#will i be wearing anything else? who knows

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 || read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader's vacation continues and lines start to blur. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, sexual tension, blow jobs, smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair (will add more as I add more parts)

note: happy new year to all of you, and sorry for the long wait! I was completely flashed by the love you showed for part 1 (THANK YOU!!!), and wanted to live up to your expectations. I’ll try to write part 3 as quickly as possible! Sorry if there's any typos, I edited this while severely hungover

The afternoon at the beach was relaxing and lighthearted after you agreed with Joel and stopped studying so much, and you find that apart from having a body that makes you clench your thighs together, he’s interesting to talk to. He doesn’t give you the same bullshit about university and acting responsibly, but rather accepts that there are things you dislike about your degree. He doesn’t offer advice on how to learn to enjoy those things, he just nods when you tell him you’ve learnt to deal with them. He treats you like an adult, someone who makes their own informed choices – something your life has been sorely lacking.

You head back to the rooms in comfortable silence, and you enjoy the way Joel’s arm almost grazes yours. When you think about the flutter in your stomach for too long it’s ridiculous, but it’s so easy to leave behind the morals and expectations of home when all you’re facing right now is an all-inclusive dinner and as many cocktails as you want. You aren’t planning on getting drunk if Joel isn’t, but you want to have fun tonight. You haven’t been on a real vacation in ages.

 You take another shower once you’re in your room, wash away the sunscreen and sea salt, until your hair is all soft again and you smell like shampoo. The hotel restaurant isn’t super fancy, but you feel like putting in a little effort, so you pick out a black dress you like, and wear your sandals again. You wonder if you’ll get cold – the days are burning hot, but at night there’s a cool breeze that might make you regret your choice of clothes. Fuck it, you think, you haven’t had an occasion to dress up in ages, and getting Joel all flustered again sure seems like reason enough. You grab your purse, phone and keycard, and head to the door.

Joel opens his door at the same time you do, and you swallow when you see he’s changed outfits, too. His hair is slightly damp and all curly, he’s wearing black jeans and a simple black t-shirt with an unbuttoned, flowy linen shirt over it. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. It’s stylish. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to look stylish.

"Wow," you say with a smile. "You clean up nice."

Joel just huffs, but his eyes ghost over your dress for a second too long. He doesn’t answer.

When you get to the restaurant, Joel pulls out your chair for you, which earns him a blinding smile. Stylish and a gentleman, who would have thought? Back home he always seemed like a grumpy lumberjack to you, and although you do find him excruciatingly attractive in his flannels, you’re intrigued to find out what else you didn’t know about him.

"Is it really all-inclusive?", you ask, gazing at the menu and not quite believing you can order anything you’d like and not pay for it. 

"Sure. You want a cocktail?"

"If you’ll have one with me?"

Joel holds your gaze, but shakes his head.

"I think I prefer whiskey over that sweet stuff," he says, and you make a face.

"Fine, whiskey it is, then," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You don’t have to drink what I’m drinkin’. Have a cocktail."

This time you’re the one to shake your head.

"It’s no fun, having cocktails on your own. But I haven’t had whiskey in ages, maybe I like it better now."

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches.

"Ages, huh? How long have you been allowed to drink again?"

You smile, but don’t dignify his question with an answer, and after a moment Joel chuckles and looks back at the menu.

"Fine, I’ll have a Gin Fizz," he says, looking up again. "You?"

He wants to order a cocktail, just so that you can enjoy having one, too. Your stomach flutters.

"Joel, you don’t have t-"

"I know I don’t. I’m having a Gin Fizz."

There’s a finality to his tone, but his voice is friendly. You give him a reluctant smile, one that isn’t ironic or half-joking. He smiles back, and leans back in his chair, eyes still on yours. You study the menu again, this time having a closer look at the cocktails.

"Sex on the beach," you say seriously, and Joel snorts.

"Clever."

***

You do end up drinking a sex on the beach, and Joel actually enjoys his gin fizz. The food is delicious, Joel lets you try a piece of his steak and you offer him a bite of your fish, but he declines with a disgusted look on his face that makes you grin. No seafood for Joel Miller, then.

Joel orders you another cocktail when the waiter clears your plates, and you smile to yourself. He’s being courteous.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Miller?", you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I think you’re managin’ that without my help."

He’s right, of course – your long day of traveling makes the buzz in your head more prominent, and although you’re nowhere near drunk, your tongue is a little looser than usually, and you find it much easier to hold Joel’s eye-contact.

"I’m glad I came here," you say all of a sudden, the thought fleeting, but true. "I needed a break."

Joel’s smile is honest, when he answers.

"I’m glad you came, too. It’d be boring, bein’ here on my own."

"Right," you say, "who would get you to drink cocktails? You’d be stuck drinking disgusting whiskey and wallowing in your loneliness."

Joel smiles, shaking his head slightly, and takes a sip of his Gin.

"You wanna head down to the beach?", you ask when your glasses are empty and you feel a little woozy from the second cocktail. Joel looks surprised.

"I love the sea at night," you say a little dreamily, voice trailing off.

"Sure. Let’s go," Joel just answers.

The air outside is cool, just like you anticipated, and you shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep the goosebumps at bay. Joel notices, and immediately shrugs out of his linen shirt, handing it to you. You stare at him.

"Take it," he insists, and you do, the fabric soft in your hands. You slip it on, the sleeves coming down to your fingertips, the collar smelling of Joel’s cologne. You wonder why it took you two cocktails to notice how good he smells. When you’re done rolling up the sleeves, you look up and find Joel watching you quietly. Your eyes meet – he looks away, and starts walking again.

You’re pleasantly tipsy, walking to the beach at night, wearing Joel Miller’s clothes and brushing his arm with yours every once in a while. It feels a little surreal.

"Aren’t you cold now?", you ask after a couple of minutes of quiet.

"No," Joel answers, his voice a little rougher than before, "’sides, you wear it better anyway."

You flush, and when you don’t answer, he looks at you.

"Jesus, sorry," he mumbles. "I didn’t…it slipped out. Just meant you look pretty, is all."

Your stomach swirls pleasantly, and you want Joel to put his arm around your shoulder, or kiss you, or take that shirt off again. You clear your throat.

"Thanks," you answer quietly, toying with the hem of the shirt. "I think you wore it well, too, though. Suits you."

Joel doesn’t answer, but when you glance at him, you notice the ghost of a smile on his face, half-hidden by his patchy beard.

You walk the rest of the way in contemplative silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. You’re always amazed to see the sea at night. The darkness somehow elevates its vastness, water and sky bleeding into each other at the near invisible horizon. It’s easy to forget about your exams here, with the whole expanse of the planet spread out before you, the relentlessly calm sound of the waves, and Joel’s scent in your nose. You sit down on an abandoned deck chair and watch Joel walk up to the water, pick up a seashell, and drop it into the water again. He seems content to be here, you think. Relaxed. You don’t know him well, but his body language seems more at ease than it did back home. Perhaps you’re not the only one who needed a break.

You get up again, and walk over to Joel, who smiles when he sees you coming.

"You were right," he says, "it’s different in the dark."

You know he means the sea, the beach, the lack of people around, the sand that burned your feet only hours ago now having a cooling effect. Still, his words leave room for interpretation and you don’t miss the way his gaze moves over your form in his shirt.

"Thanks for the cocktails," you say quietly, "and the shirt."

Joel looks over at you, but you don’t have the guts to look at him. You can’t quite be sure what the moonlight and scenery will make you do, not when he’s never looked more handsome, and you’re more than tipsy.

"You’re welcome," he says honestly. "I know you’re doin’ this for your Dad more than anything, but I hope you’re still havin’ fun."

He’s self-conscious, or something close to it, wondering how he could make this trip more enjoyable for you – so he orders cocktails he doesn’t like and lets you wear his clothes.

"I am having fun," you reassure him. "I’m at the beach at night wearing a guy’s shirt who got me all the cocktails I wanted, instead of studying at my desk for the millionth night in a row."

Joel chuckles.

"My Dad should break his leg more often," you sigh, digging the heel of your foot into the sand. Joel doesn’t answer.

When you walk back to the hotel, you feel the ghost of his hand on your lower back, not touching, but lingering, as if he instinctively wants to stir you in the right direction, or keep you from stumbling. It makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.

You pass reception to get to the elevators, and the same woman is still there, smiling when he recognizes you.

"You two enjoying the sea?", she asks.

"Very much, thank you," you answer, "we had cocktails and walked to the beach."

The lady looks pleased at how happy you seem and smiles at Joel.

"I’m glad to hear it! Well, you two enjoy your Daddy-daughter trip," she says, before answering the telephone that starts ringing just as you’re about to say good-night.

Joel’s brows are furrowed when you look at him, which makes you suppress a grin. The lady assuming he’s your father is clearly bothering him, and you get the feeling it might not entirely be about his age.

When you’ve made it up to your rooms, you turn to Joel to find him already watching you. He looks different here, in the harsh light of the corridor, dark shadows falling over his features, his form somehow looking broader.

"Breakfast at nine?", he asks you, voice quiet so as not to disturb any other guests in their rooms.

"Yeah," you say, and before you can change your mind, you kiss his cheek. His expression is unreadable, when you pull away.

"Goodnight," you say with a tired smile, before teasingly adding "Daddy."

Joel holds your eye contact, and doesn’t flush this time.

"Careful," he says gently, voice low and dark. You swallow.

Before you can forget, you shrug off his shirt, but Joel doesn’t move to take it from your outstretched hand. After a beat, his eyes flicker over your face.

"Keep it," he says curtly, "I like it on ya."

And then he’s gone, the door to his room shutting with a soft thud. You shake your head slightly, and press the soft linen fabric against your nose, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat. You ache just at the thought of it having touched his skin, and him now wanting to see you in it, but it would feel like a violation if you relieved that ache now, even if Joel wasn’t there, so you ignore the dull throbbing between your legs best as you can and go to bed with Joel’s shirt right next to your bed.

***

The next morning you feel a little nervous about breakfast – something shifted between you and Joel after your good-bye in the hallway. He seemed so sure of himself when he told you he liked you in his shirt, so unwavering, and you’re a nervous wreck just thinking about saying good morning to him.

Instead of putting on the white sundress you wore yesterday, you slip into a bikini, a pair of comfortable shorts, and Joel’s linen shirt, half unbuttoned so that your necklace peeks out. This time you leave the sleeves un-rolled, liking how big it feels on you, a constant reminder of Joel’s size.

You wash your face and brush your teeth, but don’t shower since you’re going to have to do that in the evening anyway. Although you’re mostly excited to see Joel again, you also can’t wait to have your morning coffee and something to eat – you hope the breakfast buffet will be as good as dinner was.

You wait for Joel in the hallway, but when he doesn’t come out of his room, you knock on his door.

