spiked-seaweed

[lovelypastelroses]

That feeling of wanting to do something but having to Wait

It's so horrible the waiting mode for everything lately has just been horrid on my mental health

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, too overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way your pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of your pussy coming around him shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.

[psi-hate]

alright, this really, really sucks but i have an unfortunate update that occurred regarding my recent living situation.

not to get into too much detail for the sake of my friend's privacy, but she and her fiance offered to take me in after i was suddenly on the verge of homelessness this february. i accepted their offer and moved in thanks to everyone's support, and for the last few months, i felt comfortable and capable in getting myself together for the first time in years.

however, despite what i assumed were all positive developments, things started getting a lot more complicated. i become exposed to the treatment and stress my friend has been suffering from her fiance over many years, from being spied on via tracking apps, in-house cameras, a ridiculous jealousy complex and all sorts of other personal issues.

her friends and i have been supporting her over the years, but i didn't realize how bad it was until i started to be subjected to it as well.

my friend decided to break up with her fiance last week, finally standing up for herself but still wanting to remain friends and live as normally as they could, they still had the house and their cats and such. her now ex-fiance hasn't taken kindly to this and has been pretty passively hostile towards us, and has started to take it out on me.

she started stalking my tumblr to find things to get mad at, and checking the cameras when i leave my room. i've not felt comfortable to leave my room in well over a week other than to get some food or use the bathroom in the middle of the night, the tension has been a nightmare.

my friend and i decided we needed to move out, especially me since i'm technically not a tenant and we suspect she's going to call the police on me to get me out of here. my friend will be going to her parents at a later point, but i unfortunately need to leave within a couple weeks as i've already been "indirectly" threatened.

this is sort of a nightmare, and i feel so horrible things turned out this way for my friend. i tried my best, but this feels out of my control. trying to keep the peace has only made things worse, and we think it's best for me to book it before i get blind-sighted.

i suspect if her ex-fiance sees this, she'll retaliate, but at this point i've already made my peace with that.

unfortunately, i won't be able to bring much of my stuff with me, i only have enough money for a ticket to move in with another close friend as an emergency.

i don't have enough to buy any checked bags for most my belongings, especially my desktop pc, so once i move i'm very likely going to not be able to do my art or anything until i can afford a laptop eventually. i'm really sorry to those waiting on any commissions, i'll try my best to get them done before i move. i feel so horrible about this.

if anyone is able to help, i'd really appreciate it. even just a reblog is more than i can really ask. i hesitate to make this request because i feel like i just asked for it only for it to all be wasted once this exploded in my face. but i've been encouraged to reach out, and i apologize if this is too much. my ko-fi:

thank you so much for supporting me so far. i don't want to disappoint anyone anymore. i am so scared but i still want to keep trying.

[222col]

"i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat." I ALMOST MOANED. The entire fic was the hottest thing i have ever read in my entire life. I know this is probably a bad idea but can you make a part 2 of Womanizer Art where he takes her out and end the night with them sleeping together just for him to stop texting her again but when he asks her to be in a committed relationship she rejects him and tells him to stop texting her. After the rejection Art tries to go back to his old ways sleeping with other girls but they don't feel like y/n or just gets depressed and only focuses on his career but he realizes that he's falling more and more for y/n no matter how hard he tried distracting himself while y/n is living her life as if nothing happened. So Art starts stalking her, going to places she goes and sabotaging her relationships with other men and he keeps texting her and sending her gifts and flowers to her house literally doing the kind of things he's has never done to another woman before until she gives in and agrees to be his girlfriend 😩 pretty please PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE 🧎‍♀️

!!!!!! thank u thank u thank u xxx yes omg love that idea but this will never be as good as @lovetrt's stalker!art but i will try my hardest 🧎🏻‍♀️ part two of this <3 | cw: slight forcefulness

"get out my fucking house." art orders the blonde in his bed when she attempts to hold him. "but-" he cuts her off with just a look. scrambling for her belongings and running out of his room. he slips his boxers back on and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. he sends yet another text to you.

can you stop being a brat and just text me back?

scrolling through the endless messages he's sent you before locking his phone and attempting to sleep once he hears the front door close.

it's been a month since your date with art. he took you to dinner and then of course back to his, where he fucked you silly on his bed again. you stayed the night, had breakfast with him before returning home. you enjoyed the date, and art's company, but as you told him, relationships weren't your thing. art isn't used to being told no, especially from girls, so when you stopped replying to his texts and wouldn't answer calls, he had to take matters into his own hands.

he's been fucking anything that moves and spending all his other free time on the tennis courts. agreeing to more brand campaigns, just in the hope that you'll see him on an ad somewhere and coming running back to his bed. art wakes up the next morning, checking his phone first thing, as he always does now, praying you'll have text him back.

not even if i actually let you fuck me with a racket?

art got in touch with patrick's buddy's now ex-girlfriend, begging for your address, telling her some bullshit like you left your watch at his and he wanted to mail it to you. she doesn't buy it, but she likes art, and does as he asks. he's been sending you flowers and presents every few days, but he knows it's time to take the next step. throwing on shorts, a t-shirt and his baseball cap, he drives to your apartment. there's a coffee shop opposite, ordering a drink and sitting outside, waiting for just a glimpse of you. he's sat there for a while, until the door to your building opens, and he sees you. an oversized t-shirt hides your underwear you lean over and kiss the man you're ushering out the door. art grits his teeth, his mind full of thoughts of fucking you on the stoop of your building.

the guy leaves, looking too smug for art's liking. he can't help himself. running over and stopping him in his tracks. "how do you know that girl?" he asks. "woah, hello? what's it to you, buddy?" the guy questions art. "just fucking tell me." art pushes, closing the distance between them, intimidating him. "she's just some girl i fuck." stepping back away from art. "how often?" art needs to know, he needs to be told you haven't slept with this random gym bro more than you have him. "alright, twenty questions, like twice a week." art's angry, tempted to knock this guy out, except that yeah, art may be taller, but he doesn't think he's as strong. "for how long?" art keeps questioning. "christ man, look i'm sorry if she's your girlfriend or something, i met her like two months ago, we've been hooking up since then." art's eyes narrow, looking down at him. "stay the fuck away from her." he seriously doesn't know what's come over him, normally he can't stand to look at a girl after he's come all over her, but now, here he is, squaring up to a stranger that fucked you.

art comes to the coffee shop opposite your apartment most mornings, warning of any of the guys that you walk to the door. spamming your phone with more and more texts, he can't take it anymore. arriving at the coffee shop again, waiting for you to kick the guy out of your bed. he catches the door to your building as someone leaves, no more than ten minutes after you showed the latest guy out of your apartment. he runs up to your door, turning the handle, silly little girl not locking her door, he thinks as he enters your apartment. you've driven him crazy, he could get anyone else he wanted, but he's here, breaking into your home because the five minutes he sees you every morning aren't enough anymore. he needs to feel you, breath you in, taste you.

there you are, stood in your kitchen, making coffee in nothing more than a bra and panties. he's already hard, coming up behind you, covering your mouth with his hand, immediately kissing your neck. you try to scream, eyes wide as you extend your neck, trying to get a glimpse of your perpetrator. art fucking donaldson. you push your body off of him. "you're a fucking psychopath!" you shout, trying to steady your breath. his hand reaches between your legs. "why are you so wet then?" he's right, you're soaked. you hate how your body is secretly loving what he's doing. he's so fucking desperate for you, you've never seen anything like it. you slap him across the face, he turns back to you, his eyes are dark and he's smirking. he reaches over and grabs you by the throat, "stop acting like you don't want to fuck me right now." a moan escapes your lips, satisfaction spreading over his face.

"tell me, tell me you don't want me to fuck you and i'll leave." pulling you closer by the grip around your neck. you can barely breathe, forcing your words out. "fuck me, please," it takes seconds for him to spin you round and bend you over the counter. pulling your panties down your legs. "good girl, you even said please." he pushes his shorts down his legs, spanking your ass before pushing himself into you. your knuckles turn white, gripping the side of the counter so hard, his hands on your hips, bruising your skin as he thrusts in and out of you. "such a dirty little slut aren't you, baby," he bites your earlobe, all you can do is nod your head as your eyes roll back. he spanks your ass again, gripping and biting and sucking every bit of your skin he can.

"you missed this dick, didn't you princess?" you're not lying when you tell him yes, he's the best sex you've ever had. he lifts one of your legs on to the counter, pushing himself in deeper. it's mere moments before you're a mess before him, screaming his name as you orgasm. he kisses your back as you do, not slowing down until he pushes himself over the line, pulling out of you as his come drips down your legs. you both stay still for a few seconds, collecting your breath before art spins you round to face him. "will you please, please, be my girlfriend, fuck me," he's kissing all over your face. "art, you've only taken me on one date, and i told you, i don't do relationships." he only stops kissing you to reply. "i don't fucking care," he wraps his arms around your naked body. you hate commitment, it petrifies you, but something, somewhere in you is screaming at you to say yes. "if i say yes, will you stop sitting at that damn coffee shop every morning?" you're teasing him, and for the first time, you see art shy. "i'm sorry, i don't know what's happening to me, i'm not usually this fucking obsessive, you've done something to me." his head is buried in the nape of your neck. "fine, yes, i will be your girlfriend." his head shoots up, kissing you so intensely. "fucking finally."

[seungfl0wer]

*I’ll do anything*

Part Title: Devils Helping Hand

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff?

Paring: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Warnings: Mafia!Au, Mentions of death, Sick sibling, Mentions of being shot, also mentions of being Minhos slave, slight blood mention

This will be a small series. For my 🔪 anon, they have a beautiful brain and now I’m obsessed with the thought of Mafia boss Minho 😪 (Their request/thoughts Here and Here) also side note this is the first series of writings I’ve done in a long while so please bare with me and my ramblings.

Series Master List

-🩵

You prepared for this for weeks, wanting it to go right because it meant everything if you could pull it off. Staring at the building knowing there was people in there willing to shoot you on sight. But none of that mattered if you could pull it off. Your brother has been getting worse and worse. He’s been in the hospital for the past month battling his illness but nothing seems to be helping. There’s a new treatment they want to try however it’s expensive. The insurance can only cover so much of it and the rest is up to you.

You’ve been working your ass off 2 jobs, barely eating to save money and your sleep schedule? People slept? You sighed loudly watching as people got into their car to leave. You’ve been scoping out the schedules of them seeing when they leave how long they stay how many go in and out. It was gonna work. It had to work. You find the window that’s been open for the past 3 days slinking your body through it. Bingo. The room was close to the one you needed. You peaked out the door quickly checking the surroundings before bolting to the room beside.

The door was locked but you learned how to pick a lock just for this. You worked your janky skills as you heard voices down the hall. Heart races as you quickly tried the lock and then it clicked. You were in! You hurriedly got into the room so know one could see. One thing that was very odd to you was there was no cameras. You even had a mask you were gonna wear but realizing there wasn’t anything you didn’t put it on.

You searched the room opening ever drawer and checking ever nook you could. You were getting frustrated not being able to find the safe you knew was there. Until you remembered in those movies people would keep things behind paintings. Eh it was worth a shot to check. Moving the few art pieces you rolled your eyes as you actually found the safe behind a painting of the boss. He was handsome, but word had it he was a very cold hearted man. I mean he had to be doing this job.

You searched anywhere to find a code he might have wrote down anywhere. You sighed why couldn’t it have been one of those with the tiny keys. As you looked you heard the door opening “fuck” you say in a whisper “this is it huh” you said to yourself. You weren’t going to go out with a fight though. You stood behind the door waiting for him to come in as he shut the door he looked over to his desk. Noticing things had been moved he turned to grab the door again only to be met with your eyes.

He was so calm and collected while your heart was about to beat out of your chest. Your palms started to sweat and you could feel a lump get stuck in your throat as you tried to speak. He tilted his head a bit looking you over “who hired you?” He asked staring at you eyes staying locked “I’ll pay you double what they’re paying you” he said still studying you. He seemed almost confused you looked like such a sweet girl. Your innocent eyes shaking as you stared at him.

“No one sent me” you admitted, trying to make eye contact with him. He scoffed a bit “you broke in here with out no one find you and you expect me to believe you” he laughed “what the hell did you come here for then? Do you have a death wish?” He said making his way to his desk. This wasn’t going as you expected but you weren’t leaving here empty handed. You stared at him as he looked at the painting that hid the safe. “Ah so you came for money is that it?” He questioned. You nod “My brother is sick” you said softly “i don’t give hand outs sorry” he laughs a bit before you cut him off “then let me work for you, I can do anything.”

He paused looking at you “I can get a whore anytime” he was about to say before you continued “I can clean really well, I’m also a pretty good cook” he raised an eyebrow he was honestly more confused than anything. “Pay me the money for my brother and in return I’ll be your servant” you said choking back tears. You couldn’t tell if it was from being upset about your brother or the fact this man could literally just kill you here.

He walked to his desk sitting down staring at you with big boba eyes “and if I refuse?” He smirked “what will little you do to me hmm?” He has a point what exactly could you do if he said no. The only thing you could really muster out was a “please” your hands trembled now, shaking so bad it felt like you were vibrating. Your legs felt like jello so wobbly and weak. You looked over your face making his way to you he lifted your head to make you look at him. He stared at you thinking hard “You will do anything I ask you. No protesting. Everything I say to you is met with a yes sir. If you cannot follow these orders say goodbye to your brother.”

That last part hurt a bit, but you nodded excepting the offer “good girl” he said in response dropping your face “how much exactly do you need?” He says like the money is an after thought like he was so rich it wouldn’t matter. “His first treatment would be 80K but his insurance is covering at least 10K so 70K.” You croaked out. It was so much money and that was only for the first treatment and it may not even work. You had 5K saved already from working yourself to death but it would take you forever to get it all.

He nodded “pocket change honestly” he said with a cold expression “I’ll pay it in full for you to come work for me for at least 6months” he said staring at you. You were honestly shocked 6months? You thought he’d just make you a slave forever “however you will move into my home for the time being so I can keep you close. Don’t want you running off after I pay” he laughed a bit “like you’d be able to hide from me” he said still laughing. “And if he needs another treatment we can work something out.” He said cracking his neck slightly.

