll through our bond.

Movement next to me diverts my attention away from my dragon as Garrick stirs in the small seat he’s in. He groans as he stretches, pushing himself up in the seat as he wakes. Completely oblivious to me being awake, I watch as he runs his hands through his curly hair and over his face, letting out a long sigh. Finally raises his head, looking over to my bed, eyes going wide as he sees me staring back at him. He stands up, starting to rush over to me but stops after a few steps, clearly thinking better of it.

”How long have you been awake?” He asks me, his hazel eyes taking me in, observing my for any hint of pain or discomfort.

”Just a few minutes.” I tell him, unable to look away from him.

He nods his head. “And do you feel ok?”

I open my mouth to respond, but as footsteps approach the bed Garrick tears his gaze from mine and goes back to sitting on his chair. I turn to see Nolan at the end of the bed smiling at me.

”Seems you’ve made a full recovery Cadet Y/L/N. Not in any pain or discomfort?” He asks me.

I shake my head. “Just feel a bit stiff from not moving for a few days.”

”Good. Well I know you’ve just woken up, but if you’re not in any pain I am happy to let you go back to the Quadrant provided you come here for a daily check up for a few days and keep off your dragon and the sparring mats for a few days as well.” He informs me.

I breath a sigh of relief. I’d been worried I’d have to stay for a few days, so the idea of being able to go back to my own room and my own bed was music to my ears. And it meant getting me away from Garrick and whatever the hell was going on between us.

”That I can do.” I say with a smile.

”Excellent. Well once you are ready Cadet Tavis here can escort you back to your room.” He says happily as my heart sinks.

”Oh I don’t need that I can-”

”Nonsense. I’d prefer if you had someone to get you back to your room and keep an eye on you. And Tavis here seems to already have the under control from what I’ve seen the last few days. I’ll see you tomorrow Cadet.”

Nolan turns, leaving Garrick and I alone again. Despite how disgusting it feels, I’m glad they’d kept me in my uniform, saving me the hassle of trying to get one before heading back to the Rider’s Quadrant. I push off the bed, doing my best not to wince as my body protests at the movement and try to storm past Garrick. The key words being try. With being mended and lying in a bed for a few days, my storming past Garrick is more of a speedy hobble. Fucking great.

”Take it easy.” He tells me, placing a hand on my lower back that I quickly step away from, not missing how Garrick sighs in disappointment.

”I’m fine. And I don’t need your help.” I snap at him as I hobble into the corridor.

”Fine? You nearly died.” He growls at me as he falls into step next to me.

”Yes but I’m not dead last time I checked, because you’re here. And I doubt Malek would curse me with you being in my afterlife.” I grumble at him.

He sighs before stepping in front of me, causing me to stumble to a stop as he puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “You don’t mean that.”

As much as I want to admit I don’t, I can’t. I was still hurt from our last interaction almost two months ago. It had sucked not talking to him. Pushing myself away from my usual friend group. But I couldn’t be around him. I had to put up this wall to try and be ok. To try deal with the feelings that had decided to rise up since that night. Feelings I had tried to squash down.

”Pretty sure I do.” I snap at him more angrily than I had meant to before shrugging his hands off my shoulders and walking past him. Thank the gods my body wasn’t protesting to movement now and I could walk better.

I nearly get to the end of the corridor that joins this side of the college to the riders portion before Garrick’s voice reaches me.

”I love you.”

I stop, completely frozen as his words registering in my brain. I turn on my heel, looking at him wide eyed. Did he say he loved me? No. I had to have heard wrong. There’s no way that man just said he loved me.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Love. That’s what the healer had said when she’d spoken about Garrick in regards to me. How she’d described his actions while I’d been asleep. And now here he was saying he did love me. But… Garrick didn’t do love. Didn’t do relationships. That wasn’t him. That’s why we’d had the casual arrangement. Fuck I should be happy to hear the words leave his lips. Knowing that my own feelings were pretty fucking close to love as well.