"One second," his voice comes from inside, and you wait leaning against the wall just like he did the day before. When he opens the door, you can’t suppress a smile – his hair is charmingly tousled from his sleep, he clearly didn’t know what to do with it without taking a shower first.

"Nice hair," you say, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel doesn’t answer, with his brows slightly furrowed he keeps staring at you. Anxiety floods your veins, and you wonder if it was the best idea to dress the way you did, if Joel might think of it as strange or creepy or pathetic.

"You’re wearing my shirt," he says, voice quiet and still rough from sleep. It’s not a question, just a statement, no judgement behind it. You swallow, watching his brown eyes trail over your arms, torso, your shorts.

"Yeah," you answer timidly, fighting the urge to cross your arms. "You said you liked it on me."

Joel’s eyes snap up to yours, and with all the courage you can muster up, you hold his gaze for several long seconds.

"I did."

Again, just a statement. One that doesn’t require an answer, but you feel like shrinking under Joel’s gaze, so you offer him an out out of the situation.

"I’ll take it off, if you want me to," you mutter, and quickly add "I’ll put on something else."

Joel watches you quietly, and finally runs a hand through his messy hair.

"No need, kid," he says with a defeated sounding exhale. "’M glad ya like it."

***

Breakfast is a welcome distraction from whatever happened in the hallway – you drink too much coffee, and try all of the delicious food offered: bacon and eggs, colorful fruit you have never seen before, yoghurt and pancakes. Joel sticks to coffee and toast, though he does steal one of the peaces of fruit from your plate.

"I’ll get one more cup," you say when you have drained the last of your coffee, and Joel chuckles.

"Might as well do a line," he says and you snort, but stay seated – he’s right, you should watch your caffeine intake. He watches you, and after a second raises an eyebrow.

"I didn’t mean anything by it. You drink as much coffee as you want."

His voice is apologetic and soft.

"No, I’ll do as you say," you answer, "or I’ll die of heart failure."

Something flashes over his face at those words, but you can’t pinpoint it. Still, your stomach flutters, when Joel doesn’t break the eye-contact.

After breakfast the two of you get your towels and the rest of your beach-belongings from your rooms, and Joel changes into his trunks again. You walk past reception quietly, the lady from the day before isn’t there, and Joel’s arm brushes against yours casually. Suddenly you wish you weren’t wearing his shirt, just to feel his skin against yours. It’s a little pathetic.

Joel gets you two deckchairs – the beach is still relatively empty – and you put on sunscreen. When you’re done with your limbs and stomach, you offer Joel the bottle.

"Do my back, please?"

"Sure," he mutters, taking the bottle from you, and gently stroking your hair out of the way. He’s quiet, holding you steady by the shoulder when you instinctively squirm away from the initial cold of the liquid on your skin, his hands calloused but gentle. From time to time, his fingers slip under the shoulder straps of your bikini, and you feel heat pool between your legs when he starts covering your lower back in sunscreen. His hand is dangerously close to the waistband of your swimsuit.

"All done," he says, closing the bottle. You raise an eyebrow.

"Don’t need sunscreen," he explains, "I don’t burn easy."

"You’ll get skin cancer," you argue. "Everybody needs sunscreen."

He huffs, but hands you the bottle and turns around to sit down on the deckchair. You watch his beautiful back, the way the skin ripples over his muscles, how broad and solid it seems. You squirt some of the sunscreen onto your hand and apply it to Joel’s shoulders, rubbing gently. He relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his muscles, and you move your hands more deliberately, focusing on his shoulders, until Joel’s head falls forward slightly, giving into the sensation.

"Good?", you ask, a little shy.

Joel hums, and you wonder if his eyes are closed, if he’s enjoying your touch so much he can’t form a full sentence. You dig the heels of your palms into his muscles, the sunscreen making the slide easy. His skin his littered in freckles and birthmarks, marked by years of working under the sun.

"You always apply sunscreen like that?", Joel asks suddenly, and you flush.

"Most people aren’t this tense," you quip back, fingers gliding over Joel’s neck. "Actually, nobody’s ever been this tense, I think."

He shakes his head slightly, but lets you carry on, working your way down his back, the tan line of his trunks visible and oh so tempting. You imagine pulling them down and try to refrain from clenching your thighs together.

When you’re done, Joel’s muscles feel a little looser, more relaxed, and he turns around to look at you.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and you nod. Now that he can see you, look you directly in the eye, it feels almost absurdly bold to have touched him like that. Still, things have started to unravel a little. Lines have blurred.

Although you don’t know where you get the courage from, you hold his gaze, put one hand on his shoulder, and squeeze.

"Any time, Joel," you answer, and watch him swallow. Then, his own hand comes up to yours, and you half think he’s going to remove yours, but he just loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist, eyes not leaving yours.

"That’s a dangerous game you’re playin’, kid," he says quietly, but doesn’t let go of you. You hope he never does.

"Do you…want me to stop?", you ask him, because you will if this is making him uncomfortable, if you read him wrong. He’s silent for a second.

"No," he says so quietly it’s almost inaudible. His thumb starts moving over your wrist, right over the pulse point, and it makes you weak in the knees. You didn’t know a touch as small as that one could be so erotic, but with Joel it seems, everything is. You fight to not let a whimper escape your mouth, and close your eyes for just a second.

"God," Joel mutters, more to himself than to you, "look at you."

Your eyes snap open when you feel him move, hand still locked around your wrist securely, and suddenly he’s towering over you. You gaze up at him, his eyes bright under the blazing sun, his hair still tousled, his beard patchy and flecked with grey. He’s all man, in a way you didn’t know you found desirable before him, but there is undeniable proof of your want leaking into your swimsuit, sticky and hot between your thighs.

He watches you, intense eyes moving over your face, your eyes, your mouth, your hands, your body in your nicest swimsuit, your throat as you swallow. His other hand comes up to stroke the hair away from your neck, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. Joel almost chuckles, but it’s more the ghost of a breath. You flush.

"It’s fucking stupid to go through with this," Joel says seriously, like he wants to inform you of it – as if you don’t know.

"Yes," you breathe, because he’s completely right.

"Your Dad would kill me, and rightly so," he adds.

"Oh, fuck my Dad," you answer, trying to reach out to touch Joel, but your wrist is still tightly locked in his grasp. You tug a little, but he doesn’t budge.

"You doin’ this to get back at him?"

You detect something in his voice you don’t like – uncertainty.

"No, Joel," you breathe, "God, no. Have you looked into a mirror recently?"

That makes him smile, and you wonder if he gets compliments a lot, but by the way his cheeks gain color, you don’t think he does. Stupid, stupid world, stupid people who came before you. He should be told every second of the day.

"It’s still stupid,“ he says, but his eyes are more intense than before now. You’re on holiday, away from all judgement. You can do whatever you want to do to each other.

"Thought I was the smart one in my family," you tease, reminding him of his words on the plane. You want him to lean down and finally kiss you, or throw you down on the deckchair and fuck you right there, your face pressed into his linen shirt. His thumb keeps moving over your wrist, relentlessly building tension.

"Take me to your room," you whisper, eyes wide, and anticipation pooling deep in your belly. Joel curses.

"You have any idea of the things I wanna do to you?"

His voice is low, dangerous, and you’d be at least a little afraid if this one anyone else. But it’s Joel, who lets you hate your degree without judgement, drinks cocktails he doesn’t like just so you can enjoy yourself, and through his permission allows you to stop studying, lets you enjoy this trip.

"Do them," you breathe, "I’ll let you do anything."

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid," he answers, and finally lets go of your wrist, one hand coming to rest on your waist, tugging you towards him, the other gently cradling your face. His breath ghosts over your mouth, and then he brushes your lips with his in a needy, slow kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth and you open up for him willingly. He tugs your hips against him, making you whimper and feel his bulge dig into your stomach.

The only thing keeping you from pulling him out of his swimming trunks right then is the fact that there are people around, and you’re pushing it already with the way his hands grasp at your skin and his tongue licks in your mouth. Any further and you could be arrested for public indecency.

"Please," you ask him between kisses, "Please, Joel, just take me to your room."

His teeth dig into your lower lip, and you fight a moan.

"Ask me again," he says, voice a little wrecked, and the need you feel for him deep in your stomach burns white hot. He wants you to beg.

"Please," you say, like he isn’t stripping you of your dignity instead of your clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when Joel groans at the sound.

"Alright, kid. I’ve got you.“

[wandaslittleweirdo]

Whisper

⋆⋆౨ৎ pairing: 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚡!𝚣𝚘𝚘𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary: On a still, quiet night in your remote cabin, you relax on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and your favourite childhood movie. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside is followed by three sharp knocks on your door. You peek through the curtain to find your ex-girlfriend, Zooey Kern, standing out in the cold on your porch. You reluctantly allow her inside, but the night quickly spirals into something far darker than you could’ve ever expected.

warnings: noncon, top!zooey, dirty talk, praise kink, obsessive exes, forced intoxication, toxic relationships, pet names (bunny, baby, sweetheart, etc), manipulation, fingering, zooey takes photos of you nakey TwT, a sprinkle of after care for the little softie in me

A/N: happy new years to the sick adorable cuties who like my blog !!! sorry I didn’t upload anything for Christmas, was busy >_> — masterlist.

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this is a dark fic. 18+. wlw. men & minors dni!

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You’re nestled on your couch, your feet propped up on the worn-out wooden coffee table, a knitted throw blanket draped over your legs with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows in your hands. You’ve always loved your own company, preferred it even, the silence and the space giving you a sense of comfort and order. The film's soundtrack played, a soft, cheerful backdrop to your peaceful evening. The plot is familiar, a fantasy movie you had watched every year since you were a child—it was comfort food for the soul, the kind that didn't require much thought.

As you slowly took a sip of your drink, the sound of something outside startles you.

These weren’t the usual little crunchy noises of a wild animal in the snow or creaks on your porch made from the old floorboards. These were powdery-like sounds of someone moving through the snow, and thumps made by boots. Footsteps, clumsy but unmistakable. The steps were followed by three distinct knocks, a shuffle, and then silence. You paused the movie, your eyes narrowing slightly.

Who could be out at this hour, especially in the hushed embrace of the woods? The isolation of the towering surrounding trees didn’t usually invite unexpected visitors. You slowly tip toe over to the window and crack open the curtain, the sight of your ex girlfriend causing you to gasp and snap the curtain right back into place.

You frowned. This wasn’t the Zooey you remembered. Her blonde hair once always controlled waves now a mess of tangles, and her body swayed, clearly struggling to keep her balance.

You let out a scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. How did she find you here, in the middle of nowhere? You hadn’t spoken or seen each other in a year.

You approach the door cautiously, wondering if the woods had finally led you into insanity and hallucinations.

The peephole provides a distorted view, but you know it’s her. The woman you used to love with all your heart and more, in all her disheveled glory, waiting at your door and looking up at the stars with a gaze softer than you had ever seen it.