You kinda just nod your head was empty at this point. Your body had almost gone numb at the thought of what you had offered. If you got yourself killed who would be there to help your brother? So you made a deal with yourself there and then, you were gonna put a smile on and work as hard as possible. No matter what the man would through at you. You were gonna live and live to see your brother better.

“So is it a deal darling?” He said his voice so sweet sounding but his face turned into a smug smile. “It’s a deal.” You said locking eyes with the man “Good choice, now please sit while I grab my stuff. We will swing by your house before we head to your new home.” You nod “oh by the way darling I never caught your name.” He said nonchalantly rummaging through his desk “I’m y/n.” You said as you watched the man he nodded slightly “Y/n- hmm. A pretty name for a pretty lady” he smiled.

Was he hitting on you? Your eyes widen a small bit thinking to yourself. The smile on his face widened a bit at your expression “gonna put you to work when we get there cause I’m starving” he said finding the paper he needed “oh by the way kitten, if you are going to my little slave just know you will not leave as innocent as you came here” he said smirking getting up putting his bag over his shoulder. That’s it. You had literally just sold yourself, not just for work but your body.

Shit. You said to yourself can’t he get any hooker or whatever he wants. He wouldn’t want you right? RIGHT!?

-🩵

He opened the door for you to get in the car he got in after sitting beside you. He told the older man driving your address and you headed to your house. Your mind buzzing thinking of what you are getting into. You broke the silence with a low “shit.” Minho turned his head in question wondering what had made you said that. But before he could ask the man had pulled into your place. It was a small janky apartment where he knew well had a lot of problems. Just last week someone from his group had shot someone dead in the street.

His eyes looked over at you how could you be living here? Someone so beautiful in such a crime ridden place, you didn’t have anyone here to protect you he thought to himself. Or did you? He never thought to ask honestly. And if you would have someone what then? He’d make sure they’d be outta the picture.

Minho broke out of his thoughts as you tapped his shoulder “uhm we’re here” you said softly looking at him with almost puppy dog eyes. You both walked in silence up to your door, your apartment was pretty empty you hadn’t bought much of anything after moving here. It was the closets and cheapest place you could get to your work and your brother. The place itself was very neat and clean almost looked like you just moved in.

Closing the door behind you, you turned to Minho “I have a question” you said avoiding eye contact. Before he could respond he heard a faint meow coming from the only chair you had in the living room. He smiled his expression softened as he knew what you were gonna ask. “I’ve always loved cats” he said walking towards the crusty looking cat. The cat rolled over as he approached exposing her little patchy belly. Her fur was a burnt orange color with a black and white batches over. She was a little chunky thing, with only one eye. Her meow was cute almost like a kittens meow how high pitched it was.

“Will she be joining you?” He asked as he petted her soft fur. His body language was so different now, he seemed approachable and kind. “Is that ok with you?” You said with hopeful eyes. He nods “of course” he pauses for second “when we get home you will address me as sir as I said before. You haven’t said it once but I will let it slide for now.” He said standing up staring at you “get what you need quickly.”

You head to your room grabbing clothes and such. As you did the man snooped through your house. Checking your fridge. Empty. Empty?? His jaw almost drops at the sight. It was so bare not even condiments. There was a single bottle of water, a small carton of milk and jar of jelly. What the fuck do you even eat? He questioned. How are you even alive if this is what your fridge looked like. He looked in the cupboard seeing a few canned foods but he noticed you had a whole shelf of cat food, treats and wet food. Of course. Damn you’re so sweet aren’t you. Buying food for your cat over yourself. God how’s he gonna be this tough guy over you when you’re this loving? He thought.

You came back out with a suitcase packing the cats stuff and putting her in her carrier. You looked at him as he stood by the door scared for what is to come but relieved your brother will be taken care of. You two walked back the car heading to your new “home” back again in silence.

-🩵

You pulled up to a beautiful house, it was nestled in the woods you could see a beautiful garden at the side with a small pool on the other side of the house. The house itself was not overly big. Bigger than one man needed but no mansion like you thought he’d have. Stepping out of the car Minho grabbed the carrier as you took your suit case out. You headed inside where he gave you a small tour, showing you where you’d be staying which was right across from his room.

“Alright now that you know the place I’m starving.” He said stretching his arms above his head “let’s see how your cooking skills are” you nod as you both walked towards the kitchen. You looked through the fridge that was stalked to the brim of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit and meat. Anything and everything you could really want. You quickly get to work on making him some fish over rice and some fresh steamed veggies.

As you cooked he watched over you, like a Sargent almost. He found it so attractive you could cook because he himself loved to cook. That’s a reason he’s never hired a chef but now he had you. Watching you make him food, your pretty lips in a pout almost as you focused on what you were doing. His body almost moved on its own, he pressed himself against your hands coming up to grab yours as you cook. “You should do it like this” he said helping you cook the fish.

He was so close to you, you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck. Body pressed as close to yours as he could. His other hand resting firmly on your hip as his other wrapped around your hand that was holding the pan. You could feel him moving his hips slightly against you. Soft enough he thought you wouldn’t feel, but you did. God did you feel it. “Y/n” he said softly “you’re doing so well” his voice barely audible. The very intimate moment was interrupted by his phone ringing. His sighed loudly as he pealed himself away from your body grumply answering the phone.

“What” he hissed at whoever pulled him away from you. “Alright I’ll be right there” he said another loud sigh escaping his plush lips. “Of course I gotta go” he rolled his eyes. You titled your head a bit as you heard a car horn honking. He quickly went to the door “Make yourself at home I won’t be gone longer than 2 hours.” He said rushing out the door. You breathed out almost sad he had to leave. You wondered how much time he actually had to himself. He seems like he works himself a lot especially at the state of his house. You finished making his dinner placing it in the microwave for him to heat back up.

You kept yourself occupied cleaning up the kitchen, you cleaned up half the house before you sat down falling asleep on the couch. Minho finally came home later than he was supposed to. It was 3am, he looked exhausted slight blood painted his shirt. As he walked through the door he was almost shocked at how clean you had gotten things already. He saw you sleeping on the couch he was going to carry you to bed but remembered his shirt. He took a quick shower before coming back out. While he was in the shower you had heard him come home. You heated his food up for him setting it out on the table with a glass of whine you had found.

You slumped back into the couch waiting for him to come out only to quickly fall back asleep. The couch was so comfortable. You had been sleeping on a small bed on the floor. Anything was honestly better than it, it was so hard and lumpy.

Minho came out of the shower the smell of the food had filled the air his hungry stomach lead him straight to the kitchen. His heart cried as he saw you had warmed his food up and sat it out for him. Why the fuck are you being so kind to him? He thought to himself. He quickly devoured the delicious food you had prepared and oh boy was it delicious. He made his way to the couch seeing you had fallen back asleep he picked you up taking you to your room. You laid you down putting the covers over you and quickly kissing your forehead.

This was it. You were gonna ruin him. You already had his heart melting. Do flips at the sight of you. The thoughtfulness you had already shown and being so obedient cleaning when he didn’t expect you to already. He stared at you softly for a moment “one of us is gonna destroy the other, I can feel it. And honestly I hope it’s me who’s destroyed at the end” he said before placing another kiss to your forehead leaving to his room. He laid there staring at the ceiling just thinking of you before drifting off to sleep.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[hyunverse]

welcome home ★ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x gn!reader. fluff, drabble. no warnings.

wc: 600 words.

Hyunjin renovates your new home for you, ensuring each detail is tailored to your liking.

"Watch your steps."

Carefully, Hyunjin guides you around the house, one hand clasped against your eyes, the other resting on your waist.  You could feel the cold tiles beneath your feet, and how it is slightly dusty from the month-long renovations. 

"Careful, don't want you to stub your toe," Hyunjin says, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

Hyunjin walks you through the house, until at one point (you couldn't tell where in the house), he stops. 

"One, two..." he whispers, and you can feel the smile on his face, "...Three. Surprise!"

Hyunjin drops his hand, watching as you take in the sight before you. You're standing in front of the newly renovated kitchen, its appearance far different than the last time you saw it. 

"Oh my god," you breathe out, "What the hell, Hyunjin?"

The walls of the kitchen had been renovated to your liking, the boring brick walls transformed into green marble tiles. The countertop looks like one from your dreams — straight from the house of Monet. All you could do is gasp.

"You like it?" Hyunjin questions, placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Sweetheart, I love it," you whisper. He smiles, content with the perplexed look on your face. 

"I love it," you repeat, roaming around the kitchen with Hyunjin following you like a lost puppy. "I really love it, Hyune."

“I’m happy you do, baby.”

You rummage through the drawers, trailing your pointer against every surface you could touch. All the furniture, even the kitchen cookware sets, was designed according to your preferences — as though Hyunjin had the same mind as yours. Frankly, it’s like your Pinterest board has come to life. 

What you’re unaware of is that indeed, Hyunjin had spent weeks stalking you on Pinterest. His urges of “pleeaaaaseee update your Pinterest boards,” weren’t for nothing. 

"Wait, need to show you this," your fiancee interrupts, taking your hand to lead you to a cabinet. 

He gently opens the cabinet, revealing a spice rack. The spice rack you've always wanted — he knows because he remembers the few times you've mentioned it — is sitting right inside the cabinet. 

“Holy fuck, Hyune,” you mutter, turning your head to him with your mouth agape, “It’s the fucking Lenox Spice Village that I wanted!”

“Yeah,” he giggles, a sense of pride bubbling in him. He lets out a small “oof,” when you throw yourself onto him, engulfing him into a tight hug.

“I love it so much, baby. I really love it.”

“Really?” he giggles, holding you tightly, “You haven’t even seen the bedroom.” 

Hyunjin leads you to the bedroom, then the bathroom, the living room — and lastly, an office. The space in the office had been divided into two, one-half works as his art corner, and the other serves as a study for you. The desk is exactly to your liking, a space designated for you to indulge in your hobbies.

There’s a peg board above your desk — with magnets from the cities you’ve travelled to, and polaroids from your dates with Hyunjin. A memento for all the memories you’ve made with him. 

It all feels like home. 

“It’s really perfect,” you exhale, standing by the desk with an awestruck face. “You know me so well, Hyune.”

“I do?” he mutters, a small smile gracing his face. He inches closer to you, his breath fanning against your neck. A kiss is cheekily placed on your cheek. “I just wanted you to feel at home.”

“And I do,” you whisper, looking up at him. “I feel at home. When you said to move in with you, I didn’t expect for all of this, you know?”

Hyunjin smiles, cupping your face with a tenderness you never thought you would deserve. Soft, akin to the breeze that graces your face every midnight. 

A contrast to his touch, his next words kicks the air out of you.

“Welcome home.”

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[love-that-we-were-in]

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

[bookyeom]

pairing: hoshi x reader word count: 3k warnings: kissing, reader is a bad dancer?

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.

dance with me by sarah kang ft. cody dear

'cause boy when i'm alone with you you make me wanna sway, wanna move

dance with me 나랑 춤출래? i don't care about where or when pick a song that never ends

You and Soonyoung have been stuck in some weird, uncharted territory for months now. 

He’s your friend, but he’s also so much more than that. You know it, and you’re pretty sure he knows it, too.  

You’d do anything for him, really. So when he asks you to meet him at the studio before you head home so that he can show you something new he’s working on, you don’t hesitate. Even though it’s midnight, and you’re exhausted from hours spent studying in the library – because Soonyoung is calling.

You can hear music as you approach the practice room, recognizing it as the song for the dance he’s been rehearsing for his final exam, so you’re surprised when you don’t see him through the windows at all. You turn the handle on the door to the room tentatively, opening it just enough to peek inside. And you smile.

Soonyoung is lying flat on his back near the wall closest to you, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. You watch as he marks the movements in small gestures from his spot on the floor, bobbing his head to the beat, as if he’s taking only half a break. You’ve been friends for quite some time now, and you know him well enough to know that his mind won’t settle until he’s perfected what he’s practicing. He’ll rest his body if he has to, if it makes him, but even then, you know he’s always going over choreo in his head. Like right now. 

You wait until the song is finished, until there’s quiet, and then you speak. “I was invited here to see some dancing, but it looks like I’m in the wrong place.”

Soonyoung’s head falls back onto the floor as he looks over, a grin spreading across his lips when he meets your eyes. He’s looking at you upside down, and it makes you laugh. Then you’re suddenly not laughing anymore, because within seconds he’s pushed to his feet and is bounding over to wrap you in a warm, sweaty hug. Now, your heart is racing.

“Hi!” He beams, moving back to squeeze you by the biceps. 

“Hey, Soonyoung,” you manage. 

“I was just taking a break,” he explains, and you nod. “Don’t worry, that’s the first one I’ve taken all evening–”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I wasn’t worried before, but now I am, if you're telling me that’s the only break you’ve taken from dancing in the last four hours.”

He just laughs, letting go of you, and you roll your eyes. “Go sit over there, I’ll run it again. I don’t need you to help with much… There’s just this one part in the chorus where it feels a little stiff. Just tell me if anything feels,” he gestures into the air vaguely, “off.”

You nod, mock saluting him as you take your place on one of the chairs scattered along the wall on the other side of the room.

You watch as he sets up the song again, your cheeks warming when he begins shrugging off his hoodie. He’s turned away, his back and shoulders now on full display for you in the tank he’s wearing, and you can’t help but stare. You abruptly look down at your feet when he turns back towards you, the first beats of the song beginning to play. You look at him again as he zones in, squaring his shoulders and getting into position as he watches himself in the mirror. 

You don’t have a single rhythmic bone in your body. Watching anyone dance is mind blowing to you, but especially Soonyoung. He’s incredible. Why he wants your advice on his dancing is beyond you, but he always insists, and you’ve never been good at denying him anything.

And why would you even want to deny this? This — a front row seat to one of the most beautiful works of art you’ve ever seen. Soonyoung takes your breath away all the time, but especially like this. 

You’re so caught up in his movements that you don’t even recognize when the chorus hits, when it gets to the part you’re supposed to pay extra attention to. You’re in a trance, only snapping out of it when he makes one final turn, and the song ends. You blink, watching as Soonyoung returns to himself, the performer in him calming with every breath he takes. He lets his shoulders drop, lets his body relax, and then he lets out a loud sigh of relief. He crosses the room and joins you, falling into the chair next to yours, and drops his head onto your shoulder. 

You remind yourself to breathe.