I shake my head at him. “Don’t. Don’t pull that on me now. Not after that night.” I call out to him, watching as he starts to slowly walk over to me.

”I should have said it that night. Told you how I felt. How I was falling for you even though we said feelings were off the table. I should have reacted differently to what you said to me. But I was an idiot, and let the rules we’d set out at the start get in the way. I should have manned up and told you.” He confesses as he gets closer and closer to me. “I saw how hurt you were that night. So don’t deny you don’t feel the same.”

He stops a few feet away from me, waiting for my answer. But it’s like the words are stuck in my throat. My brain not sure what to say. Yes I had feelings for him. But he’d also hurt me. And I’d spent the last few months squashing the feelings I had because I was so sure he didn’t feel the same way. I was torn. And with almost dying… My brain was a mess. I’d honestly thought what I’d done had gotten me killed. Didn’t think I’d make it as I’d put myself in front of a blow meant to kill him.

I take a step back, lowering my head as I shake it slowly. “I can’t do this right now.”

And without a second thought I turn and run. My body protesting again at the sudden movement and change in speed. But as I push my legs harder and harder, I don’t hear him follow. And I don’t dare look back to look at him.

“You need to talk to him.” Sawyer tells me as we circle each other on the mat, both of our swords grasped tightly in our hands.

Sawyer had been one of the friends I’d made since distancing myself from Garrick after graduation night. I’d honestly thought Sawyer would have avoided me like the plague after Garrick’s show of dominance, but he’d been more than willing to be my friend.

”I don’t need to do anything.” I growl out as he lunges at me, blocking his sword with me.

He raises an eyebrow at me before pushing me away. “You have spent that last two months hiding your feelings, and then you essentially sacrifice yourself for him and he confesses he loves you and you tell him you cant do this and run off. You like him, just go tell him.”

”It’s not that simple.” I tell him as I lunge forward, unleashing a series of strikes he rushes to block as he stumbles backwards.

He rushes me as soon as I stop my advance, knocking me to the ground with ease as he holds the tip of his sword against my throat. “I think it is. All you have to d-”

Sawyer goes flying back as Garrick rushes forward, pushing him away from me. It’s not hard to see Garrick is angry. His whole body radiating anger as he clenches his fists and puts himself between Sawyer and I.

”What the hell do you think you’re doing? She nearly died last week, and you’re fighting against her like she’s perfectly fit and healthy.” Garrick snaps loudly at him.

I rush to my feet, leaving my sword on the ground as I rush between the two, putting a hand on both their chests to keep them apart. I know Sawyer won’t do anything, but I couldn’t promise Garrick wouldn’t. And with my hand now on Garrick’s chest, I can feel how heavy he’s breathing. How fast his heart is beating. Feel him shaking with anger.

”Stop it. I got cleared for flying and combat yesterday. I’m fine.” I tell him sternly.

”You need to be careful. You nearly di-”

”I am aware! I was there. I was the one that threw myself in front of that hit so you didn’t get hurt. I am aware. But I am fine. So stop babying me and let me train.” I blurt out, cutting him off before I can register what I’ve said.

Garrick’s head immediately snaps to look down at me. Eyes wide with horror. Shit.

”You did what?” His voice barely above a whisper, but I hear it clear as day.

I gulp as I look up at him, feeling Sawyer back away from us. He was the only one I’d told about how I’d nearly died. How I’d actually nearly died protecting Garrick. He knew this moment was for just the two of us.

”I did it to protect you. They were coming from behind, and I knew you wouldn’t have time to react so I took the hit.” I admit as I turn to fully face him.

He reels back at my words, confusion written all over his face as he works everything out in his head. “Why? You hated-”

”No. I might have said some things that made you think I hated you. But my feelings couldn’t have been further from that.” I tell him as I cut him off. “Because I love you to.”