She stood there, silhouetted by the moon as she pushed one of her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She chews her bottom lip while her eyes wander over your seasonly decorated porch, reaching out to fiddle with the antlers of a wooden reindeer you had sat on your porch swing.

You unlock the door, swinging it open with an emotionless stare. The crisp night air hits your face, bringing with it the faint scent of pine and something else... alcohol?

She's wearing a brown leather jacket with fur detailing, unzipped to show a white tank top hidden underneath, paired with simple dark blue jeans. Your eyes then fall to her necklace, delicate and silver with a heart pendant intertwined with another. Your stomach twists when you remember it’s the one you gave her for your two year anniversary.

Her eyes snapped to yours when she heard the creak of the door opening. She seems surprised for a moment, but her stunned expression was quickly replaced with a lopsided smile. "Hey, bunny!” She slurs, the confidence that once made her so irresistible now marred by a tipsy wobble.

You fold your arms and lean against the doorframe, blocking her entrance. "What are you doing here, Zooey?"

She tries to straighten up but fails, her hand reaching out to the porch railing to steady herself. "We haven’t talked in forever, Y/N. I wanted to see you.” She replied simply, her voice a little too loud for the quiet night.

You feel a twinge of pity, but the hatred from last year flares up again, causing you to grimace. “Okay, you’ve seen me. Bye now.”

Zooey's eyes widen, and she stumbles forward, her hand shooting out to grab the door. "Wait, I can’t go.”

You took a step back when she suddenly lunged forward, avoiding any close proximity with your hand tight on the doorknob. "Why not?"

She takes a deep breath before answering. "I don't know. I was driving to come see you, found a liquor store, stopped to buy some, and then I was driving again. Then I found a liquor store..." She trailed off, her speech slurred as her brows knitted together. Rolling your eyes, you fight the urge to slam the door in her face.

"And then what, Zooey?" you huffed, making it clear that you don’t have the patience or tolerance for her like you used too.

Her eyes refocus and she blinks rapidly. "Then my car broke down, but I realised I was close enough to walk. So here I am!” She says with a dramatic flourish, as if revealing a grand secret.

"Zooey, it's the middle of the night, you're drunk, and you expect me to just let you in after what you did?”

Her eyes widen even more, a look of shock flashing across her face as if she expected you to drop everything and help her like you used too. "B-but, baby, I just—“ She wobbles again, this time almost falling over. You can't help but catch her, the old instincts kicking in.

You groaned, propping her up by wrapping an arm around her waist and moving her arm to rest around your neck. "My god, Zooey,” you sighed, carefully leading her inside.

Zooey giggles as you guide her to the couch. “Sit down. Watch out for the rug.” She plops herself down and sprawls her legs out in front of her.

“You were never the one to give me orders, remember?" She smiled as her eyes ran around the room. The same old couch, the same knick-knacks on the shelves. But everything is in an entirely different home, away from the place she broke your trust and abandoned her loyalty.

“Just stay there, I’ll get you some water,” You called out as you walked into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

By the time you return, Zooey has made herself fully comfortable, watching your movie with droopy eyes and munching on one of your half-eaten chocolate chip cookies. You hold out the bottle to her, and she takes it with a sleepy smile. "Thank you bunny," she murmurs, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

You continue to ignore the nicknames, taking a seat on the single chair opposite the couch. "The guest room is ready, sleep in there." You deadpan. Zooey's smile fades, and she looks over at you in confusion.

"What?" She asked, setting the water on the coffee table without taking a sip.

"You’re sleeping in the guest room," you cross your legs as you lean back into your chair. "You're not staying in my room. I don’t trust you.”

"But I miss you," she whines, but you only shrug.

"Missing me doesn’t mean anything," you reply coldly. "Your car broke down, it’s too far out of town to call anyone at this time of night, and you aren’t sleeping in my bed. So, the guest bedroom or your car. That’s your choice, I couldn’t care less.”

“Why are you being so mean, Y/N/N?” The subtle pout on Zooey's face is the same one you used to find endearing, but now it only fuels your annoyance. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Zooey, we broke up because you’re a cheat. You took any sort of respect I had for you, this is your fault."

But she doesn’t seem to hear your harsh tone. "That Ruby friend of yours? She lied to you, she wants you for herself. I still love you, Y/N. Only you.” She whispers, her eyes searching yours, looking for something that isn't there anymore.

Your eyes widen, the words hitting you like a punch in the gut. You had been split up for over a year, and as far as you know, she wasn’t bothered to even try and contact you. Her eyes are genuine, but the alcohol clouds their depth, making it hard to discern truth from drunken rambling.

"Love?" You repeat, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. "You have a funny way of showing it." You stand up from your chair and hurriedly walk to the kitchen, hoping she’ll recognise your need for space. But she follows anyway, her movements inept and awkward from the alcohol.

“Go to sleep, Zooey.” You clenched your fists, but she persists, wobbling after you like a lost puppy. "Come on, Y/N!” she slurs again, a hopeful look in her eyes. "Can we talk? Please, my love.."

"We're not doing this, Zooey." You say through gritted teeth as you grab a bottle of wine and a clean glass from your top cabinet, unsure if you could continue talking to her sober without someone getting hurt.

Zooey sighs dramatically and leans against the counter. "I just want to talk to you.”

You shake your head, your hand tightening around the bottle. "Talk about what? You’ve said a lot already and you’ve invaded my space. I should be kicking you out right now.” You pour yourself a generous glass, bringing the cup to your lips and taking a large gulp.

Zooey's eyes follow the movement, her gaze trained on your lips. "We can talk about anything," she said quietly, reaching out to touch your arm again. "Everything. I just want to be close to you again.”

She tried to place her hands on your waist, but you jerk away from her touch, the revulsion clear in your expression. "Don’t touch me.” You hissed. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even hear me? I’m saying no and you’re talking crazy! You don’t love me and you don’t miss me. You miss controlling me. You’re sick.”

Her eyes harden almost immediately, as if you had flipped a switch inside of her. You see the anger that starts to seep through her irises, and you felt a pit form in your stomach. She leans in closer, the smell of cheap alcohol overwhelming your senses.

"I’m going to bed," you announce, your voice a little shakier than you wanted it to be. You make a move to step around her, but she mirrors that action, blocking you with her towering frame. The kitchen suddenly feels claustrophobic, the walls closing in on you as you tense and stare into her chest, refusing to look up and meet her eyes.

"I've had enough of your shit.” Her voice is lower than before, your heart skipping the same way it used to when you heard that tone.

"You think you're tough now, but you're still that fragile, weak little girl that let me break her heart over and over again a year ago." She pushed her finger into your chest, poking at the tender spot where your heart used to flutter when she said sweet nothings. Your eyes water, and she doesn’t miss it, the corner of her mouth twitching into a wicked smile as she watches you shrink.

Your eyes flicker up to her face, your vision blurred from the tears in your eyes. "I've changed, Zooey." But your voice is weak, showing the truth behind your words. She's right. You’re still the same, but every part of you wishes you weren’t.

"Aw, see, look at that." Zooey's tone held its teasing edge, her fingers reaching out to wipe away the tear that had spilled down your cheek. You flinched at her touch, your body instinctively recoiling from the warmth of her skin . “You're still that sensitive baby you were when I left.”

Still avoiding her eyes, you clenched your jaw. "I'm not a baby, Zooey.” You mumbled.

She tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re so cute.” She chuckled as you bit your quivering lip, feeling the heat of the wine in your cheeks. Your eyes sting, and you blink back the tears, determined to not let her see you vulnerable. Although it was far too late. She could already see the crack in your shell, and she knew what to say to get you to break completely.

"Just leave me alone.” You said shakily, barely audible as you sniffled and wiped your leaky nose with your sleeve. She leans in closer, her breath warm and alcohol-laden against your cheek. "You don’t really want that though, do you? Somewhere deep down, you still want me to hold you, kiss you and love you." She cooed, ever so softly, her hands slipping around your waist except this time, you don’t fight.

You feel the salty sting of the tears run down your face, and for a brief moment, you let her hold you. You couldn’t tell if her touch was welcome or not as she wrapped her arms around your head so she could pull you into her chest and shushed you. She had created a space in your head where you truly believed you needed her, even when you went an entire year healing and barely thinking of her.

But the sob that rips through your body isn’t one of longing, but of sadness for what you’ve lost. Your self-respect and the naive belief in true love, the hope that one day she’d change and you’d be the perfect couple you had dreamt about in the beginning of your relationship.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You sobbed again, your voice hoarse from holding back your emotions.

"Because you're just so easy to be mean too, honey," she replied, her voice devoid of affection, her smile cold. You recoil from her grasp as if it burns, and she laughed lightly, a sound that rings in your ears.

She's right. You do still have feelings for her, a dark and twisted part of you that you had buried deep down, hoping it would rot away. But here it is, blooming again like a poisonous flower in the middle of the night.

"Come on, baby, just one more night," she cajoled, “You know you miss me.”

She gently pries the bottle from your fingers, twisting the cap off with ease. The liquid streams into your cup, filling it to the brim with a deep, rich red. She extends the cup toward you, her eyes shining with something you couldn’t put your finger on. "Don’t forget about your drink. It’ll help you feel better.” She reassured. Her voice is soothing, almost hypnotic, reminiscent of a serpent’s hiss, coaxing its prey with sweet promises of relief.

You pull back slightly as the alcohol fumes rise to tickle your nostrils, but the tremble in your hands gives you away. She chuckles softly, putting the cup back down and bringing the bottle up to your lips. “Open.” You obey and part your lips without thinking, feeling it warm your insides as she starts to guide you to the couch.

She sits you down and takes a seat on your lap, her legs straddling yours as she lightly pushes you to lean against the back of the couch. The weight of her body presses down on you, and you feel the strength in her thighs, the dominance in her touch as she strokes your hair just like she used to. "You know,” she started, “I never stopped thinking about you."

Her words made you want to cry more, and you take another gulp of wine, hoping the alcohol would wash away the pain and the doubt. You want to push her off of you, scream at her that she has no right to be here, but the warmth of her body is a comfort you haven’t felt in so long.

As you drink, her hand moves to rub your back, the motion gentle and slow. You hate how good it feels, how your muscles loosen under her caress. It’s been a year, but it’s as if no time has passed at all.

"Why are you.. here?" you mumble, your words slightly gargled and muffled from the drink she’s feeding you. Zooey tipped the bottle towards your mouth again, ready to ignore your question until you pulled back. She sighed, taking the bottle away from your pink stained lips.

"Because, my love, I know you. I know that under that cold exterior, you’re still the same girl who cried in my arms every time we fought." She pecks your lips. "And I know that no matter how much you say you hate me, there’s that little place in your heart where you still love me, even when I hurt you. I can’t get enough of it.”

You can't argue with the truth, so you don’t. Instead, you lean into her, letting the warmth of the wine and the familiarity of her presence seep into your bones.