“So?” He’s still breathless. You suddenly remember why you’re there, why he asked you to come and what he asked you to do, and you flush when you realize that you were too dazed to really notice if anything was amiss. 

“This is your best one yet,” you tell him honestly. Which is the truth, because despite your ogling, you would have noticed if anything was glaringly wrong.

“Really?”

You nod. “You’re amazing, Soonyoung.”

The words come out much softer than you intended, much more honest, and you can only hope he doesn’t read into any of it. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you’re running out of reasons not to panic when he says, “Dance with me?”

Your eyes widen as he lifts his head and turns to you with a smile. 

“What?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder and stands up, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on,” he grins, wiggling his outstretched fingers when you don't move. “I’ll teach you some of the easier moves.”

You let him pull you up, even as you continue to protest. “Soonyoung, you know—“

“Come on,” he insists, “you can do it!”

You groan. “I really can’t, you know this! I can’t dance, Soonyoung, I—”

“You can’t dance well,” he corrects, and you level him with a glare. He just grins wider as he adds, “but I know you like to! I’ve seen you on our nights out.”

You willfully ignore how his last comment makes you feel, trying desperately not to flush crimson red at his observation. At the fact that he’s noticed these things. “Yeah, so you already know I look like an idiot.”

“You look,” Soonyoung counters, “like you’re having a lot of fun. I’ve seen the way you smile when you’re dancing with your friends.”

You try once more. “No one is judging me there.”

“No one is judging you here, either.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because you can’t argue with that. You know he would never judge you – for anything. You huff, narrowing your brows as you give him a mock glare, but your shoulders fall in defeat. Soonyoung giggles – your favourite sound – and leads you into the middle of the room.

He doesn’t waste any time as he begins to guide you through what he claims is one of the easier steps to master, and to your surprise, you actually kind of get the hang of it. He’s a good teacher, you note, because of course he is, and you feel a bit less anxious with every “good job!” and cheer he sends your way. 

You continue to practice the same small sequence for a bit. When Soonyoung places both arms on your shoulders and stares you directly in the eyes, you stop breathing for a second.

“Okay,” he says, “this is the last move of this part, but it’s a bit hard.” He draws his lip between his teeth, and you watch it happen, because what else are you supposed to do? You think he notices, because his mouth quirks up at the side, but he doesn’t say anything except for, “You up for it?”

You don’t think you say yes, but he begins to teach you, anyway. And he’s right – this last move is hard. He continues to encourage you, and you continue to try and try and try, and –

You let out an ungodly squeal when you finally land in the right spot, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes! I nailed that!” 

You try one more time, two more times, and it’s not perfect — but you do it. 

You don’t even notice the way Soonyoung is looking at you until after you do the move for the third time. When you do, your heart leaps into your throat. He’s got his arms crossed as he smiles over at you, soft, and you think there’s a pink flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. You try and tell yourself it’s from the dancing, even though you know it’s you that’s been exerting yourself for the last half hour, not him. He looks so fond, and happy, and there’s something else you can’t quite put a finger on. All you know is that it’s making your entire body warm. 

“What?” You ask as steadily as you can manage.

He just shakes his head. Then he abruptly looks down as if shaking himself out of a stupor, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you’re frozen in place. What was that all about?

“High five,” he offers, cutting of your train of thought, and it takes you a second to register what he’s asking for. 

And when your hand lifts to meet his, he doesn’t let go. 

It all happens at once. His fingers intertwine with yours, his other hand finds your waist, and suddenly he’s so close to you that you forget how to think. You know there’s no mistaking the shakiness in the exhale that leaves you. 

“Is this part of the choreo?” You finally manage, voice barely a whisper, and Soonyoung lets out a soft breath.

“No,” he admits, his voice low.

His hand slides around to your lower back, testing the waters further. His other hand falls from yours, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort before he pulls you in even closer, like he can’t stop himself.

“What about this?” Your voice is so, so quiet.

“No.”

His voice is soft in the emptiness of the practice room around you. Your bodies are flush now, chest to chest, and you think that if he wasn’t holding you up, your knees would buckle. His eyes still haven’t left yours, waiting, though you don’t know for what. His gaze only breaks from yours to wander across your face; your eyes, your nose, your mouth. You can’t help the soft exhale that leaves you when his eyes find your lips, and you know he notices because you can feel his fingers tighten their grip on the back of your shirt. 

Moments pass like that, and when you still don’t move away, Soonyoung lets out a soft breath of air that you didn’t realize he’d been holding. His next movements are slow and calculated, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut. Your hand lifts to his chest, and you’re surprised when you feel just how fast his heart is beating. 

“Soonyoung?” You question softly after a moment, impressed that your voice even makes it out at all. He responds with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his eyes still closed.

“I just… Just give me a second,” he murmurs, and your heart is racing so fast you’re sure he can hear it in the quiet of the practice room.

“Okay.” 

You have no idea what’s going on. All you know is that you trust Soonyoung with your life, and if he needs a minute — you’ll give him ten. You think that maybe you’re the one who needs a minute, though, because you’re not sure how you’re still breathing, let alone standing upright with him this close. 

So close that your breaths are mingling together in the small space that’s left between you, so close that you can count every single one of those beautiful eyelashes as they flutter against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your eyebrows furrow. 

“For what?” Your hand moves of its own accord, moving from his chest to find his bicep and squeezing gently to remind him that he’s okay. He lets out a hum, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re almost worried now.

“I’m sorry if this is weird. If I’m being weird,” he elaborates. “It’s just that — well, honestly, ah,” he seems to attempt to squeeze his eyes shut even more, if that were possible. “I’ve really been wanting to kiss you lately — like, more than usual, which is already a lot — fuck, sorry.” He inhales sharply. “You just looked so cute watching me before, and dancing with me now, so I thought that I… and then you didn’t move away, so I thought that maybe you…” He trails off again, and you’re sure your ears are playing tricks on you. 

You move your forehead away from his, and his eyes finally open at the loss of contact. When your gaze meets his, your breath is nearly stolen away from you. He looks terrified as he searches your face, his eyebrows furrowed, and you know him so well that you swear you can hear him overthinking everything. His grip loosens on the back of your shirt but he doesn’t let go, and you can tell he wants to speak again based on the way his mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t. You haven’t moved, and he doesn’t either, and you know he’s letting you decide how to respond. He would give you all the space in the world if you asked for it, you know that.

You don’t want space, though.

“It’s not weird,” you finally say, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you speak. “I’ve been feeling like that, too.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, and he blinks slowly. He takes a moment, processing, and then he starts, “You—”

“I swear all I think about these days is kissing you,” you blurt out, and you’re not sure who’s blushing harder now, you or him. 

Before you even know what’s happening, Soonyoung is surging forward to close the whisper of distance that remains between the two of you. Then his lips are pressed to yours, hot and slow and lingering, his hand lifting to your jaw to angle your face so that he can kiss you even deeper. You let out an almost pathetic sounding whimper at the intensity of the kiss, at how warm and soft and good his mouth feels against yours, and he hums in return.

When he pulls away, it takes a second for your own eyes to flutter back open. He’s smiling so wide that his eyes have turned into crescent moons. 

“Holy fuck, Soonyoung.” You’re breathless, and you can tell he’s pleased with your comment as his thumb caresses the side of your jaw.

“So much better than I could have ever imagined,” he returns, and you flush. “And trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

You move to bury your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, not caring at all that he’s sweaty and warm. His arms pull you in, holding you close to his chest, and you hum as he gently sways the two of you. 

“Now neither of us has to wonder what it’s like anymore,” you say softly.

“You’re right,” he agrees, pulling you back so he can look down at you again. His hands clasp together at the small of your back as he leans forward to teasingly brush his nose against yours. “Now that I know what it feels like to kiss you, though, I’m definitely going to be thinking about it even more than I already was.”

Your arms wind your way around his neck. “Me, too.” 

“I mean…” Soonyoung is grinning, smile so bright it could outshine the sun, as he says, “We could just… keep doing it.” 

You pull him into you so abruptly that it makes you stumble, falling in a tangle of limbs down to the practice room floor. You wince as you land on Soonyoung, but he’s laughing as you roll off and onto your back beside him. You throw a hand over your eyes, and you can feel it as Soonyoung lifts onto his side next to you. A hand moves to trace patterns on your arm, and you can’t help the shiver that courses through you.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he murmurs, and you can still hear the smile in his voice.

“I know. I’m just… Embarrassed.”

Soonyoung’s fingers halt their motions as he finds your hand and brings your arm away from your face, entwining his fingers with yours. He continues to play with your fingers, his body firm against your side as he leans against you. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I was trying to be sexy and I literally tripped us, Soonyoung. This is why you’re the dancer and I’m not.”

Soonyoung’s mouth moves slowly, almost painstakingly slow, as a smile takes over his face. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to let out a whine because you’re even more embarrassed with him looking at you like that. But he sits up, bringing you with him. The soft smile on his mouth grows, and grows, and grows, until his grin has widened so much that it’s taken over his entire face. 

“You like me,” he whispers, and you can’t help the giggle that tumbles past your lips. You flush, giddy over how giddy he is, and you nod. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I really, really do.”

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Sorry a new fic took so long, there's been a lot going on in my life that I did not foresee lol. Thanks for waiting xx

Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @bella-l @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf

(Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, I’m sorry!)

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Again, I think the cover art is pretty self explanatory 😚

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, bride!reader, angsty?, kissing, running away from wedding, fluff?

Word Count: 1.3k | unedited

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You and Sam have been friends for years.

Nothing more.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, forcing yourself to try and believe, but a small part of you will always know the truth.

The months, weeks, and days leading up to your wedding were absolutely nerve racking. The planning, dress fittings, appointments for alterations, things were piling up.

But the one person who could calm your mess down, was Sam.

So you called him. A few times actually.

Your fiancé got along with Sam fairly well, but there were times where you could see the jealously written all over their face.

Even though you assured them, on multiple occasions, it got to a point to where the only time you spoke to Sam was when you needed to confirm whether or not he’s bringing a plus one - which he wasn’t.

You felt a weird weight lift off of your shoulders, but that shouldn’t bother you, right?

A few more weeks go by and eventually, its wedding day.

You were in your suite, getting all dolled up. Hair curled, nails done with a pretty design to match your dress.

Anyone who wasn’t you would think this day is beyond perfect, but you just couldn’t settle this feeling that’s been holding you hostage for, hell. As long as you can remember.

“You look so beautiful.” Your maid of honor juts her lip out as she fixes the curl handing down over your face, “The prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”

You smile, taking a deep breath and before you can even get the question out, she nods, “He’s here.”

You feel your heart sink into your stomach and you stand up, “I need a second.” You walk over to the balcony, stepping out side and closing the door behind you.

You take a few deep breathes, placing your hands on the concrete banister, “Breath.” You whisper quietly to yourself, “Calm down.”

You stare out at the beautiful scenery, eyes moving over the landscape as you regain control of your rapid breathing.

The door cracks open, and your maid of honor pops her head in, “Ready when you are.”

You turn around, staring at her for a few seconds before you nod, “Okay.” You walk over, smoothing out your dress as you walk back into the room, “Let’s do this.”

You and your bridesmaids make your way down to where everyone is gathered.

Your hands were shaking the bouquet in your grasp as you stood there, waiting for your music cue. The first note of the instrumental and you felt like you could throw up.

You had to force yourself to walk, smile, pretend like you don’t want to turn around and hide.

Everyone stands and of course the first person you look at, is Sam.

His eyes never leave you, glistening as he watches you walk by him.

Your heart shattered as you kept moving to stand across from your fiancé. You place your hands into theirs and they lean in, “Are you okay?”

You laugh slightly, giving them a nod, “Just a little nervous.”

They smile and lean back, giving the officiant the go ahead.

You glance over to the crowd of people, swallowing when you see Sam’s gaze set on you, “You look beautiful.” He mouths, which causes your heart to skip a beat.

You smile slightly, looking back at the person who has your hands in theirs.

You feel guilty.

Sam wasn’t your friend.

You loved him, and you just wish you came to terms with it way before now, because you really didn’t want to do this.

You pull your hands away from theirs and the look on your face is telling, “I-i.. um.. I just..” you bunch up your dress and quickly make your way back up the isle.

You kicked off your heels and ran to the house. You didn’t stop until you were back in the bridal suite, door locked and back pressed against it.

Your breathing was ragged, both from running as fast as you could, and from the anxiety attack you were fighting off.

The knock on the door made you jump, but you stayed silent.

“Hey, y/n. It’s me.” Your maid of honor says in a loud whisper, “let me in.”

“Are they with you?” You ask as you rest your head against the door, and she answers, “No. just me.”

You open the door and pull her in, closing it behind you once again, “I-I don’t.. I don’t know what happened I-“

“Don’t. Don’t.” She walks over to you, cupping your cheeks, “Don’t do that.”

“I left him at the al-“ your voice breaks and you cover your face with your hands, “I-I don’t.. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.. but it- I’m pretty sure I’m not doing it.”

You stay silent for a few minutes before you look up at her, “I’m in love with Sam.”

She nods, “I know.”

You give her a look and she laughs, “Please. I’m surprised nothing has happened between the two of you.”

You raise your brows, wiping away your tears from your cheeks, “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

There’s a knock on the door and you freeze. Your words are barely audible, “Who is it?”

She shrugs and walks over, cracking open the door before slowly opening the door. You turn around and you gasp, seeing Sam stand there with a smile on his face, “Hey.”

“H-hi.” You sniffle, covering your mouth. You fall down to the floor, sobbing and Sam is instantly next to you, “Hey. Hey.”

He rubs your back, tilting your chin up so you can look at him, “Y/n. Look at me.”

You blink a few times and look up at him, “It’s you. It’s always been you.” You pull him in and wrap your arms around him.

A smile plays at his lips as he holds you tight, “Wherever you are, is where I want to be.” Sam presses a kiss to your head and there’s a knock on the door.

You look over at it and your maid of honor motions to the balcony doors, “Go. I’ll stall.” You stare at her for a few seconds, shocked that this is all happening, and she motions again, “Go!”

Sam pulls you to your feet, and you walk over to the table, scribbling out I’m so sorry on a napkin and moving to the doors.

You watch as Sam climbs down first, it’s not that high, but it definitely looks it. You take a deep breath, swinging your leg over and climbing down the lattice that’s next to the banister.