Instantly Garrick’s face shifts. Gone was the worry, confusion and lingering anger towards Sawyer. Replaced my the usual cocky grin he’d get when something worked out for him or he was scheming something.

”Oh so you decided you can deal with it now sweetheart?” He drawls as he leans in and raises an eyebrow at him.

”I confess I have the same feelings and you’re going to throw that back in my face?” I nearly yell at him, rage rising to the surface.

Of all the things he had to focus on, he picked that! That man was playing with fire and he damn well knew it. One more word from his mouth and I was goin-

”Everyone out!” Garrick calls out, his loud voice carrying around the room with ease.

Everyone stops sparing, looking over at Garrick and I with confused looks while Bodhi and Sawyer are the only two to move and grab their packs, both of them snickering.

”You all deaf all of a sudden? I said, everyone out. Now!” Garrick calls out again, this time getting his point across.

Around the room the other cadets scramble for their packs before rushing from the room. No one wanted to mess with Garrick. He was the biggest and strongest cadet here. None of them stood a chance if they tried to stand up to him and they knew it. Finally the last cadets leave, the door slamming shut behind them as Garrick waves his hand, using his signet to shut the door before the familiar sound of the locking clicking into place echoes around the room in the silence now left behind.

”What the hell was th-”

Garrick cuts me off as he rushes towards me, his lips claiming mine in a desperate and needy kiss like never before. Sure we’d had times during our casual arrangement where we’d been craving each other, but this was different. There was an almost primal and claiming undertone to the kiss. Like Garrick was claiming me as his. And I would happily let him claim me. I yelp as he picks me up, backing us up till I’m sitting on a stack of spare sparring mats in the corner of the room. Garrick breaks the kiss to grab the bottom of his shirt, and I rush to do the same before discarding mine to the floor with his along with out pants. I can tell Garrick is desperate when he pulls me off the mats, spinning me around and bending me over on them. Garrick never rushed sex. Always took his time to see me come undone on his mouth or fingers first. To watch me become a blubbering and begging mess just for him. But I could tell my words had unlocked some unhinged part of him that told him to take me as quickly as he could. I gasp as his tip prods against my entrance before he teases it along me, shuddering as it nudges my clit. Despite the urgency and rushed moment, I can tell I’m soaking wet for him with how easily he glides back and forth, before thrusting into me.

”Fuck!” I cry out as he thrusts all the way into me, his tip hitting that perfect spot inside me as my walls tighten around him.

”Gods, sweetheart.” He moans out, catching a glimpse of him throwing his head back as I turn my head to lay on the mat so I can look over my shoulder. “Taking me so well.”

His hands grip my hips tightly, as he thrusts in and out, not wasting any time as he sets a brutal pace. I’m surprised how quickly the familiar inside me starts to build. Already feeling myself tightening around him way earlier than I normally would. And as Garrick groans and moans behind me, I know he can tell. Especially when he starts to slam into me more aggressively. I push up off the mat, instantly regretting and loving the decision when it feels like he’s hitting a spot deeper inside of me. My arms nearly buckle underneath me, but Garrick’s arms rush out and pull my back flush against his chest as he presses soft kisses on my shoulder.

”I got you sweetheart.” He murmurs against my neck.

I nod in response, not able to form words as he continues to plow into me. Fuck, I wasn’t lasting much longer. I could feel myself teetering on the edge. Waiting to tip over at any second. And as Garrick leans back, bending his knees so I’m practically sitting in his lap as he thrusts up into me In do. I cry out, screaming his name as I tip of the edge. My body shaking and spasming around him as he milks my orgasm from me before his hips falter and still against mine.

”You alive sweetheart?” He asks after a few seconds, his grip on me loosening.

I chuckle and nod my head. “Somewhat.”

”Good. Because I ain’t done with you yet.” He tells me as he pushes me off him and grabs out clothes.

He chuckles as I rip my clothes from his hands and rush to get them on, dragging him from the room before he can get his shirt on.

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