Her hand moves from your back to cup your jaw, tilting it back to allow the wine to flow, her thumb brushing over your chin to catch a stray droplet. The gesture is so intimate, so loving, but her intentions are far from that.

A warm, electric buzz coursed through your body, each nerve ending alive with an intoxicating tingle. Your hands, heavy and unsteady, rested against the center of her chest, as if trying to push her away, though any real effort was utterly futile. The rich, velvety wine pumped through your veins, leaving you feeling achingly vulnerable and helpless, your strength sapped from the alcohol.

Zooey’s hand drops down to yours, squeezing a few times to ensure you don’t miss a word as she talks. She tells you about her travels, the adventures she’s had, the places she’s seen, and the moments she missed you and wished she could’ve shared with you.

Then you remember. The pain, the humiliation, the countless nights spent crying over her, and all the effort you made to live happily on your own. “Stop.”You mumble, moving your head to the side and attempting to scoot back further into the couch. But she doesn’t move, her grip on your hand tightening.

"Just one more, please. For me, darling." She murmurs softly as she nudges the cool glass bottle to your lips. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, urging you to resist, you find yourself surrendering to her charm, tilting your head back to take a long swig.

“There we go, you did so well. How do you feel now?” She asked before placing the empty bottle onto the coffee table behind her. You cough as the alcohol starts to blur the edges of your reality, feeling Zooey's hands move to your shoulders, her thumbs working into the tight muscles that have held years worth of tension. Your eyes flutter, your mouth parting slightly as a soft moan left your lips.

"I'm okay... you should go to sleep, you’re drunk." You waved her away, your gaze glazed over and confused as if suddenly lost in a distant fog. You made an attempt to stand up, but halfway to your feet, your knees buckled beneath you. You stumbled back, sinking into the soft cushions once more, the world around you swirling slightly.

"Oh, Y/N/N, look how sleepy you are. You need someone to take care of you."

One of her hands leaves your shoulder and moves to rest on your hip. You know you should stop her, that this isn’t the way to heal, but the words seem to jumble together as you try to speak.

Her other hand finds its way under the hem of your shirt, her nails gently scratching the skin of your tummy. "No..” you mumbled, but it's lost in the sound of her breathing, ragged and hot against your neck. You tried desperately to find her hands to push them away, but your vision and common knowledge is muddled from the alcohol.

"I don’t- stop," you try again, but it's weak, a feeble protest that she ignores. Her hand slides up, her thumb brushing against the bottom of your breast, and you suck in a breath, the chill of the air biting at your exposed skin. You buck your hips in an attempt to wriggle away, but the friction you received from her knee slotting between your thighs made you gasp.

"Zooey?…” You try to push her away again, but your muscles feel like they’ve turned to jelly. She chuckles, low and dark, her teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck.

"Shh," she soothed, her lips trailing further down as she spoke. "You're hurting. I'm taking care of you."

Zooey's hand moves upward to squeeze your breast, and you whimper loudly. It's a sound you hate, a sound of need and desire that you never thought you'd make again, not for her. But your body remembers the way she touched you, the way she could make you feel alive even when you were practically dead inside.

Her fingers play with the sensitive peak, and your breath hitches. You're not sure if you want her to stop or to keep going, but your body is betraying you, your breath quickening and your heart racing.

Zooey notices the subtle change in your breathing and smirks, taking it as a sign to continue. She inches closer, her breath warm against your skin, and captures your lips in a kiss that feels both achingly familiar and foreign. Your lips part on instinct, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping inside to reunite with yours.

She moans into your mouth, her hand underneath your shirt roughly groping and squeezing you. You move your head to the side and out of her reach, trying to form coherent words through the haze of alcohol.

"You’re so soft," she whispers, her voice a sultry murmur that warms the air between you. As she pulls her hand out from beneath your shirt, she grips your shoulders and gently maneuvers you, coaxing you to lay flat on your back.

In an effortless movement, she shifts so that her hips press against yours, her hands moving to unbutton your shirt with surprising deftness. The cold air hits your skin, sending a shiver through your body that she mistakes for excitement.

Her cold hand slides down your stomach, and you arch your back, a breathy moan escaping your throat as she pushes her hand into your pants and reaches your core, cupping you with her cold hand.

You’re laid out on the couch now, your legs kicking as she rubs you. Your panties are damp, clinging to you shamefully. The wine is doing its job, the buzz making it harder to resist her as she starts to pull down your pants with her free hand.

Hearing you moan her name again after so long made her growl, nipping at your bottom lip as she traced your slit through your thin panties. You can feel your body respond despite the horror of the situation, your pussy pulsing under her touch. "I can feel you," she husked. "You’re all wet and throbbing for me.”

"Zooey!" You whined loudly, struggling to tighten your muscles and tug your pants back up.

"Please, wait," you begged. Your heart hammers in your chest as you try to sit up, but she's too fast. Her hand whips up to your shoulder, her fingers digging into you as she shoved you back down.

"Don't you remember, baby? You used to beg for it. Every night. Zooey, I need you. Zooey, please touch me, right here…”

Your cheeks burn with a mix of humiliation and arousal as she recounts moments you'd buried under the weight of anger and resentment. Her fingers prod at your covered cunt, and you bit down hard on your lower lip to stifle a whimper.

She watched your chest rise and fall quickly as you panted, your cheeks and neck flushed and tear stained. "Tell me you need me."

You remember the passion, the heat, the desperation. But you also remember the betrayal, the pain, the coldness that settled in your chest like a rock when you heard she had been with someone else. "Stop it," you whisper, weakly trying to pull her hand away.

Her hand moves from your shoulder to your face, her thumb wiping away the tears that are now streaming down your cheeks. "Aw, but I don’t want to stop. I just want to make you feel good,"

You stare at her, your eyes glassy and distraught from the wine. Your body shakes with the effort to push her away, but she’s too far gone now. “Say it. Say you need me.” She pulls your panties to the side and her thumb circles your bare clit, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. "Please, Zooey.." you begged.

But she just smirks, her eyes sparkling as she slowly pushes two fingers inside of you. Her lips part and she sucks in a shaky breath hearing you gasp, your body twitching from the sudden intrusion. She moves them roughly, her thumb circling your sensitive bud as she invades you with a brutality that feels almost animalistic. You whimper, the pain mixing with a corrupt pleasure that makes you want to hate her even more.

“You’re so cute.” She kisses you again, her tongue finding its way back into your mouth, tasting of bitter wine. Her fingers work inside you, each stroke bringing a tear to your eye, a whimper to your throat. You want to stop it, want to push her away and tell her to leave, but your body won’t listen, your hips moving with her hand and your toes curling.

Her thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you can’t hold back the tiny moan that escapes your lips. The sound seems to fuel her, her hand moving faster, her fingers pumping into you skilfully.

"There it is," she breathes, "Just like that. Keep making those pretty noises for me,”

Her thumb works your clit in a brutal rhythm, her fingers plunging into your wetness as if she's trying to claim you again, to prove that she still owns you. You're close to the edge, so close, and you can feel it. You can feel it in the way your walls tighten around her fingers, the way your breaths are coming in short, desperate gasps.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, focusing on the pain, grounding yourself in it. You push another moan that's fighting to get out back down into the pit of your stomach, where it belongs. You don’t want her to hear it, to feed on it like a vampire craving for blood.

Her eyes narrow slightly, sensing your resistance, and speeds up her movements. You can feel your orgasm approaching, but you refuse to let it happen. You dig your nails into the couch cushions and squeeze your eyes shut. You bite down even harder on your cheek, the taste of coppery blood flooding your mouth. The pain helps, it’s something you can focus on, something to hold onto as she tries to pull you back into the abyss.

Her breathing is harsh in your ear, the hand that’s not inside of you snaking it’s way up to your neck, holding you in place. You can feel her hips moving, grinding urgently against your thigh.

"You can’t hold out on me for much longer, baby,” You try to push her away again, but she's too strong, her grip on your neck tightening. You feel your body start to give in, the beginnings of a climax threatening to overwhelm you.

"No no no," you say under your breath, trying to squeeze your thighs shut. She smiles, her hips rocking against you in time with her hand, her eyes looking for yours, watching the battle between your need for release and your need to resist her.

Your body arches upwards, a silent scream trapped in your throat as the orgasm rips through you, shuddering and raw. She grins, her eyes glowing with a twisted triumph as she feels you squirt around her fingers.

The room spins as she pulls away, leaving you gasping for breath. "There you go, sweetheart. Wasn’t that nice?” she readjusted her jacket as she stood up and reached for her phone on the table.

"What are you doing?" you rasp out.

"Just going too.. capture the moment,” she says with a wink. She opens the camera app, and before you can react, she points the back camera at your tear-stained face and your exposed, trembling body.

"Look who I found,"

Your heart sinks as you realize what she's doing. "Zooey, don’t," you warn, trying to shield your face with your hands. But she's too quick for you, snapping a few pictures with a cruel smile.

"Oh, come on, don’t be shy. You look so cute!" She praised. "It's been so long since I've had you all to myself like this."

Your face is the picture-perfect example of humiliation, flushed a deep shade of red that matches the bruises she left on your neck. Tears clung to your lashes, sparkling like diamonds in the low light, tracing paths down your cheeks to your neck. Your shirt is gaping open, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and the smooth plane of your stomach, your jeans pulled down just enough to expose the skin of your upper thighs.

"Please, Zooey," you hiccup, your voice hoarse and pleading. She ignores your pleas, taking a few more shots, zooming in to ensure she didn’t miss a single detail.

You feel more exposed than ever with the cold, clinical flash bouncing off your skin. You attempt to sit up, but your legs are jelly, and your strength is waning.

"What are you going to do with those?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“They’re just for me, honey. A little souvenir of our reunion. You don’t mind, do you?” Zooey’s voice is sweet, but there’s a bite to it that makes you tense. She sits on the edge of the couch, flipping through the images with a sadistic smirk.

She tucks her phone away with a dramatic sigh. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, darling. It’s a New Year, I’d hate for you to stay like this.” She says, her tone switching to something strangely close to affectionate. She walks away to grab a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom and returns to your side, her movements surprisingly gentle. You flinch as she wipes away the tears and the smudged makeup, and again when she uses a different cloth to clean up your other sticky mess.

Zooey carefully dresses you in a festive Christmas sweater that you had neatly folded in your top drawer. You watch her in a daze, unable to process what's happening. She tugs it down over your head, the smell of fabric softener and her woody perfume a painful reminder of happier times.

"There, you look much better.” She says, stepping back to admire her work.

With a sigh, Zooey sits beside you, her hand finding its way to your thigh. "You know, I missed this," she whispers, gently taking your chin between her fingers and turning your head to look up at her. "Missed having you here, all the time, right next to me.”