Sam catches you as you lean back, and he stands you up, cupping your cheek before he kisses you quickly, “You sure you want to do this?”

You reach up, rubbing your thumb over his cheek, “More than anything.”

He smiles and slides his hand into yours, pulling you with him. You run away, laughing and smiling as you make your way to Sam’s car.

He opens the door for you, letting you get in and he pushes your dress in before closing the door and running around to get in himself.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, but you just seemed so h-“

You cut Sam off by leaning over and kissing him, “Get us out of here, baby.”

“Say no more.” Sam smiles as he kisses you one last time before turning the car on and starting to drive. He takes your hand into his, bringing it up to press the back of your hand to his lips, “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

I feel like this was kinda short but let me know what you think and yes yes, part 2. I hear you already 😂

Thank you so much for reading, I love you sooo much. See you in the next one.

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 12

Part 12:

"Your apartment smells funny," Liana said as she entered the building and moved towards the main window. "We can buy a rug for the living room. Do you want one?" she asked after walking around the rooms in Patrick’s apartment. It was small. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, and a bathroom. It had been a month since she settled in the Oxford dorms. Patrick had arrived three days ago, and this was the first time they were meeting.

"Hey Amanda. I missed you too." Patrick leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching her with amusement. She just couldn’t help it. She had to fix something. She would always find something that needed tidying and organizing. He had learned not to argue with this trait from a young age. He had learned that if he refused, she would withdraw into herself, and it would bother her until she could do something about it.

"Hey." She smiled genuinely and hugged him. Patrick looked almost the same as she remembered. Jet-lagged but pleased with his choices for a change. "Hey..." he refused to let go of her, inhaling her scent deeply like he always did when she allowed him.

"You're here." She took a step back and examined him, as if not believing it was really happening. As if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment. That’s how Patrick decided to interpret her facial expression, even if that’s not what reality was showing him. He would take the current smile any day over another day where she was at a certain point on the map and he was on the other side of the world. "So many possibilities, Amanda." He couldn’t stop smiling. "Let's find you a rug and some pillows for the couch, okay?" she replied, trying to solve the current problem she had found for herself; his apartment.

They wandered around London for hours. Stopped for lunch at a small Italian restaurant. Went into a small museum and did some window shopping at brand stores neither of them could afford. Liana’s laughter filled the space occasionally. A sound Patrick prayed to dream about when he would be alone without her scrutinizing gaze around.

As the sun set, they sat on the grass in a park near Liana’s dorms, each holding an ice cream cone. "I think I found a job," she said, trying to eat as much of the ice cream as she could before it melted completely. "Where?" he asked with curiosity. "There’s a cafeteria in Oxford that sells smoothies and other things that pretentious people willing to pay unreasonable amounts. I’ll probably start next week." She smiled, pleased with herself. "Will you be able to balance it with your studies?" he asked. "I have to try. My parents were barely willing to keep paying for my studies as long as I'm not at Stanford, and I don’t want to take an actual loan just to be able to pay for food. It feels unnecessary and lazy." She shrugged, as if it was self-evident.

"You're tough. You’ll make it. When do classes start?" he asked. "In a week. I’m stressed. But a friend of my roommate, Flor, is starting with me, and I met her. She seems nice." Liana chatted about people she had met in the past month. "You're nice." Patrick smiled his characteristic smile when he tried to dodge the implications of what he was saying. It was a toothy grin that included a dimple. It usually highlighted his eyes, showing something mischievous that at age 20 should have started to fade. But not with Patrick. "You're a jerk." Liana rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder, which automatically made him grab her hand.

Liana couldn’t help but think about Art. About the fact that it was the same gesture. Art had held her just like that at the Christmas party. She pulled her hand back and cleared her throat for a moment. Not wanting to change the atmosphere too much but feeling the shift anyway.

Patrick felt the change too, but it was like background noise. He understood something happened but didn’t know what. This wasn’t the first time he touched Liana. You could say he was a touchy person by nature. It wasn’t new and didn’t characterize just his relationship with her. "What just happened?" he asked with a chuckle, as if it wasn’t really important. As if it wasn’t serious. As if he could breathe properly and wasn’t trying to correct the mistake he made a moment ago. As if he wouldn’t do anything to make her laugh again and not look at him with furrowed brows.

"Nothing. It’s getting late. Shall we go?" she asked, with a smile that didn’t reach her ears. One that showed teeth but not all of them. One that hid from him what she really felt. He hated that smile.

"Patrick! You'll have ants in your house!" Liana scolded. No, she wasn’t just scolding; she was fuming. Three months had passed since Patrick moved to London. His coach, Kirk Fucking Morcich, was objectively the best coach he had ever had. He had improved tremendously. From the moment Patrick decided to take tennis seriously and not just as a way to avoid a real job, he started seeing results.

He still had to attend the annoying courses his parents signed him up for. But he had already won a tournament in Europe. Something he didn’t think would happen, and certainly not so soon.

His parents were proud of him. A strange feeling. An almost unfamiliar feeling. His mother called him and actually said those words, “Hey Pat, your dad and I read about you in the paper. Well done.” And he wanted to find something bad and start a fight because he didn’t know any other way to talk to his mother, but he said “thanks” quietly and felt himself blush. Like a little boy needing a kind word from an adult who was never really responsible. Not for what mattered.

“You can’t just leave your food out like this, Pat.” Liana interrupted his train of thought. “It’s not that bad.” He responded with an eye roll. “Patrick, it’s moldy. It’s been sitting on your table with actual mold. How am I supposed to wash this? It’s disgusting!” she fumed. Her cheeks were red, and her hand moved quickly over her nose.

“You don’t have to wash it. Did I ask you to wash it? Just throw the plate away; I have more plates.” He rolled his eyes again. “Why can’t you take anything seriously?!” Liana nearly stomped her foot. “Did we get married or something? Because this relationship doesn’t have the benefits of marriage, you just yell at me after I haven’t been home for a week.” He sighed and sat on the couch, officially tired of this argument. “No, Patrick, we didn’t get married, and sorry I don’t want you to die of dysentery while you’re living alone.” She shot back, and he heard the plate land in the sink. “So instead of throwing it away, you decided to break it?” He started getting angry too, because lately, that’s how all their conversations looked. Conversations about why he didn’t wash dishes, why he left the milk out, why he didn’t water the plant she bought him, why he didn’t show up at the bar her friend worked at, why he didn’t.

And he just wanted to tell her that if she acted like he was her boyfriend, then she should let him touch her the way he wanted to touch her. But they hadn’t had that conversation yet. He hadn’t told her that when he wasn’t thinking about tennis, he was thinking about her, and to be honest, if he wasn’t thinking about those two things, he was thinking about Art. And he knew she was thinking about Art too. And maybe they needed to have a conversation about fucking Art.

“I didn’t break it. Calm down.” She muttered. Liana had managed to somehow find herself in London. She couldn’t say that about any other period in her life. She enjoyed her studies and had met quite a few new people. People she liked being around. People she wasn’t embarrassed around and felt comfortable drinking wine with. She was a person who enjoyed wine now. Some might say Liana had grown up. She would agree with them.

One time, after drinking wine with her new friends, she called Art. She would say it didn’t happen until her dying day. She wouldn’t have anyone to say it to because he didn’t answer, and she didn’t plan on going around telling the world she drunkenly called Art Donaldson. It was embarrassing.

Patrick was always busy. Tennis. Fucking tennis. She hated tennis so much, and as someone who didn’t even know how to hold a racket properly, she couldn’t escape this terrible game.

So as close as Patrick had been during these months, he was still far away. She had hoped so much that he would be an integral part of this experience. That he would love London as much as she loved London, but he just loved playing tennis in London, and she was losing to the ball and racket again and again throughout her life. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Why are you mad at me?” Patrick stood up, moving towards the kitchen, leaning against the door in his characteristic way. “I’m not mad at you.” She rolled her eyes, her back to him, trying to wash the plate he ruined with food he didn’t clean up in time. “This is pointless.” She muttered to herself. “That passive-aggressive vibe might work with Art. It doesn’t work on me. Either tell me why you’re mad or let me go rest.” He said, not taking his piercing gaze off her back.

“Do you want me to leave?” She turned to him. Her expression made it clear she was hurt. She completely ignored the comment about Art. Patrick didn’t want to keep ignoring comments about Art. “I want you to tell me what you want from me, Liana. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.” He started moving towards her. “I don’t want anything from you, Patrick. You’re my friend. We came here together, and I care about you. That’s all.” She shrugged and looked everywhere in the room except his face.

“Liana.” He stood in front of her, demanding. Something in his tone made her look directly at him. “What?” Her voice was quiet. She hated her voice. Why did she always sound so desperate?! “Why are we fighting about dishes when you don’t live here? You understand that’s ridiculous?” He asked, not letting go and not changing his tone out of pity for her soft voice. “I’m not fighting with you. I want you to be reasonable. Do you think I enjoy playing mommy with you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms beneath her chest.

Patrick stared at her chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. Fuck it. “You can’t act like we’re sleeping together while not sleeping with me. That’s absurd.” He realized he had said it only when he saw her eyes widen and her face turn red. “You think I’m hitting on you, Patrick? Is that what you think this is?” She asked, her voice unsteady. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. God. Why is this happening to her? “Eat from your disgusting plate with mold for all I care. I won’t say a word.” She said and tried to move past him. It was her cue to leave before this conversation escalated. He pulled her back with a quick but not overly forceful hand movement. She knew he had a lot more strength in him. She knew he was fire. In the pair Fire and Ice, he would always be Fire. “Patrick.” Her weak voice almost whispered. “You’re not hitting on me?” He asked, also in a low voice. He seemed relatively calm considering the storm of emotions within him.

Patrick decided he had nothing more to lose. He was improving. He was maturing. He asked his parents for help. He had moved halfway across the world to be close to her. He was becoming the best version of himself. And to be honest, Patrick knew that if Liana had settled for the mediocre and basic version of Art, there was no reason he shouldn’t at least try. So Patrick decided to try.

“No...” She bit her lip and looked at him without breaking eye contact. “Bullshit.” He laughed. He just laughed in her face and didn’t release his hold. “You’re walking around my apartment, dressed in short clothes in fucking December in London. Getting mad about plates. Liana. Even you can’t be that naive about what this does to me after a week of a tournament. A grueling week of victories without anyone to celebrate my success.” He considered kissing her neck at that moment. He thinks she would let him. Now, looking at her, he was sure she would let him do whatever he wanted with her. And he was a greedy bastard. He wanted everything.

“Liana. Look at me.” He demanded. Not letting go. She looked. “Why are we fighting?” He asked. The stern tone made her blink. “I missed you.” She said, defeated.

“It’s really hard when you’re supposedly here but not really here, and I know you’re here for tennis, but I wanted you to be here for me too, and it’s okay if we have separate lives here, I do too—” Patrick cut off her endless ramblings because he knew she wouldn’t stop talking if it was up to her. His lips found hers, and his hands held the back of her head. and somehow she actually kissed him back.

The feeling of Patrick’s lips on hers was different from the feeling of Art’s lips. Liana hated herself for comparing him to Art. She wondered if every person who will kiss her would automatically be compared to the person who hurt her the most. She wondered if that’s how she would live the rest of her life. And during these existential thoughts, she realized the bitter truth. Art Donaldson would be a part of her forever.

“Pat. Wait. We can’t. We can’t do this.” She put a small hand on his chest, and he took a step back. Because when a girl told Patrick she wanted to stop, he stopped. “Why can’t we?” He didn’t look amused. He looked angry and hungry and tired, all in the once. In the same body movements. “You know why” Liana sighed.

Silence fell in his kitchen.

"You don't owe him anything," Patrick stated. This time he felt like he's the one who could stomp his foot like a kid in the middle of a tantrum.

"I know." She bit her lip.

"I don't owe him anything," he said, this time not looking at her. Because if she saw his face, she'd know he was lying to himself. Liana always saw him. She saw him stripped of defenses. And his biggest defense right now was tied to the girl in front of him and the fact that they both missed Art. And he did owe him the love of his life.

Because Liana still didn't know what Patrick and Art both knew clearly; Patrick had won. She would be his the moment he decided so.

"Liana. Please let me kiss you." His voice was weak, and his gaze shifted to her. His eyes still screamed fire. Fire. Fire. Danger. Run. Fire. Stay away. Get closer. Fire. Danger. Fire. "Liana." He said again, closer now, breathing the same air she breathed. The air she exhaled entered his lungs. He moved his hand back to her neck. The other hand, unashamedly, grabbed her ass in a half-pinch. It was a grip that didn't retreat, didn't regret, didn't shy away. As if he was born to hold her exactly like this. Exactly how he wanted. "Patrick." She didn't recognize the sound that escaped her mouth out of surprise, but she recognized Patrick's smile just a second before his lips were on hers again. Patrick had decided.

Hey thereeee It's London and it's Patrick's time to shine. What are we feeling about everything? Talk to me. I'm dying to know what you're thinking as usual.

taglist: @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[the-guilty-writer]

I second the ask about Hotch's daughter with endometriosis!!! I'd like to see that

I just finished it ♡

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

You truly wondered how women with endometriosis survived periods before thermotherapy products were invented. Hot water bottles and heating pads were a necessity for you during this time of the month. It wasn’t that they made the pain go away - they just made it bearable enough to allow you small bits of time where you could do something more than laying down.

At the moment, a hot water bottle and a maxed out dose of Ibuprofen were holding you together - barely. After twenty minutes at school, you were sent home by your English teacher, who was concerned about your nauseous complexion. Somehow, you'd managed to do some make-up work before taking a long (and much-needed) nap.

With your dad away on a case, the list of chores was longer than normal, but the pain made moving nearly impossible, much less cleaning. Dishes needed to be put away, the kitchen table needed to be cleared, and he laundry hamper was flooded with clothes, but there was no way you could do any of it while your insides felt like they were going to fall out. The only thing you absolutely had to do was pick Jack up from school. Everything else could wait.

All the energy you’d gathered went into the ten minute drive to and from picking up your brother. He requested a snack as soon as you got home, which you somehow managed to make him food without screaming in pain. It took every ounce of energy you had left to sit at the table with your brother as he did his homework.

The pain and fatigue clouded your brain, so much so that you hardly noticed the door to the apartment open.

“Dad!” Jack jumped up his seat and down the hall toward him.

“Hey buddy,” Hotch said. The tone of his voice was a testament to his exhaustion, but a happiness to be home.

“Dad, I made this painting in art class and I really want to show you. It's in my bedroom. Come look!” Jack didn’t give your dad a moment of rest.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I'll be there in a minute.”

Jack’s feet pounded against the floor, running to his room in anticipation. Your dad’s longer, slower footsteps followed behind. As soon as he appeared in the doorway, you could tell the case has been a hard one. He looked beyond exhausted, horrors still haunting his eyes and crushing his spirit. Not even your little brother's innocent greeting could extinguish what your dad had endured over the past few days.

“Hey, dad,” you greeted him with as much enthusiasm as you could muster up.

“Hi sweetheart.” He planted a quick kiss atop your head before moving to the kitchen. “Where are all the plates?”

A displeasement crossed your dad’s face. You'd meant to empty the dishwasher earlier that day, but the pain body had stopped you.

“Still in the dishwasher,” you said, holding back a wince as your stomach cramped.

“I thought we talked about this.”

“We did, but-”

“You’re almost an adult. I expect you to start showing up like one.” He was calm but stern. Unblinking eyes bore into you. It made you want to cry.

Hotch turned and left the kitchen, his calm footsteps indicating he was going to Jack's room.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, you stood up and carefully made your way to the dishwasher to unload it. As soon as you leaned over to lower the door, a stabbing sensation penetrated your gut. Dizziness washed over your head and blackened your vision. In an instant, you had crumbled to the floor.

You weren't even aware that you'd let out a cry of pain until your dad was kneeling next to you, a gentle hand caressing your face. Through teary, blurry vision, you could just make out the worry in his fearures.

“It hurts,” you choked out.

“I know,” he said gently. “I'm here. I've got you.”

Strong arms lifted you off the kitchen floor, carrying you to the couch. A heating pad was laid across your stomach and a straw was brought up to your lips with the gentle encouragement to drink.

When you managed to open your eyes, Hotch was next to you, a look of concern on his normally serious face.

"Hi, sweetheart." The words were the same as before, but his tone was different.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Here," Hotch brought a hand behind your back and used the other to hand you a bottle of water, "have some water."

You took gentle sips. Your father’s hand still rested on your back, rubbing it soothingly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't make me get up." It was true.

"No, but I jumped to conclusions about what you were able to do and it made you feel like you had to do something that caused you pain." Sometimes having a profiler for a dad was a good thing. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you said.

Hotch helped you lay down again, covering you with a warm blanket. "Can I get you anything?"

You snuggled into the blanket and adjusted the heating pad to sit in the best place for easing pain. "Just the TV remote."

Your dad smiled - his small but rare smile - before handing you the remote. The rest of the afternoon would be filled with watching bad TV and chick flicks, but he didn't mind. If it made you just a little more comfortable, then it was worth it.

[baby-tini]

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR OPEN REQUESTS FOR SO LONG...so, here's mine: How would you view parenting Mikey in each timeline? I don't know, how many children he would like, how he would behave in certain situations... I DON'T KNOW IF YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN... in doubt remember to rest, drink and eat💗

Don't worry, I understand what you mean and thank you so much, I'll take my breaks, drink water and eat, promise~

Toman\OG Timeline- He'd want 3 kids, two girls and a boy. The first being his daughter, then his son and lastly, another daughter, 8, 5 and 2. He'd be a very good father, he'd be very attentive towards them, while he would be pretty busy with... work, but he'd still help his children with whatever they need. Because of his job, he would move you and the kids around a lot, too keep you all safe. His kids wouldn't- more like can't go to normal school, so he hires the best teachers money can buy, after, ya know, threatening them into silence. He has a beautiful house on the hills, private, secluded and very, very guarded. He has a whole playground built in the backyard and an in-ground pool, you and his kids are always being watched over and his guards\henchman are told too protect you and his kids with their lives. He decides too marry you after your son is born and he's a really amazing father and husband.

Manila- 2 kids, both girls. The first daughter being 4 and the second being 8 months. The first daughter, in all honestly, was an accidental pregnancy, he didn't have any intention of getting you pregnant, but... it happened. He wasn't upset, quite happy actually, but he was a little distant for a while. He is such a girl dad, he takes amazing care of his two girls and of course, you. Now, I do picture you all living in the Philippines, in a comfy apartment, both of the girls sharing a room. As he sleep in a separate room with you, he does get a bit paranoid and will frequently check in on his kids, sometimes spending the whole night in there until you urge him too come to bed, with the promise that they're gonna be okay. He always keeps his gun on him, because not only does he have you, he also has two small children that he has too protect, you are all his lifeline. The most important people to him now.

Kanto- 1 kid, a 2 year old boy. He loves his son to death, while he is quite a strict father, he's also quite the softie, in private, of course. His kid is spoiled rotten, anything he wants, he gets. I picture his son too be a little explorer and it always worries Mikey, because he's afraid he'll get hurt or lost, so now, there are eyes on his son 24/7, with constant reports back to him. Mikey, when his son gets older, will teach him martial arts and teach him everything he, Mikey, knows. He got his son a little motorbike, made for small children, so that he could ride alongside his son, teaching him how too do tricks on the bike. He'll let his son sit on his lap as he carries on his gang meetings, not even batting an eye as his son starts too climb on things- or sometimes even people. He always- or atleast most of the time, has his son with him, he's either got him on his lap, holding his hand or his son is somewhere very close by.

Bonten- 2 kids, a boy and a girl. They're twins, both 5 years old. He's more of a... unbothered father, his kids could be running rampant and he could not careless, who's gonna check his kids? That's right, no one. Out of all the Mikeys, Bonten!Mikeys kids are the safest, Bonten basically runs the country. Even if they didn't, Mikeys executives guard and escort his children everywhere they go. Mikey isn't too keen on Sanzu being around them, but he's aware of Sanzus un-dying loyalty to not only Mikey himself, but to you as well. So, that also extends to your kids as well. These kids the richest kids in the world, Mikey has them dressed in all sorts of designer with expensive shoes, Mikey doesn't really care if his kids mess up the clothes, he'll just buy them new ones. Bonten!Mikeys kids also can't go to normal school so they're also given a private education.

Street Racer- 4 kids, three boys and a girl, just like him and his siblings. The boys being the oldest, 10, 8 and 7 with his daughter being 5. He wanted too have a lot of kids, Racer!Mikey wants a big family and he thinks it's so sweet that the boys are older so that they can protect their sister. All of them have a regular education, and they can be in any sport or extra-curiculars that they want. He has a big house, his kids all having their own rooms and things. This version of Mikey is the best father out of all his counterparts. He's a passive father, letting his kids do as they please, not too extreames, but he uses the excuses that kids will be kids. So you'll have too be the "bad guy" in most situations. He also teaches all of his kids martial arts and how too ride motorcycles if they're interested, teaching them everything they want too know, even letting them chill out at Draken and Inuis bike shop, learning how too fix bikes and changer tires. I'm letting you know that you now have too make 5x the dorayaki you originally would, so, good luck with that.

[waterfire1848]

Au. No war. Azula at age 6 is far more powerful, stronger, and better. Trains and learned everything you could ever think of, fire lightning bending, all nations bending styles moves techniques and movements, swordman, chi, hth combat, martial arts, flight. Already have blue flames that have heat temp. C 3100, hides it from everyone, only showing gold flames, and not letting them know she already also mastered the lightning. (Can redirect lightning, and the dragon dance after secretly watch iroh do it once, managed to learn it in just 5 minutes). trains even harder that she already have indigo flames have heat temp. C 4200 at age 10. Then at age 14 can do violet flames that have heat temp. C 7100. Have scars, burns everywhere from training her heat resistance to the same level of her heat temp. And now also have hear resistance of C 7100. Invented fire healing after it and healed her body that scars, burns are barely visible (no fire benders can and could burn her, since she have the hottest fire and resistance to it, while theirs are not even hot to her anymore).... Fire family (all members) along with Mai tylee are in SouthernWaterTribe (already knows hakoda's family). When ozai challenges azula in a fight (not an agni Kai) for her disobedience, expecting that he would manage to burn and humiliate azula badly. All family members/water tribes/hakoda's family all watch since they can't stop it. At first azula just let him have fun, then proceed to beat the shit out of ozai (as they fight on the ground or flying (only azula) on the air (since ozai have limit), or should I say azula beating ozai). all ozai's attack (fire and lightning) are useless to her. The audience are speechless, stunned. At the end of the battle, azula doesn't even have 1 scratch at all, and not even tired... (Water tribes are happy that ozai got his ass kick, since they are tension with him). After it, as all of them are in a dining room, hakoda and Kya ask azula if she can teach their daughter some simple or basic waterbending moves since they recognized some on the fight earlier (katara are in awe when they tell her that some of those moves are waterbending). while fire family are still jaw drop since azula hides her real strength and power in the past.... Maizula tyzula azutara Romantic.

Hello, anon!!!

1. There is no war but there is tension among the nations. Ozai constantly says that war could break out at any moment and most Fire Nationals, especially the nobility, agree with him. Since they’re worried about a war, it’s expected that the children train and become stronger. Azula and Zuko are expected to train both because of a possible war and because they’re part of the Royal Family. Zuko is a decent firebender and trains as best he can but Azula hears that she needs to be ready to fight and runs with it. When she’s younger, she trains every second of every day. Even when everyone has gone to bed, she sneaks out of her room and practices her bending, learning as much as she can to prepare for the upcoming battle. Ozai catches her once but he doesn’t notice her blue flames that she was training with when he does. Instead, she quickly changes her color back to orange. (Ozai: Azula, what are you doing? Azula: Training! I wanted to master the Chameleon. Ozai, chuckling: That’s adorable. The Chameleon is far too advanced for you. You can learn it when you’re older. Azula: When? Ozai: Wait until you reach ten. But I do admire your determination. It’s exactly what I would expect from a Princess of the Fire Nation. Now, off to bed. You have your tutor bright and early in the morning. Azula: Yes, father). Azula decides not to tell him that she already mastered the Chameleon move two months ago.

2. Azula is seven when Hakoda’s family comes to visit. Azula has no idea why a Water Tribe family is coming to the palace when they’re, potentially, the enemy. Ursa just tells her and Zuko to be on their best behavior and not mention anything about a potential war or the tension between the Fire Nation and South Pole. Azula does her job, she keeps her mouth shut, but she doesn’t like that she has to sit across from a waterbender. After eating, their parents remain to talk while the kids go into the garden. After some back and forth, Azula soon realizes that Katara and Sokka aren’t like what she was expecting. They’re not mean or violent or destructive, nothing like what her father described. (Katara: Tag! You’re it! Azula: Are we allowed to use our bending? Sokka: No! That’s not fair! Katara: Yes! Azula, using her fire jets to launch herself forward and tag Zuko: You’re it, Zuzu! Katara: What was that?!? Azula:….Fire jets. I thought we could use bending. Did…was that not allowed? I’ve never played tag. Sokka: THAT WAS AWESOME!) By the time the sun has set, Azula finds that she doesn’t want to stop playing with them. She likes getting the chance to be a somewhat normal kid but also have people who find her advanced skills awesome not because they can get something out of it but because they recognize how great of an accomplishment it is.

3. Time goes on and the Water Family continues to come and visit. Azula and Katara end up spending quite a bit of time together since Katara is also a bender and is allowed to use the training arena to practice. The two spar from time to time but it’s most time dedicated to them working separately. During one visit, the two are sparring together and Katara accidentally trips trying to avoid one of Azula’s flames and falls onto Azula. The two look up at one another with blushes all over their faces. (Katara: I….ummm….I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- Azula: You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault for tripping you. But do you…do you mind getting off me? Katara: Yes! I mean no! No, I do not mind.) Azula only realizes after Katara leaves that she has a massive crush on the waterbender but she also realizes something else. Her father’s words about tension and an incoming war seem more and more like a well done lie.

4. One day, when Azula is 14, the family is together having dinner with the Water Tribe family. During the evening, Ozai starts talking about the Fire Nation military and talking about how it’s grown insanely powerful. His words make things tense and it’s clear that he’s using the to subtly suggest that Hakoda and his family have to support them if war does break out of risk being destroyed. (Ozai: Someone could get hurt *looks at Katara and Sokka*.) Azula speaks up before Hakoda does, angered that Ozai lied to her, threatened the WT and, most of all, angry that he threatened Katara. Ozai, obviously, gets angry at her as well for her disobedience and orders her to remain quiet. Azula refuses and Ozai challenges her to an Agni Kai. Ursa and Zuko try to step in on Azula’s behalf, both of them believing that Azula is a good bender but she would get destroyed by Ozai, and Azula refuses. She says that she is more than capable of taking on her father and they head to the Agni Kai stage. At first, it looks like Azula will lose. Only Katara notices that Azula’s skin isn’t being burned by Ozai and the entire fight seems too….easy for her. It’s like she’s an autopilot the entire time. Then, at the one or two minute mark of the fight, Azula starts actually fighting. She’s not only better trained and has more skills than him but she’s also faster and smaller than him and able to avoid his attacks a lot more. (Ursa: Should we stop this? Hakoda: Why would you? Azula’s winning.). The fight doesn’t even last another two minutes before Azula beats her father and is declared the champion.

5. The two weren’t really fighting for Fire Lord title or anything. Azula does take the opportunity to banish Ozai for almost getting them involved in a war and says he’s only allowed to return when he finds the Avatar. It’s a bit of humor on her part that she accuses her father of almost destroying balance and his sentence is that he has to find someone who’s whole just is balance. (Azula: Soooooo….who’s up for mochi?) When they return inside, Ursa and Zuko are too shocked to speak but Hakoda asks for her to help train Katara which Azula happily agrees to. When the water family leaves, they leave with Azula with rumors now spreading about the powerful Fire Nation princess.