Her hand moves higher, her thumb tracing the edge of the sweater, grazing the valley of your breasts. You stiffen and your breathing stops when her fingers brush against your throat. She chuckles when she catches your reaction, and leans in, her lips brushing against yours.

“Happy new year, bunny.”

⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘

[doraambrose]

This hurts my heart more than anything. I am an ally and an activist for everyone to have the same basic human rights as human beings. I'm a cis woman, but i know so many people who are trans that are the best people, but you dont have to know someone trans to know that they are humans just like us cis people. My dad is a trans woman (she and I had a discussion and she's fine with me still calling her dad) and she really is a perfect example for me of how trans people are just like everyone else. People like to showcase the extra flamboyant (which isn't even a bad thing either) in a stupid attempt to paint the trans community a certain way, but most trans people are just normal everyday people with families and jobs. My dad had some major depression for a good portion of my life, and is so much happier now that she feels like who shes meant to be. My dad likes to wear conservative dresses and pantsuits and minimal makeup. She works a 9 to 5 job, she loves dogs and cats, classic rock, video games, and her children more than anything. I love my dad and I'd hate to see her rights get stripped away and her safety in danger just because she's finally happy in her own skin. And i know so many people in this world have similar stories and loved ones who are trans who feel the same way. So please spread the news and keep up the good fight to maintain rights for everyone ❤️

Don't Fall for this scam.

Transgender community, please please please do NOT use this product! It will kill you if used, please do not use it whatsoever.

Please reblog and spread the word

[tfwbluu]

KINKS

PAIRING — heeseung + f!reader

WARNINGS — praising/degrading, indirect mentions of exhibitionism, there’s safe words involved but its not directly mentioned

WORDCOUNT — 0.6K

NOTE — more kink talk people, u guys are Hornee. making a whole masterlist for all of enha for this so yeah. . lmk if i missed anything in the warnings !

He’s definitely a service top. Always prioritizes your pleasure over his own, because making you feel good gets him off too. The sweetest boy, he’d follow your lead but not without a bit of teasing here and there. Be a good girl, and he’ll treat you like royalty.

“Feels good, baby?” he asked, watching you writhe beneath him. “You sound so pretty… are you close? Cum f’ me.”

“Is this where you want me to touch?” he teased, rubbing your clothed pussy. “I need words, baby. Guide me, and I’ll follow every command.”

Hair pulling was his weakness. He loved the way it made you arch for him when he was pounding into you from behind, or how it gave him control when your lips were wrapped around him.

“Stop hiding, baby,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your face up. “Let me hear you.” Your choked moans spilled out, only fueling his desire.

Watching you suck his cock was a sight he couldn’t get enough of. “That’s it…” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he started thrusting into your mouth, losing himself in the pleasure.

Lingerie. He loves when you’re all dolled up for him in the prettiest sets, especially after a long day. He’d worship your body, leaving marks on every inch of skin exposed. Tease him while he’s practicing—just a little peek of lace under comfy clothes—and he’d lose his mind, dragging you to the studio to fuck.

“Shit, baby. Did you have to tease me like that?” he muttered, gripping your neck as he pounded into you from behind. “Wearing slutty lingerie under baggy clothes? You planned this, didn’t you? Well, now take it.”

Cockwarming. Whether he’s gaming or producing, he loves having you cockwarm him. He’ll tease you with light thrusts, loving the way you yelp. If you get too needy and start moving, he’ll immediately abandon everything else and take you properly.

“Sit still, baby,” he murmured, holding your hips as you sank down on him. “Be good, and I’ll reward you.”

But when you couldn’t, he’d mute his mic and toss his headphones aside before fucking you properly.

“Couldn’t stay still, huh?” he growled, thrusting up into you. “Don’t want them hearing what a cockslut you are for me, hmm?”

“Fuck, if you’re needy, just say so,” he groaned, thrusting up into you, his headset forgotten.

He thrived on the balance between praising and degrading you, alternating between the two as he drove you insane. He’d worship how good you felt, only to follow it up by calling you a needy slut, loving the way you clenched around him whenever he whispered filthy things in your ear.

“Your pussy’s taking me so well, princess,” he murmured, his thumb teasing your clit. “Always such a slut for my cock, hmm?”

“Shit… just a cocksleeve for me, yeah? You like it when I use you, baby?” he groaned, smirking as he felt you tighten around him.

Considering how busy he was, he never hesitated to drag you somewhere for a quickie. He didn’t care who was around—he just needed to feel you. You could be a good girl and not get caught, right?

“Shh, baby,” he hushed, covering your mouth with his hand as he pounded into you against the wall. “Don’t want us getting caught, do you?” When he felt you clench, his smirk deepened. “Oh? Does getting caught turn you on? My dirty girl, wanna show everyone what a cockslut you are for me?”

Corruption was his favorite game. You could act all innocent for him, but he knew your body better than you knew it yourself. He adored watching you fall into his trap, craving him more with every touch.

“You can tell me to stop, and I will… but I know you won’t, right?” he teased, his lips brushing over your skin as his hands squeezed your breasts.

“Haa… that’s it, angel,” he murmured, his smile dark and full of intent as he finally tugged your panties off. “Let me take care of you, make you feel so good.”

“Too much?” he teased, a sly grin on his lips. “You know what to say if you want me to stop, angel… but you haven’t,” he murmured, his fingers curling inside you as he coaxed out more of your juices, the squelching sounds only fueling his pace.

TAGLIST — @starcrescentisz

[l-starsz]

Cheater billie shows up at readers door begging for a second chance

a/n: i have an idea for a part 2 of this is anyone wants it🫶

i was so exhausted. i’d had the busiest day and had only just got home. best believe i was going to bed straight away. i immediately went to my bedroom, brushing my teeth before changing into pyjamas. i was practically falling asleep whilst i took my makeup off.

as soon as i turned my light out and laid down in bed, i let out the biggest sigh of relief. i didn’t even bother to check my phone as i put it on charge and just laid there. in silence. under all of my blankets. falling asleep. i was so relaxed until i heard my phone buzz a few times.

i obviously ignored it. nothing was interrupting my sleep. well that’s what i thought.. until there was a knock at my door. i was so tired that i just convinced myself that i didn’t hear it. but the knocking grew louder the more i ignored it.

i groaned and stood up out of bed, grabbing a blanket to wrap around me since i was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. i dragged myself over to the door, my eyes drooping as i slowly opened it. my eyes weren’t closing for long since they shot open as soon as i saw who was stood outside my door.

billie? i was honestly too tired for this. i shook my head as i noticed her eyes looked slightly teary.

“what?” i asked.

i was not in the mood to be talking to her. she cheated on me months ago and i’ve refused to speak to her since. she kissed another girl at a party whilst we were together. after i’d broke up with her, she was constantly calling and messaging me begging to talk but i ignored her. she eventually gave up, so what was different about today? why did she suddenly come back into my life? again.

“can i just come in please? i wanna talk.”

i rolled my eyes and opened the door wider for her to come in. once i’d shut the door and turned around, i noticed she was just standing there awkwardly. she was acting as if she hadn’t been in my house before.

i sighed and told her to sit down. we sat on the sofa as i just stared at her, waiting to hear what she had to say. she looked down and started messing with the rings that were scattered over her fingers. something she only ever did when she was nervous.

“what is it billie? why did you come here?” i mumbled.

“i- well- uh.. i came to say sorry. i know that isn’t gonna fix anything, i know i fucked up, but i miss you so bad. life isn’t the same without you and i know that’s my own fault, i don’t know what i was thinking!! just.. please can i have a second chance. i want to prove that the kiss meant nothing to me. i want to prove that you’re the only girl i’ve ever been completely in love with. please.” the words rushed out of her mouth as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

“billie. you cheated on me. you broke my heart. you hurt me so bad. i spent so long feeling like i was worthless and wondering what was wrong with me. you made me feel like i was unloveable, i tried so hard to be perfect for you and you kissed someone else. and now you think i’ll give you a second chance??” i spoke angrily as tears clouded my vision. i seriously could not believe what she’d said.

“i know. i understand that just coming here and saying sorry absolutely will not fix what i did. but please can you just consider it. i’ll do anything!! i’ve been so mad at myself for it. i miss waking up next to you. i miss being able to hold you and comfort you. i just miss you. i’ll make it up to you, no matter how long it takes. please.” she was practically sobbing at this point.

i just sighed and reached forwards, wiping the tears from her face, even though they continued to fall. she really did seem sorry. and she seemed so upset. i didn’t want to forgive her, i was still mad, but i couldn’t bare to see her so sad. it was her own fault, but maybe she could gain my trust again if she truly was sorry. if she really did care.

“please.” she whispered, looking into my eyes.

“i’m not saying no, but i’m not saying yes either. i mean, you cheated on me and how am i to know that you won’t do it again if i decide to trust you? how do i know that you won’t hurt me again? you just need to earn my trust back. okay? it’ll prove to me that you genuinely mean what you said.”

she nodded as i spoke, taking in every word and understanding what i meant. she sighed and dropped her head into her hands.

“i’m sorry that i fucked everything up. i promise i’m gonna make it up to you.” she mumbled.

“okay billie. thank you for apologising. now cmon, you need to go home because i’m exhausted.” we both stood up and walked over to the door.

“i’ll call you tomorrow?” she whispered.

“call me tomorrow bil.”

she nodded and i watched as she walked to her car, then she was gone.

i didn’t even know how to react. tears streamed down my face was i slowly made my way back to my bed. what if she hurt me again? why did i still care about how sad she was? my mind was racing as i just laid there, tears running across my face until i finally fell asleep.

[t0jisd0ll]

Yandere guitarist (male) head-cannons

cw: yandere traits, literally nothing else lol, this guy is a cutie pie <33

disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behaviour. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.

Yan!Guitarist, the golden-hearted lead guitarist of a local indie band, who’s always wearing the biggest, goofiest grin as he pours his soul into every performance.

Yan!Guitarist, who notices you for the first time mid-performance, nearly missing a chord when he catches you smiling and nodding along to the music.

Yan!Guitarist, who practically bounces off the stage after the set, rushing to find you with a slightly breathless, “Hey! Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part? Oh, wait—you don’t have to say the guitar solo, but… was it the guitar solo?”

Yan!Guitarist, who immediately lights up when you compliment his playing, his face going red as he scratches the back of his neck and stammers, “Aw, you’re just saying that… but, uh, thanks. Really.”

Yan!Guitarist, who finds himself thinking about you nonstop, his bandmates teasing him for how distracted he seems during rehearsals. (“Dude, you’re writing love songs now? Who’s the lucky person?”)

Yan!Guitarist, who starts inviting you to every gig, always making sure you get the best seat in the house, his face lighting up whenever he spots you in the crowd.

Yan!Guitarist, who doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s into you, constantly sending you cheesy texts like, “This riff reminded me of you!” or “Practicing is way harder when I can’t stop thinking about your smile.”