[222col]

sugardaddy!art is completely devoted to you, as are you to him, until a dm from patrick lights up your phone late one night | 18+

it was tashi who introduced you two, at some adidas party. she'd met with you the day before, pitching the idea of forming some kind of relationship with her husband. she admitted that she knew he needed more than her, he needed intimacy, attention, devotion. things she wasn't capable of giving, her focus was on his tennis and recovery. art was attractive, and successful, you were considering. tashi explained that in return for your devotion to her husband, the two of you would supply you with anything you wanted. "so, i'd be his sugarbaby?" you questioned her. she simply shook her head. "you'd look after his needs, while we looked after yours."

she introduced you to her husband, "this is the girl we talked about." he had followed you on instagram the night before, so you imagined tashi had shown it to him after your conversation. she leaves the two of you alone. you're younger than him, much smaller in frame, you can feel the power he has over you. but he strokes your arm lightly, telling you he can't wait to get to know you better.

art falls head over heels for you, you see him nearly every day. always giving him every ounce of attention he craves. it's not hard, he's beautiful, funny, always doting on you, complimenting everything about you. he fucks you like the world stops moving once he's inside you. you're like oxygen to him, he can't really breath until he's with you. art and tashi sleep in separate rooms, as months go by, you start staying over. occasionally bumping into tashi the next morning, she always greets you with a smile and thanks you for looking after her husband. the dynamic is strange, but it works.

art kept you very private, away from his fast paced life in tennis. he followed your instagram, sure, but you were a sportswear model. who's to suspect anything strange about a professional tennis player following a sportswear model. it's a year into you and art's relationship that patrick follows you on instagram. you knew he and patrick had patched up their friendship, since they played each other in a challenger somewhere in new york, some nine months ago. but still, you can't imagine art ever mentioning you to anyone other than his wife. one, for the sake of his public image, but two, he'd never want to share you. he always asks you if you go on dates in your time away from him, but always reassuring him that you don't. "i'm yours art, i don't want anyone else."

stalking patrick's instagram, alone in your apartment, payed for by art, you see how much he's turned his life around since playing in that new york challenger. art had mentioned that patrick wasn't reaching his full potential while they weren't on speaking terms. but now he's playing in big tournaments, winning them and earning his reputation back. that's obvious by his instagram, he's travelling the world, in style. you see the notification of him liking one of your posts, as you swipe through his. no, this is bad, you think. another notification, a message this time. shit. you have to tell art. does he already know? has he told patrick about the relationship you share? it's late, you know art has a match tomorrow, you decide not to call him.

patrick's messages are flirty, you can't work out what he knows, if he knows. you flirt back. you know it's wrong, but you do it. you think about art's pout as you tell him you're flirting with his best friend when you're sworn to him. you wipe that thought from your brain, reading the messages patrick is sending you. he's in your city for a tournament, you question how he knows what city you live in, it's in your bio, he responds. oh, yeah.

what are you doing right now?

fuck. fuck. shit. it's 10pm, you're still dolled up from the dinner art took you to. you look back at your phone.

wanna meet me for a drink? there's a nice bar at my hotel.

he sends you the address, it's only two blocks from your apartment. your feet are moving you off the couch, discarding of your robe, the dress art instructed you to wear to dinner still gowns your body.

be there in 15.

why the fuck did you do that, you think, reapplying your lipstick. your mind is running a mile a minute. you slip your heels back on, grabbing your handbag and locking your apartment door behind you. art. patrick. art. fuck, you can't stop thinking about art. you still don't know if patrick knows, but you can't ask because then he'll definitely know. you haven't been with anyone else since the day you met art, it would break him knowing you're going for drinks with another man. let alone with patrick. you collect yourself as you arrive outside the hotel, you'd been here with art. you didn't recognise the name, art always books the rooms. you stayed here with him the night before he signed the lease to your apartment.

walking towards the bar, you remember the way, patrick is perched on the end of the bar. he smirks when he sees you, you smile and walk over to him. standing to greet you, he kisses your cheek, "glad you could join me, i was getting lonely." he's in a white button down and jeans. "glad i could be of service then." you flirt, sitting on the stool next to his. your knees touching his as he orders you a glass of wine. "there's no way you got this dolled up in 15 minutes, sweetheart," the bartender places your wine down next to you. taking a sip and giggling. "no, of course, i'd only been home an hour when you messaged me, i went out to dinner and hadn't gotten changed yet." patrick is leaning towards you, like he's trying to read you.

"you're telling me, you went on a date, came home, then came to meet me? that's hot." patrick laughs into his beer. "no, no, it wasn't a date," you lie, art would cry if he heard you say that. "it was just dinner with a friend." patrick doesn't really believe you, but he doesn't push. "so, you're in town for the tennis tournament?" you question, sipping your wine. "yeah, i play my first game the day after tomorrow." you know it's the same tournament art is playing in. "i was actually going to stay at a friends place who lives near by, but boy am i glad i didn't now." his hand lands on your exposed thigh. fuck, he must mean art. you don't even realise you're leaning in closer to patrick. "me too," he just smiles at you, drawing circles on your skin.

you come to the conclusion that he doesn't know a thing about your relationship with art, the most he could know was that art followed your instagram, he will have seen when he followed you himself. you don't know how it happens, but after a few more glasses of wine and flirting, patrick's lips crash onto yours. they're not as soft as art's, he doesn't have the same respect for you to wait for you to open your mouth to push his tongue in. his hand is moving further up your thigh, pulling away from the kiss. "what'd say? wanna fuck a famous tennis star?" he whispers in your ear, he's so fucking arrogant. another famous tennis star, you think. you can't resist him, he's so different to art. art cares so deeply for you, touches you so softly, asks if you're okay. patrick is cocky, only sees you as a girl to add to his list. you can't say no, you know you should but you can't. all you can do is look up at him through your lashes and nod.

he fucks you from behind, ripping your dress off your body as he pounds into you. you'll feel guilty about that tomorrow, art loved that dress. he spanks you repeatedly, he doesn't care that it hurts, he just cares about getting himself off. he flips you over, holding your ankles and pushing your legs close to your head as he keeps fucking you. your fresh set of nails dig into the skin of his thighs, nails moving to his back once he drops your legs down. you scratch the length of his spine, he winces with a smile on his face when he realises you've drawn blood. he spits in your mouth, slaps your face, its animalistic. he pulls out and finishes all over your stomach, he doesn't care that you didn't finish. he collapses beside you, instinctively you start kissing and caressing the marks you left on his body. kissing every bite mark and scratch you gave him. he softens, breathing gently as he strokes you hair. "no one's ever looked after me like this," he states, sitting up to drink the water your holding for him. you simply kiss his forehead in response, his heart is nearly beating out his chest at the sweet way you're looking after him, after just fucking the life out of you without giving a single fuck. you pull the blanket up over his naked body, getting out of bed to gather your belongings. "stay with me?" he pleads, you can't resist.

you wake up in patrick's arms, shit. shit. shit. it's 9am, you check your phone, a text from art, two hours ago.

good morning, baby. hope you slept well, off to my morning training session before the match later today. call you when i can xx

you turn around and look at patrick, fast asleep. you reply quickly to art.

good morning, my love. have a good session, already can't wait to hear ur voice <3

you're not lying. you hear his voice everyday, it's part of your routine. you put your phone on the nightstand as you start getting out of bed. "please don't leave just yet," patrick mumbles in his morning voice, holding out a hand for you. "let me just use the bathroom real quick." you respond. you smooth out your hair in the mirror, attempting to clean up your make up with only your finger, slipping into a robe on the back of the bathroom door. you return to patrick, sitting on the edge of the bed as he sits up now, leaning against the headboard. "i have a proposition for you," you tilt your head at his words. "i need you in my life, i need your body, your kindness," he begins. oh no. "i was thinking, if you were to look after me and my needs, i could do the same for you." you know exactly what he means, you've heard it before. your phone lights up, your ringtone playing. 'A.D' flashes across the screen. fuck.

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 1: "La détermination qui coule dans mes veines"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Going to London was an easy decision though a difficult change, but nothing was going to stop you from getting what you wanted, and what you wanted was to go to Art School. For now, you only had to arrive and attend whatever event your godmother told you to. The only good thing that came from all of it, was that you reunited with a dear old friend of the family.

Word count: 2.9K

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❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

You knew you would leave for London for a while. You had made the decision, you had sent the letter, you had packed the suitcases, but you were yet to announce your departure.

The possibility of being stopped by your cousin was higher than the mountains, and in order to avoid it, you would only let him know about your trip to London the day before you left. However, his plans did not leave you the chance to.

Running away was not easy because everything you have keeps you attached to that piece of land that belongs to you, that is your father's legacy and your responsibility to keep alive.

Not a change was easy for any human, and you wouldn't be the exception.

So you looked at yourself in the mirror, hesitation long gone after minutes of silence.

You didn't know how to do it, you just hoped for the best of fates as the scissors cut short your dampened hair. No hairdresser would give you the cut you wished for, the one you needed, so you had to do it yourself.

After a quick glance at the packed suitcases and the room that will remain vacant for a pair of months at least, you put on the black cloak and ran away.

The determination ran through your veins just like you were running through the hallways of the Château de Germolles, it has been doing so since the moment your father passed because there was nothing left for you at home if you did not have a man by your side saying the opposite. Certainly, your cousin replaced your father as the lord of the house, but he has never given you any sort of security in your own home. Two years have passed, and you would wait no more.

"Lady Y/N," le Seigneur Cartier, your father's right hand, interrupted your path. "Are you entirely sure about this?"

"Lord Carrington is expecting me, Seigneur Cartier," you answered. "And I have never been more sure about anything in my life."

He nodded, helping you get inside the carriage. "I will send you letters weekly."

"I will be expecting them," He closed the carriage door, and you peeked through its window. "I trust you to honor my father's wishes while I am gone."

Cartier nodded and made a gesture for the carriage to start, and you looked at the Château for the last time in God knows how long.

"One day until we arrive in Calais, one hour to Dover and seven hours to London," Antoinette, your maid, commented with a tired sigh. "Lady Y/N, are you sure about this journey?"

"I am sure, and I would appreciate it very much if all of you just stopped asking me that," you stated, annoyance slipping through your voice. "I am to be received by Lord Carrington, my godfather, and I will live in London for however long it takes."

"They are not in the Social Season, or so I have heard." You pursed your lips.

"I am not looking to marry as of now, my wish is to fall in love, Antoinette, because whoever is to be my husband must love me dearly before I display my everything to him. There shall be love, trust… He must be a man capable of ruling, not some mere lord. I will not hurry, and a specific time of the year will not stop me from finding a reliable husband. And I am not here to find a husband either way."

"I apologize, Lady Y/N."

The following hours were ruled by silence, there was little to no sentence said even during the hours of rest before continuing the lengthened voyage. No thing other than instructions were told during the two days and a half that it took to arrive in Lord Carrington's mansion.

It was bigger than you remembered, but again, the last time you were there was about ten years ago.

You were welcomed inside, not without looking around and admiring the art your godfather was a fanatic of.

"Oh, Lady Y/N! You have grown so much! You are a ravishing young lady, dear," Lady Carrington exclaimed, taking your hands in hers with a smile. Her loud nature was always remarkable, annoying to most but adored to you. "Hugh, darling! Lady Y/N just arrived!"

Lord Carrington appeared in the room with a smile that matched his wife's, an exuberant chuckle as he saw you. "Dear Heavens, you look just like your Mama!"

You laughed tiredly. "I am grateful to you, Lord and Lady Carrington, for welcoming me into your home. I had been setting my heart on spending some time here in London."

"So were we," he noted with a nod.

"Hmm, you must be dead tired, my dear. Let me show you your room for your stay." Lady Carrington motioned you to follow her.

"I am indeed, thank you," You smiled, to then announce your departure. " Excusez-moi."

You followed her through the infinite hallways and endless words, hearing her talk about the ball they were invited to just last week and the one they will host in five days.

"Did you bring ball gowns with you, my dear?" she asked you. "You must attend the ball as our guest of honor."

"I could not fit much in these suitcases, Lady Carrington," you replied. "However, I figured you could take me to the modiste soon. I will pay whatever the price is for some Paris here in London."

She smiled. "The modiste, Madame Delacroix, is French, my dear! I shall take you there tomorrow first thing in the morning."

"It is a plan, then, Lady Carrington."

"Perfect, dear," She nodded. "Rest, I will have someone wake you up for dinner. Tomorrow, in the afternoon, you will accompany me to Lady Danbury's for tea. She is a lovely woman, you will get along pretty well, I am certain!"

"I'd be honored."

"There is a lot of catching up to do, my Lady," she commented. "I had not seen you in a year."

"Not many remarkable events in my life, but I sure will have thought of one by the time we speak," you complied. "Uh, I was wondering when, and if, I could join Lord Carrington to the Royal Academy of Art."

"Well, that you must converse with him." She smiled and left your room.

You quickly changed your clothes to your nightgown, and fell asleep in less than a minute.

"Bonjour !"

You smiled politely at the woman who greeted you and Lady Carrington. " Bonjour, ça va ?"

"Very well, merci." she replied. "I am afraid we have not been introduced yet. Madame Delacroix, enchantée."

"Lady Y/N Voclain," you nodded slightly. "Êtes-vous française ? Lady Carrington m'a dit."

"Oh, speak in English, dear," Lady Carrington commanded. "Some of us don't speak French."

"Of course, I apologize," you chuckled slightly. "Lady Y/N Voclain, enchanted as well… Lady Carrington told me you were French, Madame, that is what I was asking."

Madame Delacroix just smiled. "Oui, indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"My dearest Lady Y/N of Burgundy, always so modest… She is the daughter of the late Duke of Burgundy," Lady Carrington informed, and you nodded uncomfortably. You did not want people to know about your title during your stay in London, but perhaps it was inevitable. "Her dresses must reflect her greatness."

You approached the table where many colorful fabrics were displayed. "I will have one red that matches the rubies my Grandfather sent from their mines in the Americas, as well as some in different shades of green for the emeralds. Oh, for the ball I will have a white one with gold here and there… I would adore embroidered flowers but not too many, crystals, sequins, your finest silks," you explained everything you wanted in your dresses. "I trust you entirely, Madame. I want them unique, no one else will have the same dress, not even a similar one. I am willing to pay the price. Eight dresses for now, and the urgency is the dress for the ball. Do not disappoint me."

"Bien sûr," she replied with a nod. You raised your eyebrow at the odd pronunciation, but ignored her. "The length of your hair will be a challenge, Lady Y/N."

"Yes. Why did you cut it, dear?"