Yan!Guitarist, who gets adorably pouty when you’re too busy to hang out, sending you exaggerated sad selfies and messages like, “Guess I’ll just practice alone… again… 😢”

Yan!Guitarist, who can’t stand the thought of you spending time with anyone who might take you away from him. He’s not aggressive—just clingy, always finding ways to keep you close.

Yan!Guitarist, who drags you to band practice and lets you sit on the couch while he plays, throwing you shy but excited looks every time he nails a tricky solo. “Did you hear that? That was for you!”

Yan!Guitarist, who insists on walking you home after every show or late-night hangout, his arm slung protectively around your shoulders as he chatters about his dream of you being his permanent plus-one.

Yan!Guitarist, who becomes your personal cheerleader, hyping you up at every opportunity and making sure you know just how special you are to him.

Yan!Guitarist, who might seem soft, but when he sees someone flirting with you, his energy shifts. He’s quick to bound over, throw an arm around you, and cheerfully introduce himself as “their boyfriend!”

Yan!Guitarist, who has a habit of slipping his hoodie or jacket over your shoulders, murmuring, “You look better in this than I do. Actually, you look better in everything, so… just keep it?”

Yan!Guitarist, who doesn’t realize how possessive he’s become until he catches himself thinking things like, “They’re mine. They’re mine, right? They wouldn’t leave me… would they?”

Yan!Guitarist, who gazes at you with so much adoration it almost hurts, softly whispering, “You know I’d do anything for you, right? Just… promise me you’ll always stay by my side.”

Yan!Guitarist, who falls so hard and fast that he’s practically your shadow, trailing after you with boundless energy and endless affection, determined to keep you as the center of his world.

Yan!Guitarist, who might be golden retriever soft but will still bare his teeth at anyone who tries to come between him and his favorite person.

© t0jisd0ll on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time, and I take a genuine effort to do it.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

DUM SPIRO, SPERO – A DRABBLE

A request for my lovely mutual @thedancingcostumeyoungadult <33

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.9k words

Summary: After your secret lover, the gladiator Lucius, gets a minor injury in the arena, you spend time with him while he's in recovery.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, mild angst, mentions of injuries, secret affair, flufffff (they love each other ur honor), lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, aaaand i think that’s it! But lmk if anything else.

—————-

Nothing could have possibly prepared you for the sight of Lucius being struck by an arrow. You were sitting too far away to see where exactly it landed, but just witnessing him falling to his knees on the sand was enough to rob you of breath. The cacophony of sounds around you became a dull roar at the back of your head. If it weren’t for the fact that you were sitting with your mother and your sisters, you might have gone into an anguished frenzy. But all you could do was grit your teeth and hold onto any semblance of composure, forced to wait until the games were fully over.

Later, when you were finally home and away from prying eyes, you sent a servant down to Macrinus’s barracks to inquire about his well-being. You paced back and forth restlessly, like a tiger stalking the arena, until there was news of him – he was alive and mostly unscathed, except for a wounded shoulder. He also urged you not to worry too much, but there was no way you would stay away without seeing him for yourself.

And so you waited until the darkest hour of the night to sneak out, accompanied by a servant carrying a torch to light the way. It was Ravi who let you into Lucius’s cell, where he was lying on his cot. He tried to sit up as you entered, but he winced and painstakingly lay back down.

Ravi clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head. “I told him not to move too much, but he won’t listen.”

“Don’t worry Ravi, I will try not to get him too riled up,” you said, half attempting humor to raise their spirits.

Lucius chuckled lightly, raising his hand in your direction to beckon you closer. You knelt beside him, guiding his palm onto your cheek. His smile was a little dopey and his eyes were heavy-lidded, which made you raise a questioning eyebrow in Ravi’s direction.

“I had to give him some opium when I removed the arrow,” he said with a shrug. “The effects should wear off in a few hours, but he won’t feel any pain for now.”

“Well, I suppose you’re not doing too terribly then…” You said to Lucius, eyebrow still raised.

“I am doing even better now that you’re here,” he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “Though you shouldn’t have troubled yourself… I don’t like to think of you walking through the darkened streets.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at his worrying. “Nothing could have kept me from you tonight. Not after that fright you gave me earlier.”

“I have treated him for much worse,” Ravi supplied, perhaps wanting to ease your anxiety. “Trust me, he is a tough one.”

“But not immortal,” Lucius added. “I never forget that part.”

“Neither do I.” You sighed.

He took your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You will be glad to know I am getting a couple of days of rest, at least.”

You hummed, noncommittal. The relief of knowing he was safe would only be temporary, and then he would be forced to return to the arena. But then another thought occurred to you – the rest of the cells would be empty during those days, offering a much larger window of time for you to spend with him unnoticed. The corners of your lips curled up with mischief, a plan already forming in your mind.

“Oh, you poor thing, you’ll be just terribly lonely in here, won’t you?” You said, pouting exaggeratedly. “Not even Ravi will be around to look after you…”

You glanced at him over your shoulder pointedly, clearing your throat when he didn’t react.

“Ah, yes, you are correct, mistress,” Ravi said quickly, finally taking the hint. “I’ll be required elsewhere…”

Lucius raised his eyebrows in amusement, but you could tell he was not at all put off by the insinuation.

“Perhaps I shall be rendered vulnerable to any sort of attack, after all,” he said, sighing theatrically as if surrendering to his fate. “But you needn’t worry yourself, my lady. I am perfectly capable of handling myself, wounded or not.”

His smirk hinted at his double meaning, the promise in his eyes undeniable. Behind you, Ravi shook his head with amusement, murmuring something about being sickened by the two of you. Uncaring, you leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Lucius’s lips.

“I am sure you are, my love, whatever may come.”

—--------------------------

Being at the barracks so early in the afternoon felt strange, but it was so quiet that you did not feel too nervous about the risk you were taking. As expected, no one was around to see you slip into Lucius’s cell, but you still shut the door behind you just in case. He couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of you so flustered, both excitement and a tinge of fear making your heart race.

You stumbled to where he was leaning against the wall and kissed him without any greeting, careful not to touch his wounded shoulder. He grinned, trying to suppress a shudder as you traced your tongue over his bottom lip. He held your arms so you didn’t get too excited too fast.

“What’s got you so eager, my love?” He said teasingly, pulling back to look at you. “I didn’t know respectable Roman ladies could kiss like that.”

“That’s nothing, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve I could show you,” you said, biting your lip to try to contain your eagerness at least a little bit. “Gently, of course.”

He chuckled, kissing you once more. He was already bare-chested, the warmth emanating from him like a siren’s lure. Your hands wandered over his skin and soon your lips retraced the path they’d made. He moaned softly, his brows furrowed wantonly as he watched your every move. He murmured your name almost like a plea for mercy, but it only spurred you on.

He tried to pull you back to help you out of your dress, but you stopped him with a hand on his good shoulder and a shake of your head.

“Let me take care of you,” you said. “All you need to do is lie back.”

“But my lady, I wish to…”

You cut him off. “Don’t be stubborn. You want to get better, don’t you? Even Ravi said you should not exert yourself too much…”

He raised his eyebrows, amused, but let you guide him to his cot. You gently pushed him onto his back and he lifted his hips as you tugged his loincloth off. His erection stood proudly, lying against his lower abdomen. You kissed his hip bone right beside it, grinning as it pulsed.

“Seems like I am not the only one who’s eager…” you commented, looking up at him.

“I always am when it comes to you,” he said, reaching down to caress your cheek. “Even when I am unsure when you will pounce on me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss the velvety underside of it. You felt a heated pulse deep within you, and you knew you couldn’t wait to have him. You licked your fingers and spread your saliva over the flushed tip of his cock, listening to his sharp intake of breath.

You hiked up your dress and straddled his hips, holding his gaze as you grasped the base of his cock with one hand to guide it inside you. His callused hands grasped your hips tightly as you sank on his length, the fabric of your dress between your teeth.

“Oh, Lucius,” you sighed, hands roaming over his chest as you leaned forward. “Does that feel good?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, relishing the enveloping warmth of your cunt around him. The last two pieces of the puzzle finally joined once again. “Gods, yes.”

You shifted your hips slowly, rising and lowering yourself slightly. He planted his feet on the cot, bucking his hips to meet your movements. You indulged him for a moment, your desperation mirroring his, but then you halted your movements in warning.

“Slowly,” you said, clicking your tongue. “I will stop if you try to go too fast.”

“You torture me…” he groaned, but the faintest grin tugging at his lips told you he was not all that agonized.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re suffering greatly,” you said sarcastically, leaning against him to kiss his neck and jaw, his rapid heartbeat under your tongue.

He moaned near your ear, sucking in a breath when he felt you clench around him. His hands slid down to your ass, fingers digging into the supple, meaty flesh. His nails left a faint red trail as he dragged them over your skin, trying to fight the urge to take over control and please you in all the ways he knew would get you to melt. Already, he could feel your arousal tricking down to his sac, and he was nearly delirious with lust.

Leaning back, you gyrated your hips, dragging them back and forth. The movement caused friction between his pelvis and your clit, causing more heat to pool in your lower belly. You leaned a hand against the base of his throat and he tilted his head back, holding your gaze. His hips started moving again seemingly on their own accord, your breathy little moans spurring him on.

But then, in a quick maneuver that made you gasp in surprise, he rolled you onto your back, his weight pinning you under him. You drew your knees up around him, barely able to protest as your hands settled on his hips, tugging him forward with each thrust. Still, you bit his bottom lip in retribution, slightly shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“You’re not being fair, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you said.

“You are, and I am merely returning the favor. I think that is more than fair,” he said, grinning lopsidedly as he kissed the tip of your nose. “Hold onto me, my love…”

Any more protests died away as heat rose within you like licking flames, his hips snapping against yours in a frantic rhythm. He murmured praises in your ear as he felt you tense against him, your legs trembling. He fucked you through your orgasm, kissing your temple and under your ear as you leaned your head against his muscular arm. With a few final thrusts, his hips melded against yours and you felt the heat of his spend inside of you. You ran your hands up and down his spine as he caught his breath, content to stay in the same position for as long as possible.

“I wish I could spend every day with you like this,” you murmured. “Without having to separate at the end of it…”

“One day, my love,” he said, bringing your free hand to rest over his heart. “I vow to earn my freedom and become worthy of your hand. I will take care of you for the rest of my life, and we will no longer have to be a secret.”

He sealed his promise with a kiss, resting his forehead against yours. Perhaps it was foolish to hope for so much, but his words had such conviction that it was hard not to believe he would keep his promise. Perhaps with enough offerings to Venus, she might turn a kind eye on the two of you. The goddess was quite fond of young lovers, after all.

“I suppose I’ll just have to endure a few more scares like this one…” you said.

“Perhaps, but I rest easier knowing you will be there to care for me,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively and making you chuckle.

“You are terrible,” you grinned, gently flicking his nose. “But I love you just the same.”