"Uh… I-" The bell saved you as its sound announced the arrival of a woman and her three daughters, calling for Madame Delacroix.

"I will be right back." she promised, and left you and Lady Carrington alone.

"Lord Carrington agreed to take you to the Academy tomorrow."

You smiled widely, making her curve her lips. "Oh, that is wonderful news, Lady Carrington! I am beyond grateful!"

"He wants your portrait painted, Lady Y/N, so it seems that you will spend many hours there."

"I am eager to!" you exclaimed.

She gave you a look you couldn't quite decipher, but if there was something you recognized in it, it was a threat. "Careful with the artists, Lady Y/N… We would not want you involved with any of them."

"Oh," You frowned. "I- I will not-"

"I know, dear… A lady like you has nothing to do with men like them, you deserve a man of title, with a surname that speaks for himself."

"Can't there be both?" you wondered out loud and she chuckled dryly.

"Those men spend their nights in clubs and brothels, and will certainly not stop doing so after marrying. Poor Lady Goldwyn, married to an artist who had a bastard child before having hers… Never at home, I got lucky with Hugh, but God forbid you stumble upon a similar fate."

You gave her an amused glance. "I know I can make a suitable pick."

"He must be rich, dear, how else will you afford living the life you always have had?" she commented. "A true gentleman, one that respects you and loves you dearly. If he has brothers or sisters it will be ideal, that way you will know he is a man of his family… Oh, Her Majesty, the Queen has a nephew, a prince, she brought to London last season, maybe he is still an eligible bachelor."

"A prince?" you questioned, surprised.

"The Prince of Prussia, my dear. I suppose that is a man worthy of a duke's daughter."

A laugh left your lips. "Do you truly believe that he would be interested in courting me, Lady Carrington?"

"Oh, he most certainly would!"

"Seeing is believing, then." You chuckled.

While you and Lady Carrington were talking, Madame Delacroix's clients struck up a conversation.

"I have never seen that lady before, who is her?" Lady Featherington questioned, seconded by her two daughters.

"Lady Y/N of Burgundy, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy," she replied. "She is French, a relative of the Carringtons."

"Oh, you two should befriend her! The Carrington ball is next week and we have not received our invitation yet."

"You are right, Mama," Prudence agreed. "I will go now."

Both sisters approached you and Lady Carrington, gaining a look full of disdain from the latter.

They introduced themselves, and their mother soon joined.

"We would be delighted to have you this afternoon for tea, Lady Y/N."

"I am afraid there is no empty spot in my schedule for now, but I will make sure to let you know once I am available." you replied after noticing Lady Carrington's discomfort.

"Well then." Lady Featherington nodded, and so did you. Then, she looked at Lady Carrington with a slight smile and disappeared.

"That woman is insufferable!" your godmother yelled.

Then you couldn't contain your laughter.

"Lady Carrington!"

"Oh, Lady Danbury!"

You both stood up as she entered the room, and you greeted her with a smile.

"This is Lady Y/N of Burgundy, she is my guest and Lord Carrington's," Lady Carrington introduced you. "She will stay until she finds a husband!"

You widened your eyes at her explicit purpose. "I- I am not- well, I am, but-"

She laughed. "Oh, dear. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. This woman has not stopped talking about receiving you."

"Enchanted to meet you, Lady Danbury," you finally said, chuckling slightly.

While it is true that you must marry and that your requirements are vast, on this particular visit to London, you are not looking to find a husband. You, however, were planning on doing a thing you clearly should not. An alibi was needed, and that way you could kill two birds with one stone.

"Take a seat, let's wait for the other guests," she commanded and you and Lady Carrington complied. Not many seconds later, three women joined you. "Well, this is Lady Mary and her daughters, Miss Kate Sharma and Miss Edwina Sharma… These are Lady Carrington, as you know, and her guest Lady Y/N of Burgundy."

You smiled. "Enchanted to meet you all."

"Us as well." Miss Kate Sharma answered for her mother and sister.

They took a seat, and soon another woman arrived.

"Lady Bridgerton!" Lady Danbury welcomed her.

"Lady Bridgerton?" You stood up at her mention and excitement painted your features.

Lady Bridgerton raised her eyebrow in confusion. "Yes…?"

"Oh, my bad!" you excused yourself before a happy grin. "Of course you don't remember me, the last time you saw me I was nine years old! Y/N, daughter of the Duke Sébastien of Burgundy."

"Oh, Heavens, look at yourself!" she exclaimed when she realized. "Dear, you have become a wondrous young lady!"

"Do you know each other?" Lady Danbury asked.

"Her late father, the Duke, was great friends with my husband," she replied with a tender smile. "I met her when she was a baby and saw her last about eleven years ago."

You laughed. "Oh, it has been so long, Lady Bridgerton! How are your children?"

"They are all great, Daphne married the Duke of Hastings just last season."

"How thrilling! Congratulations, Lady Bridgerton."

"Thank you, my dear."

"So you know the Bridgertons?" Lady Carrington questioned.

"Only Lady Bridgerton," You smiled. "I have not met her children yet, will you be attending the Carrington Ball next week?"

"Of course we will, especially knowing you will be there."

"I cannot wait, Lady Bridgerton."

"You are always invited to our home, dear. That invitation is still current."

"Many years ago, Lord Bridgerton said to me that I was invited to their home whenever I pleased, but I have yet to make honor of the offering." you explained to the rest of the ladies.

Lady Carrington smiled before interrupting. "So, Lady Y/N traveled from France to be here."

"Was it a long way?" Edwina wondered.

You nodded, taking the cup of tea that was offered. "Yes, it took almost three days to arrive here in London."

"And why did you decide to come?" Lady Danbury asked.

"To find a husband, of course." Lady Carrington announced, and you accidentally spilled your tea all over your dress.

"Dear!"

"Mon Dieu !, I- my apologies, it's-"

Miss Sharma and Miss Edwina were trying hard not to burst out laughing, but it was almost impossible when they noticed Lady Carrington giving you a handful of napkins and scolding you for being so clumsy. Then, as the other women in the room chuckled, they did too and so did you.

When everything was in order, you looked at everyone. "I apologize."

"Do not," Lady Danbury stopped you. "Are you not looking for a husband, then?"

"Uh, yes," you lied, an embarrassed look in your eyes.

"Miss Edwina came from India to find a husband here, dear, do not be ashamed!" Lady Carrington noted. "I was telling her about the Queen's nephew that came the previous season."

"He was a charming young man." Lady Bridgerton mentioned.

"And there are still one or three Bridgertons available to wed." Lady Danbury added, making Lady Bridgerton laugh slightly and the three Sharmas look at each other uncomfortably.

"There is also the new Lord Featherington, he has mines in the Americas, just like your Mama's family."

You nodded. "I shall ask Grandfather about the Featherington mines in my next letter, then… You would not believe the amount of men in Europe swindling the rich, saying they have the most prosperous mines in the Americas while that is the furthest thing from the truth," you mentioned. "My cousin, Lord Voclain, almost made a tremendous investment until I took a look at the jewelry the man gifted him for me. Glass painted green, as if he could cheat my eye."

"And Lord Featherington is engaged to his cousin Prudence." Lady Bridgerton reminded.

Cousins?, dear God.

"Well, he was courting Miss Cowper when that happened, so forgive me for being skeptical."

"It is disgusting nevertheless." you said.

"It is."

"I will be ready to list the eligible bachelors in London at the upcoming ball just for you, Lady Y/N."

You chuckled. "I am not in a hurry to wed, Lady Danbury. I wish to fall in love instead of marrying as if it is my duty."

"Is it not your duty to marry?"

"Technically, it is, yes," you replied to Miss Edwina as her older sister gave her a look. "But my father raised me to know my worth and not marry a man I do not love… He married my mother against his family's wishes, all because they loved each other dearly. That is what he wanted for me."

"He was an amazing man." Lady Bridgerton smiled.

"He was indeed." you agreed, an afflicted grin replacing your smile.

[cyncerity]

Holy fucking shit the Dad’s Troubles AU story?? That i’ve been teasing since January??? It’s finally done??????

this took so fucking long that i’m debating posting an alternate and an extended unedited version that’s how many times i’ve written and re-written this thing.

anyway without further ado, the posts you’ll need for the context of this story are here and here, and the art teaser is here (if you’ve been keeping up with the Dad’s Troubles AU since 2022 you probably don’t need the context lol, but it has been a while so they’re there for whoever needs a refresher)

@quotethemenevervore (sorry if that’s the wrong account to tag btw) you seemed very excited for this story so i figured i’d tag you lol

tw: soft, safe vore, panic attack ig???

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” “I know, but, c’mon…we have to tell him eventually.”

Charlie sat on Schlatt’s living room table, the human leaning his head on his palm to be at a closer level to the borrower he was talking to. This was the same conversation they’d been having on and off for months now: should Ted be let in on the secret that Charlie wasn’t human. Obviously, there was a clear answer for them: eventually. Now, when ‘eventually’ actually was…that was a different problem.

“Do I need to remind you what happened the first and only time you met him in person?” Schlatt asked, to which Charlie just groaned. “You have to bring up the fish thing every time, don’t you? Cause yeah, I remember almost drowning, thank you very much.” “It’s more so the principle that he would throw you out a fuckin window, but you get my point. He clearly doesn’t see you as a person.” As much as Schlatt always hated to think about that, it was something him and Ted could never agree on. Ted was of the opinion that borrowers were basically just bipedal rats, and nothing Schlatt had done to convince him otherwise had worked. “But what if I changed that?” Charlie challenged, standing to pace the space in front of Schlatt. “He knows me, he’s known me for years. We’re friends, fuck, I’d say the three of us are best friends! There’s no way he’d just forget all of that the second he sees what height I am, right?” He finished, looking up at Schlatt with something akin to fear. Like he wanted Schlatt to tell him he was right, that it would all work out. But he couldn’t, because didn’t have an answer to what Ted would do. Schlatt sighed. “Honestly, I don’t kn-“

The doorknob to the apartment shook. It was locked, Schlatt always locked it when it was just him in the apartment. Schlatt and Charlie froze. Was Quackity trying to get in? Cause he wasn’t supposed to be home for a good few more hours, hence the door being locked. They were both absolutely silent, waiting for any confirmation that it was their mutual friend, until they heard a few utterances of cursing from behind the locked door.

“God fucking damnit, where are the keys Schlatt gave me-“

Ted.

~~~

Shit, shit. Schlatt had totally forgotten he gave Ted a space pair of keys for when he was visiting. Fuck, fuck, what the fuck should he do with Charlie?

He heard the key turn in the lock.

All of the borrower tunnels were too far away for the remaining few seconds he had till Ted walked in. There’d be no disguising that he was talking to Charlie. Charlie, who was part of a species that Ted believed couldn’t talk. He wouldn’t be able to explain himself.

He heard a creak as the door started to open.

Did he have a pocket? Shit, no, he had a crew neck and the pockets on his jeans were too tight and small for Charlie to fit in. There was only one other option he could think of. Fuck. Charlie, like him, had been frozen from shock this whole time. That would probably make this easier. He quickly lowered himself down and tried to grab Charlie to shove him in his mouth.

“Schlatt!” He heard Ted shout, and suddenly, without warning, Charlie moved.

Frantically, almost blindly running at him with no warning and accidentally falling past his hand and into his mouth, and everything went to shit.

~~~

Oh no. Speak of the devil. Ted. God dammit, why did he have to show up right when he and Schlatt were talking about him. And why did Schlatt even give him a spare key?

He heard the key turn in the lock.

Ok, fuck, how the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one? He didn’t have time to run, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. And contrary to how often he joked about the window and the almost-getting-eaten-by-a-fish thing, it was actually a pretty horrifying experience that he would not like to relive, thank you very much.

He heard a creak as the door started to open.

Shit, what should he do? What could he do?! He was out in the open, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide unless Schlatt had pockets or- wait. Schlatt. Schlatt…himself could be a place to hide. He’d seen Tubbo do it, that had been a long fuckin conversation after walking in on that, but it was safe. Probably a hell of a lot safer than being anywhere near Ted. But was he really willing to end up down his best friends throat?

“Schlatt!” He heard Ted shout and, apparently, he was.

He broke free from his panicked state and immediately sprinted towards Schlatt, planning to climb his shirt to his mouth and just hoping to god Schlatt would get the hint. However, he apparently hadn’t noticed that Schlatt had the same idea as him.

“Schlatt?” Ted asked.

Charlie ran full speed into something jarringly warm and wet. The change in…well, everything environmentally made him yell, as any and all light was suddenly stripped from him.

The door clicked closed, Ted was in the room with them. Thank god they’d been facing away from the door.

Charlie felt himself be thrown backward in the dark space, losing his balance as one of his legs caught in something that started to pull him down.

Oh fuck, that was weird, but it was fine. He wanted this, he decided to do this, he…he was getting eaten. It’s fine. This is fine, it’s Schlatt for fucks sake. And yet, the part of his brain that hadn’t quite registered that the “getting eaten” thing was actually his plan, told him to fight, to try and free his leg from the throat that threatened to drag him deeper into the giant.

“Are you ok, man?” Charlie heard Ted ask from beyond the closed teeth around him. He was getting closer.

The darkest split a bit, and something else entered the mouth with him for a moment. He couldn’t see well enough through his spit covered glasses and small amount of light what they were, but he guessed pretty immediately when they got a grip of his arms and started to shove him down the esophagus. Fingers. Schlatt pinned Charlie’s arms at his sides and shoved more of him down.

The fingers retracted from the mouth when only his legs remained out of the throat. He felt the environment around him change and realized what was happening. His struggling increased tenfold, kicking desperately at the teeth and gums around him to no avail, as the giant swallowed one last time and sent him fully into the throat.

~~~~~

“Schlatt!” Ted yelled, running over to see Schlatt holding his throat, unable to breathe. Ted went to wrap his arms around him to perform the heimlich, but Schlatt was thankfully aware enough to push him away at the last second. Unfortunately, that move made him send himself crashing onto the floor. Ted rushed over again, worry plastered on his face as Schlatt held up a hand, signaling to stop. So, Ted did just that, running off to do god knows what. Schlatt, meanwhile, could feel Charlie get stuck just a short way before he stopped blocking his windpipe. Schlatt pushed at his throat, swallowing frantically, pounding at his chest, anything to get Charlie down faster. He didn’t realize just how much…bigger Charlie was than his son. Charlie was a grown man, and tall by borrower standards, too. Compare that to Tubbo who was short by all standards and Schlatt realized he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Charlie seemed to be helping it go faster somewhat by squirming his way down, though he doubted it was on purpose. Though maybe this was a thought he could have later since at the moment he was very focused on not choking and dying on his best friend.

It was when Schlatt was starting to black out that Ted came back with a glass of water, not even giving Schlatt time to process it before forcefully opening his mouth and pouring it down his throat, giving Schlatt the ability to swallow Charlie down farther and finally unblock him from his windpipe. Schlatt fell to the ground again with a gasp, trying to drag as much air into his lungs as humanely possible. He placed a hand on his chest as he finally, fucking finally, felt Charlie make his way closer towards the stomach. He dissolved into a coughing fit on the floor, Ted slowly lowering himself to sit next to him. Schlatt wasn’t even gonna try to explain anything to Ted yet, though. Not until Charlie ended up where he needed to be and he could stop worrying.

He did his best to keep a poker face while he felt a much heavier weight than usual drop into his stomach. He really hadn’t thought about how much bigger Charlie was than Tubbo, but it was more noticeable now than ever.

Immediately he felt a flurry of movement from his stomach, limbs flailing and Charlie trying to get accustomed to whatever it was like in there. Schlatt squeezed his stomach in so Charlie wouldn’t trigger something audible that he’d have to make an excuse over, but quickly found that the borrower’s whole frame was shaking.

Schlatt only had time to worry for a second before he was snapped out of his shock with a hand clap onto his shoulder, snapping his attention back to what was happening on the outside. “Schlatt, you with me, man?” “..Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine.” Right, he had an act to put on for Ted. “What the fuck were you choking on?” “Oh nothing, so, what brings you here?” Schlatt asked, trying to redirect the conversation. He didn’t know what excuse he would use for that shit show if he needed one, but he doubted he’d be able to convincingly lie to Ted about it with Charlie right there listening. But it wasn’t like he could say the truth. ‘Sorry about that Ted, I was choking on our third podcast member because he’s scared you’ll hurt him but don’t worry, he’s in my stomach now so he’s safe from, again, exclusively you.’

Yeah, no.

“Well, I came over to surprise you. Didn’t think you’d almost die or something.” Ted said, and Schlatt chuckled a bit in response. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect anyone to break into my apartment.” Schlatt stood, silently thankful for Ted helping him up as he adjusted to the added weight in his middle. He felt Charlie sway a bit as he stood, though there was significantly less fighting back on Charlie’s end at the movement. Thank fuck. “You down here for any reason other than to scare me half to death?” Schlatt said, pacing over to his fridge under the guise of grabbing food while he silently felt for any signal from Charlie now that his back was turned to Ted. “Yeah, actually.” Ted said, leaning against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Schlatt hummed to pretend he was paying attention while pressing into his stomach a few quick times. Short short long. Long long long, long short long. ‘U-O-K-?’ He knew Charlie could translate it, he was the one that taught Schlatt Morse code. He was waiting for two taps back; their signal for yes. Hell, he’d even take one tap for no, something. Hopefully, Charlie would get the hint that he was ok.

“…Schlatt?” Ted questioned, again snapping Schlatt out of his worries again. Right. The act. “Sorry, must’ve zoned out, what were you saying?” “I was saying I’m here for a reason. You’re not the only one of my friends in the area, but surprise! I’m staying down here for a few months to do content!” Ted looked to Schlatt expectantly, and Schlatt did his best to be happy for Ted, but he was sure his smile looked forced. He didn’t know if it was his worry for Charlie or just the direction the conversation was headed in, but he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew wasn’t Charlie’s fault. He did his best to ignore it. “That’s great, man! Sounds like it’ll be fun.” “That’s the goal.” Ted answered. “Do a couple collab videos, some vlogs, it’ll be sick-” “Mhm.” Schlatt responded while Ted continued talking, tapping out the morse again. And again. And again for good measure. If this wouldn’t get Charlie to do something, anything, then something was wrong. He waited a few seconds before beginning the pattern again with more force, starting to wonder if Charlie had just passed out at that point, until-

Something. An arm or leg or something kicking out where he’d been pressing in, hard, and he recoiled his hand away immediately with a wince of pain. Charlie packed way more of a punch than Tubbo or Tommy did, that’s for damn sure. He wanted to try communication again, though he was smart enough to realize that his physical gestures were not appreciated in the slightest. So he did nothing and waited. He waited a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes, until, finally…he felt two weak taps back.

~~~

Falling headfirst into the pitch black stomach of his best friend was about as pleasant as Charlie expected it would be.

Immediately almost all of his senses were absolutely fucked, the wetness and humidity of the air around him clinging to his skin and fogging his glasses. The spongey walls around him gave way far too easily for him to properly get his balance, and he kept face planting into the bottom of the organ every time he tried to right himself. There was also liquid up to his waist (water, spit, he didn’t know, nor did he care to at the moment) which he kept almost fucking drowning himself in since he couldn’t stay upright long enough or see enough to figure out which way was up, down, forwards, backwards-

The walls suddenly pressed in on him, making Charlie squeak in fear almost inaudibly, pinning him in place thankfully right side up and out of the water, and he realized he was shaking. Why was he shaking? He was fine, he knew that, he knew that, why was he scared? He trusted Schlatt, this wasn’t even the human’s idea, it was his, he chose this.

The walls slowly began to release their hold on him as his thoughts started to suffocate him more than the stomach could ever.

Why, why the fuck was this so awful for him? He was safe, safe, he knew it was safe, he’d seen this happen a hundred times.

The walls began to press in periodically.

He’d willingly hung out with Schlatt and Quackity both when he knew that they had Tubbo inside. Tubbo was fine then, so he’s fine now. Science. Logic. He was safe. He wasn’t food. He wasn’t food.

short short long

Schlatt cared, cared enough about his safety to let him use his body as a barrier between him and someone who could hurt him. Would hurt him. His body. His giant, dangerous body that had been able to swallow him. His body that could kill him at any moment.

long long long

But he wouldn’t. Schlatt cared. He wasn’t food. He was safe. He was safe. Safe within his human friend. Safe from his human friend. Guarded inside a creature that could kill him from a creature that could kill him.

long short long

But his human friend wouldn’t kill him. But his human friend would, almost did, kill him.

The walls were still closing in on him.

Fuck. No, wrong human, Schlatt wants to protect him. Schlatt is his friend. Ted is his friend, their friend.

The walls are closing in periodically. Again and again.

He’s suffocating.

Ted would, almost did, kill him. He almost drowned, was almost swallowed, if it hadn’t been for Schlatt. He was almost swallowed. He was almost swallowed. He was swallowed. He was swallowed, he had been swallowed-

Something pressed in on the stomach again hard enough to force the wall to make contact with him, and in his hysterics Charlie kicked it as hard as he could manage, hearing a sharp hiss of pain be sucked into the lungs above him. Fuck. No, fuck, what is he doing? This is Schlatt. Schlatt. Schlatt, who’s never been anything but good to him, who’s treated him with nothing but respect despite what he was, who raised a borrower child and did a damn good job of it, too. Why…why was he acting like this? He trusts Schlatt, he’s literally thrown his life into Schlatt’s hands more times than he can count, why…why was this so much more difficult?

Fuck, focus on the task at hand. Deep breaths. 4, 7, 8. Again, 4, 7, 8. Charlie forced himself to think of the things around him. Liquid, heat, the weird spongey walls that had been caving in. There’s a good place to start. With the fog of his hysteria clearing, Charlie tried to remember what the pattern of the walls pressing in was. Short short long…long long long…long short long. Charlie let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “You ok?” Schlatt had been asking. He suddenly felt a little bit dumb for his panicked state earlier.

Struggling to push himself to what he was now sure was the front of the stomach with his legs still weak from fear, he settled himself against the wall to better hear exactly what was going on outside. Finally, he answered Schlatt’s question by tapping back twice, letting the human know he was ok, even if the shaking hadn’t quite let up yet. He laughed to himself again, this time more genuinely, as he heard the immediate sigh of relief from above him.

Yeah, he was sure he was safe.

~~~

Charlie was ok. Holy fuck, Schlatt could have cried with relief. He didn’t hurt his best friend, that was a weight off his shoulders. “I did want to talk with you about something though, just to get your opinion on it.” “Sure, what’s up man?” Schlatt said, attention fully on Ted for the first time in this whole conversation. “It’s about Charlie.”

Schlatt froze, and he could feel Charlie tense up. “Uh…what about him?” “I just, i don’t know…it’s hard to explain.” Ted frustratedly motioned with his hands and tried to explain more before sighing. “Did i do something wrong?” Ted said, a genuine look of confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Everytime we talk, it’s fine. We’re friends, and we have been for a while, and I know he’s on the same page as me. But any time I ask him anything vaguely personal, even if it’s just shit like his hair color or mcdonald’s order or fucking anything, it’s like we’re back to being strangers. Like I don’t have the right as his friend to know shit like that. The only thing I know about him is his first name and honestly? It wouldn’t even bother me if he wasn’t so close with you.” Schlatt hadn’t expected that, and from what he could tell of Charlie relaxing and pressing closer into the front wall of his stomach to hear more, he hadn’t expected it either. “Ted, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…well, for one, Charlie has known me for a lot longer than he’s known you. Of course he’s more comfortable with me. But it’s not that he doesn’t trust you or anything. I promise he considers you one of his best friends. Even when it’s just us talking, he’s never said anything about you that would imply anything else.” “It’s not that I don’t believe that, but I just…sorry, maybe I’m being selfish here. If he doesn’t want to meet me it’s not my business to pry, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently.” Ted finished, staring down at his hands. Schlatt…wasn’t sure where to go from there. He felt horrible for keeping such a massive secret from one of his oldest friends, especially about something that’d clearly been causing so much inner turmoil, but he couldn’t betray Charlie like that.

“Schlatt, can you hear me?” Charlie suddenly interjected. Schlatt discreetly tapped his stomach twice for confirmation and Charlie continued. “Ok, then i’m gonna need you to repeat after me, got it?” Schlatt tried not to let the confusion he felt read on his face for Ted to see, but he tapped twice again anyway. He sat in silence for a few seconds before Charlie took a deep breath and started talking.

“But, y’know, Charlie and I were talking about doing something with the podcast soon. We were gonna bring it up to you later, but since you’re in town we could move it up.” Schlatt repeated, and Ted looked up, puzzled. “What were you thinking?” Charlie paused again breathing deeply, though Schlatt could feel his tail swaying in anxiety. However, when he finally spoke up, his voice read nothing but confidence. “We were thinking we could do a few in person recordings.”

Schlatt froze. Had Charlie said what he thought he said? No way in hell was he serious. “Repeat it, Schlatt. I’ve thought it through, i mean it.” Holy shit he was serious. And so, he repeated. God, he wished that Charlie had been able to see the look of utter shock on Ted’s face. “You’re joking.” He said, and Schlatt shook his head while waiting for the next prompt. “Charlie wants to meet you, he’s just…afraid he won’t live up to your expectations.” Schlatt repeated, and Ted scoffed. “Please, that’s the least he should be concerned about. At this point the guy could be a serial killer and I’d still be thrilled to meet him.” Schlatt could tell when the truth hit him fully, because Ted’s expression brightened tenfold. He looked like he’d just won the lottery. “I just, I can’t believe it! Holy shit, I’m gonna meet the Charlie Slimecicle!” “Yeah, me either.” Charlie sighed and Schlatt repeated, though he said it for both of them.

After some more casual conversation about Ted’s plans and ideas for the newly decided live podcast recording, Ted finally said goodbye, promising to let Charlie know how excited he was. Schlatt let out a breath of relief he didn’t even know he was holding when Ted shut the door behind him. He locked it immediately and turned to lean back against the door. “Holy shit that was stressful.” “You’re telling me.”

Schlatt facepalmed as the weight of what he’d just signed on to doing hit him, sliding his way down the door into a sitting position. Charlie felt his stomach drop at the action as well. “Sooo…” Charlie started, lightly kicking at the wall in front of him. “This is weird.” “Very.”

Silence.

“Are you ok?” “Huh?” “Are you ok.” Schlatt repeated. “…yes.” Charlie answered,not exactly confidently, but surely. “I am now, at least. I just…panicked. It’s fucking weird in here and I just- it just took me a bit to handle it, I think. To get over myself cause I know it’s safe and I trust you. It’s just that the idea of getting eaten has been drilled into my head as ‘horrifying and deadly’ for so long that I just lost it for a bit. Fun part of being raised by a traditional colony, am I right? Sorry for kicking you, by the way.” “Don’t worry about that, man.” Schlatt responded, lightly pressing in on his stomach as if asking Charlie if he was ok with contact now. When he didn’t get a negative response from Charlie, he pressed a bit harder and began rubbing where he felt his friend. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling like right now. I mean, getting swallowed whole? By a creature over ten times bigger than you? That sounds downright fuckin terrifying. That’s some hollywood horror movie bullshit. I don’t even want to imagine what me choking on you felt like from your point of view. I have the easy job, you got eaten alive, you have every right to have panicked. But…I am glad you trust me that much.” “Thanks, cause I do. And for the record; i’m feeling wet. Very wet and sticky and I can just tell that my fucking glasses are fogged up even though it’s dark enough that i shouldn’t care, but i do.” Charlie complained, making Schlatt laugh.

More awkward silence.

“Why the fuck did you do that??” Schlatt asked suddenly, and Charlie groaned, pushing his glasses into his face with the heels of his palms. Despite the lack of clarification, he knew exactly what Schlatt was asking about. “I don’t know, dude, I panicked! I just…” Charlie sighed, dropping his hands. “He deserves to know. And no better time than the present, I guess. Besides, I have actually been thinking about it. Maybe if he takes it well, we can make it public and some fans will be able to see that we borrowers aren’t what they think we are.” “And if he doesn’t?” “I…I don’t know.” Charlie admitted. “I want to think that he’ll try to change how he thinks of me for the sake of our friendship, but I truly just don’t know.”

“Well, I’m behind you, whatever happens.” Schlatt said. Charlie smiled. “I know.” he answered, confident and happy in knowing that he truly did believe that.