“I love you, too, my sweet tormentor.”

————

[fear-is-truth]

what do you think each of the evan’s wear to bed?

(i was trying to imagine what JPM would wear to bed and was stumped lmao)

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… sleepwear .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson ‧ rory monahan ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel

a/n: ty for the req !! so fun to write tbh

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate’s sleepwear is very 90s boy-next-door. half the time, he’s in those vintage-looking striped tees—horizontal stripes in muted colors, the kind that might seem kinda baby-ish now but somehow work on him. baby boy. the rest of the time, it’s a band tee, nirvana or the smashing pumpkins. for bottoms, he’ll either grab his track & field shorts (you know, the short ones that look kinda fruity) or a pair of boxers. if it’s hot, he’ll ditch the shirt completely. on colder days, he’s in one of those sweaters paired with green checkered pyjama pants.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit’s all about practicality. hot weather? briefs. nothing else. he’s not into anything restrictive or fancy when he’s sleeping. when it’s colder, he might throw on some soft flannel pajama pants and a white undershirt, but only if it’s freezing.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle’s sleepwear usually includes an old college club tee—something from a campus event or charity run—or a nerdy sci-fi shirt with marvel, star wars, or star trek designs. for bottoms, it’s always something cozy, like well-worn sweatpants or flannel pyjama bottoms, usually in neutral or plaid patterns. his clothes always smell nice because he’s that guy who uses fabric softener religiously and actually knows how to do laundry properly.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

wife-beater and boxers, no questions asked. he’s the type to sleep in just his boxers most of the year because he doesn’t see the point in layering up unless it’s absolutely freezing. when the weather does turn colder, he’ll trade the tank for a plain button-down.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

james wouldn’t dare wear anything less than a matching set of black silk pajamas, tailored to fit him perfectly. the initials “J.P.M.” are embroidered in silver thread on the pocket because, of course, he’s that extra. to complete the look, he has a matching silk robe—also black, with a silver trim. probably has a nightcap too.

⟢ 𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐍.

“actor off-duty” typa fit. his go-to is a plain, perfectly-fitted t-shirt (you’d think it’s basic, but it’s actually some high-end brand like james perse) paired with plain sweatpants. if it’s getting chilly, he’d swap the tee for a well-worn hoodie, but even that’s designer, probably with a well-hidden logo no one notices unless they know fashion. cashmere socks because his feet get cold in winter. rory’s all about comfort, but it’s the kind of comfort only a celeb with a fat paycheck can pull off.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

kai would 100% sleep shirtless, wearing those loose, low-slung grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips, showing off that delicious v-line because. he a whore. when it’s cold, though, he’s layering up with a sweater or plain hoodie—the kind a tech bro would wear without a second thought. or black thermal shirt paired with fleece joggers.

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

austin’s sleepwear is all about luxury. he’d wear a high-end silk robe, probably from something like tom ford or balenciaga, in sleek b & w pinstripes or a classy paisley print. It’s the kind of robe that looks expensive without being flashy—tasteful, refined, and just a little bit sexy. he’d leave it slightly open at the chest, showing off just a sliver of his pale skin (scandalous! what a slut!). he’s also got matching slippers, and an eye mask for when he needs to block out sunlight.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

he’s got a collection of band tees that double as sleepwear, (pink floyd or rush). then, of course, there are those absurdly dorky graphic tees that are so bad they’re good—like the “nacho average guy” with a cartoon taco or a random graphic of a turtle. peter’s pyjama bottoms are often cartoony and childish. think patterns like cartoon superheroes, or those old-school looney tunes characters. they’re soft and comfy, of course.

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

simple and comfy. he’d throw on a plain cotton shirt and wear boxers. when it’s warmer, he’s in boxers, but when the temperature drops, he’s switching to a long-sleeve thermal shirt to stay warm. his pajama bottoms are a staple—those brown, white, and black checkered plaid ones, they’re slightly worn in from frequent use, but he looooves that soft, lived-in feeling.

[kaliforniahigh]

So, I found some stuff I posted a while ago, but deleted by accident (who remembers when I deleted literally a month of posts by accident? LOL). This is one of them.

So, this is a repost from July 18th, 2024 :)

Imagine you getting home from work, it's nighttime already because you had to work overtime to fix something someone else screwed up.

You're so tired you literally don't even remember the drive home. You leave your shoes by the door and hang your coat. As you go up the stairs, you can hear Noah in the bedroom, complaining that someone shot his character. You guess he's probably gaming with the guys.

You slowly open the door a little more as to not startle him. He turns his head to look at you, and you walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder, leaning down for him to cradle one side of your head and give you a soft kiss on your lips.

He watches you from the corner of his eyes, as you go to the closet and pick up one of his sweatshirts and sweatpants that you have to draw the strings really tight for it not to fall.

It is not uncommon for you to wear his clothes, but he can tell you had a long day, and being engulfed in his smell always makes you feel better. He has butterflies in his stomach when he thinks about that.

You leave the room to take a warm and rather long shower, letting the water cascade down your back and wash away the stress of the day.

Noah would give anything to be in there with you, he would wash your hair, give your shoulders a good massage, but he knows you need a moment alone to decompress and gather your thoughts from the day.

When you come back, all fresh and warm and smelling of his body wash, he can't hold himself back from making grabby hands at you, scooting his chair away from the desk, and you accept his invitation immediately.

You straddle his hips, leaning your head on his chest, resting your hands on his sides, and he feels you letting out a big breath of relief when you feel his hands going up and down your back, travelling up to scratch your scalp. He hugs you and gives you a thight squeeze, and it is as if you never felt such relief in your life.

After a few minutes, his hands go back to his controller, but he leans his head down from time to time to give you a kiss to the crown of your head. Or to smooth his thumb over your cheekbone in-between rounds on his game.

Ultimately, you feel your eyes getting tired, your body relaxing more and more into his.

"Sleep baby, I'll be here to hold you", he whispers to you, and you let your eyes shut, finally feeling at peace for the first time today.

Tag list: @concreteangel92 @foliosgirl @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @stardustsirenmelody @miwomens @concretejunglefm @fadingangelwisp @prettygirlrock126 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @babygirlchuuya @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @lacy1986 @romanreigns-supreme @xmads-omensx @missduffsblog @rumoured-whispers @thisbicc @badomensgoodomens @floatingkiwi @collective-heartbreak @dontwantthemoney @dream-machine-love @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @amelia-acero @kenjipepsi1 @montgomery-929496 @daddy-dierkes-girlie @stardustsirenmelody @cheyyyyr @triedbimsoblu333 @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @noyaisasimp @youlookforultraviolet @w0manof-flesh44 @chaoticwineaunt @geminigirlfromfinland @zozaline @deardelirium @ferduttini @turn-your-life-into-folklore @butterflyeffect07 @dominuslunae @shelbyrlxoxo @super-btstrash-posts @shayzillaaaa @kaylacosmic @wordskeeper @enemiestolovershoe @chicken-tender-slut

[soulfullives]

sirius headcanons for you (no one asked me anything)

is really a great driver besides the fact he gets road rage (he tends to be quite impatient with people who are not as competent as him)

intimidating demeanour and he usually keeps people away from him with it (he does not complain)

completely terrified of children and the idea of being a father but he’s so gentle and kind to them

prefers pubs to clubs

chainsmoker and physically cannot smoke just one cigarette

sleeps in sweatpants and an old band tshirt

gets attached to clothes he loves and wears them till they’re horribly worn out

his favourite shoes are combat boots

has pouty lips

likes reading, but exclusively books he doesn’t have in the curriculum (he likes camus and dostoyevsky as authors and he’s a fan of psychological horror/ psychological stuff and political stuff as a whole and also sci fi (rip sirius black you would have loved george orwell))

his favourite movies are thriller and horror

his biggest fear is disappointing the ones he loves and betrayal

loves all animals and regularly takes in strays until he can find someone to take care of them. if he doesn’t, he just keeps them

has a lot of scars and marks from whatever batshit crazy thing he does. he is constantly with a project on his hands and doing something

dislikes routine and monotony and tries his best to make his days interesting

would have tried polygamy but he gets possessive and jealous and knows it’s not gonna work out (see exception: jilypad)

his strongest point is his loyalty and would willingly give up his life if that meant that someone he loves lives

speaking of which the only people he truly truly loved from the core of his life are james lily and harry

used to sell homework answers for cigarettes when he didn’t have the opportunity to buy some himself

hands in his essays the night before the due date and they’re always way longer than they should be

has protection runes tattooed on his fingers and engraved into his wand and charmed so that his wand can be used only if the runes from his fingers and wand meet so essentially no one else can use his wand

his duelling style is combat and basically attacking rather than defending but he WOULD use defensive magic to protect the ones he loves or members from the order than are weaker than he is (he’s also an aggressive dueller)

he can also fight with his fists and gets into playful wrestling with jpr

the only members of his family he always liked are alphard and andromeda (he never liked regukus k bye)

his favourite alcoholic drinks are whiskey and jack daniel’s

loses his patience really easily with people who are not as efficient as him AND annoy him (see: peter, sometimes) but he’s slightly more patient with people he likes

likes eating greasy shit but his favourite foods are a good caesar salad and a good teriyaki sub (self projection: i need his order to be the same as mine)

never pays attention in class but somehow he’s always top of the class (he only pays attention in dada transfig runes and arithmancy)

is either completely unaware or completely aware of the fact that people are into him and he Does Not care. sometimes snogs people at parties but nothing more than that

night owl and also an insomniac

[anachronismstellar]

Hear me out;

For your SQH with tattoos post, what if he implemented tattoo spells or smthn into PIDW bcs he was a fan of FMA or smthn. It is a vry Airplane thing to do, trust.

Anon I'm listening loud and clear and I need this ASAP because I bet he did exactly that, he slapped some poor wanna be villain with talismans tattoos or some shit to make the villain look edgy and I bet the villain got his tattoo from a demon clan in the south or something, the point- THE POINT IS.

(oh God this is becoming a filet God save me-)

Mu Qingfang is the only one who knows about the tattoos and he doesn't approve not because he doesn't like the vibe (he kinda thinks is hot as fuck) he doesn't approve because "Heavens knows what they put in the ink and which needle they used, Shixiong!"

But with the amount of layers a peak lord has to wear, no one finds our for a long loooooong time.

Hell, Mobei that has walked into Shang Qinghua doing the weirdest shit didn't know about the damn tattoos.

Until. UNTIL.

Wife plot 397.

What is wife plot 397? No idea, Airplane doesn't know either, but the think is that it ends up with him soaked to the bone and the water has poison because of course it does so he has to strip all his robes and he has to do it fast or he can say bye bye to his skin and bones which makes him naked in front of Mobei with only Cucumber's fan (that is going to be burned later urgh Airplane you will pay for this!) saving the last dignity that he might have-

Uh. It should be more yelling. Why is everyone so quiet?

"What?"

"What?! What happened to your arms?!" Because of course Cucumber is the one who snaps out faster, but without his fan to cover his face his blush is there to anyone to see. "Are those tattoos?! Airplane what did you do- what are they for?!"

Binghe is drinking vinegar and doesn't know if he will have to kill his shishu because he had to dirty Shizun's eyes with by being shamelessly naked like that or if he should stare at Shizun's face and see if he likes the tattoos- should he get tattoos? WHAT IF HE GOT SHIZUN'S NAME IT WOULD BE SO ROMANTIC-

Meanwhile Mobei. Oh poor Mobei.

Mobei-Jun's brain has left the building, struggling between wanting to hide Qinghua's body from everyone's eyes but also wanting to take him and pin him down and lick all the drawings and bite them until Qinghua begged for mercy or-

"Oh, yea, I forgot about these uh. They are to help me with strength? Also they help to circulation of qi, and another things" and he won't anything else because if Cucumber finds out he got a FMA Scar wanna be tattoo he will be dead, he will be murdered by Cucumber-bro fan somehow.

..... and that's what I have for now because is almost 4 am DJSBAKDBSKDJSK

But feel free to take the idea and run with it!! I just want more BAMF!SQH fics in the world ;; he deserves it poor little meow meow

Thank you for the ask anon <3

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: m that feels over cautious but i'd rather be that then under cw: making out with strangers, drinking tags: rockstar!eddie, waiter!steve, no upside down au, eddie has game, I'm not sure how to tag this one word count: 843

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "midnight"

-

“C’mon, in here.”

Steve is shoved into a dark room, it smells like an attic, an old lady’s house, or a thrift store. It’s enough to make Steve give a couple of coughs but he doesn’t have time for anything else. The other guy is pushing Steve to the back of what he assumes is a closet, kicking the door closed so the thud of Steve’s body and the latch of the door hit at the same time.

His shift drink isn’t enough to have his head spinning like this. Steve grips at the wall to find balance and bring himself back to earth.

It takes seconds to get the stupid bow tie on the ground, Steve helps the other unbutton his crisp, white dress shirt and tries not to regret the choice to wear an undershirt. Usually, his tips are better without but Steve was told this party was a big deal.

The guy was famous or some shit. Steve didn’t know him or the band he sang for. Which made running into him that much weirder. Thankfully someone, somewhere along the line told Steve whose house they were at because he’d really hate to be whimpering the wrong name right about now.

“Eddie…”

The sound made Eddie press against Steve, trapping him against the wall. “Thought you didn’t know who I was, gorgeous.”

All Steve could do was sigh. The comeback would hit hours later but, in this state, his brain couldn’t supply his address let alone witty retorts. Instead, Steve slid his hand up the ragged, ripped band tee Eddie wore and held on tight.

Moving like this was something he did with every waiter, Eddie firmly planted his leg between Steve’s. He licked along Steve’s collarbone and made Steve’s hand grip tighter, a desperate move to not show everything that did to him.

This was a level of desperation Steve wanted to feel ashamed about but instead, he wanted to rip his clothes off…then Eddie’s. Of all the casting couches Steve was warned about, he didn’t expect to want to get on his knees for some metal band singer and the promise of nothing in return.

Eddie laughed; it was the most devilish thing Seve had ever heard come out of another human. His hand easily wrapped around Steve’s neck and he didn’t apply any pressure but patiently gauged the reaction. In the dark, he couldn’t see the challenging stare but Steve kept his breathing even and waited to see what came next.

With a graceful move, Eddie’s hand slid up until his index finger rested under Steve’s chin, tipping it up, and dark or not, Steve could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. Not watched or appreciated but consumed. It was a warning of what was to come. Or a promise.

After a long second, Eddie moved in for a kiss. The hunger behind it took Steve’s breath away. He writhed against the wall and against Eddie’s knee. Every wire and synapse fired, rushing in this beautiful overwhelmed feeling that Steve could get addicted to.

His arms wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders, holding on and desperately trying to get them those last centimeters closer.

“So needy,” Eddie panted.

Steve’s cheeks flushed for being called out but who could care in a moment like this? The guy was gorgeous and the way he’d argued with Steve out in the dining room was better than any foreplay Steve had ever experienced. He both hated and loved the guy.

However, the hatred slipped some as Eddie seemed hellbent on turning Steve into a puddle of goo, unable to do anything other than moan. Something Steve was usually doing to others.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered, no bite and barely saying the words without stuttering.

Again, that delightfully evil laugh followed and Steve knew he'd lost. No one would ever compare to this guy.

As if dishing out torture, Eddie slowed down and kissed Steve. There was a passion behind it that matched what Steve was feeling, a devotion and request for this to happen for the rest of time. More than that, it was a reprieve, Steve was able to catch his breath. If only slightly.

Together they moved, making out like kids who’d been pushed into the closet at some basement party. Something Steve felt a little more familiar with. Desperately trying to please rockstars was new but seven minutes in heaven was old news.

Eddie pulled his shirt off and Steve took advantage of that pause to let his shirt fall to the floor. Before they could pick back up, “Happy New Year” came from every voice in the other room. Followed quickly by a chorus of noisemakers and tiny explosions.

There was a silent, still beat in the room as Eddie and Steve tried to process the information. Eddie leaned forward after a second and kissed Steve again, something quick as he pulled back and said “Happy New Year.”

All Steve could do was laugh.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, and a dry chuckle came around the word. “Fuck that. Let’s have some fun.”

[hornedmonsters]

Anubis x Reader - Dance with death

Warnings: Not really. romantic, dancing, Reader doesn't like alcohol here and is rather "quiet", talk about death

Synopsis: At a ball of the gods, you bump into Anubis in the garden at night. Just like you, he flees from the noise and is looking for peace and quiet.

You carefully took a goblet. Your gaze swept across the gigantic hall as you sipped the liquid. You sighed. Why was there alcohol everywhere?

You were actually looking for a simple drink to curb the heat that was spreading through your body. You leaned against one of the large pillars and watched the gods and few mortals celebrating together.

The reason for the celebration had escaped you, you accepted the invitation so that it wouldn't seem rude. You were actually a relatively introverted person and enjoyed the peace and quiet. Even if, for a brief moment, it was a nice change to watch people celebrating.

But you couldn't stand it for long. Your energy dwindled and the music pounded in your ears. You started to get a headache. You got warm and somehow everyone who got a little too close to you got on your nerves.

Then it occurred to you that there was a fountain with drinking water outside in the garden. You poured out one of the goblets and snuck out of the hall.

The cold air immediately hit your face and you sighed. Immediately your mood improved and you walked along the path. Stars twinkled in the sky and it was quiet in the darkness. The gravel crunched under your shoes as you walked towards the fountain with your goblet.

The sounds of the party slowly faded into the distance and your gaze fell on the beautiful flower bushes. Different colors glowed in the darkness.

The splashing of the fountain caught your attention and you sat down on the cool stone of the fountain's edge. You gently let your hand slide into the water and shudder. Then you felt the water in your goblet and took a big sip. At last. You rubbed your face as you put the goblet away.

For a brief moment, it was really pleasant that it was so quiet. Until a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Not in the mood for the party either?" The dark voice made you flinch and you stared into the darkness in front of you. Glowing eyes stared at you intently and your heart stopped. "I... I needed some fresh air," you confessed to the glowing balls of light and continued to stare at them in fascination.

A dark, growling chuckle came from the shadows and suddenly the eyes drew closer. A tall figure emerged from the darkness and a jackal's head came into your field of vision.Your eyes widened and you swallowed hard as the god of the realm of the dead approached you.

You didn't know what to do, but in the meantime he sat down next to you and you immediately stiffened.You were rarely nervous around gods. Maybe because you rarely met one. But you had immense respect for Anubis. Apart from that, you were so fascinated by him and it made you dizzy that he was sitting next to you.

"Who doesn't need it?" His gaze lowered to you and you smiled softly. There was a brief, actually, comfortable silence. You both looked at the lights of the temple where the celebration was taking place and listened to the sounds of the music.

You didn't notice how Anubi's eyes wavered on you and he scrutinized your small form. You unconsciously started shivering. The nights here were usually pretty cold. Anubis took off the cloak he had been wearing and suddenly put it around your shoulders. You flinched when you felt the warm fabric against your skin.

"Are you shivering like that because you're cold or because you're afraid of me?" The god joked and your cheeks started to glow.

"More because I'm cold. I'm not afraid of you," you replied and looked up at him. His gaze was gentle.

"Many people are afraid of me," he confessed, but his expression remained gentle. Death was his everyday life, there was hardly anything else in his life. Every day he accompanied the souls of people and picked up. You still looked at him with pity.

"I think because most people are also afraid of death," you estimated. "I mean, who isn't afraid of death? It's such an inexplicable and mysterious thing," you stared up at the starry sky, lost in thought.

"You're right, but it's part of life. Old life ends and new life begins," his gaze also turned to the sky. Then his eyes fell back on the temple and back to you. Suddenly he stood up and held out his claw to you.

"Would you like to dance?"You were taken aback by his question and your cheeks began to glow at the same time.

"I can't dance," you breathed sheepishly and a slight grin crept onto his lips. His pointed canines flashed."I'm not a really good dancer either, but I'll lead you.

"You thought about it for a moment, but then grabbed his claw and let him pull you to your feet. He gently pulled you away from the fountain and led you into the open space between the flower bushes and statues.He gently held your hands for a moment. Then he brought one of them to his shoulder and kept the other in his claw. Carefully, he placed his other claw on your hip and guided you.

You glided gently across the square and you were surprised how easy it was for you to follow him. You laughed as he lifted you into the air and spun you around. You've never felt so comfortable, especially when dancing.

"I'm really glad I got out of here," you giggle as you continue to hold on to him.

"I feel the same way. I was actually looking for peace and quiet, but I found you," his deep voice breathed and your cheeks burned again.You leaned against his chest and he did nothing about it. He enjoyed your warmth, it was a nice change from the cold death and the souls he saw.Anubis pressed you tighter against him. It suddenly felt as if you had known each other for ages, even though the god was far older than you.

Eternities passed, eternities of peace, silence and togetherness. After dancing, you sat down by the fountain and talked. But unfortunately the time came when you had to go home.

"It's getting late," you breathe a little sadly. You wanted to get up and Anubis held out his claw to help you up, but he remained seated. He didn't let go of your small hand, however, and the pad of his thumb stroked the back of your hand.

"We will meet again, (Y/n).

Tags: @akashakushrenada

[mylovesstuffs]

Hoshi is THAT type of boyfriend !

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Hoshi will randomly show up at your workplace with bubble tea and your favorite snacks just because "I was passing by, and I thought you'd be hungry. Also, I missed you." Spoiler: He wasn’t passing by; he planned it all day.

He’s that boyfriend who will drape himself over you like a warm, affectionate koala while binge-watching Netflix. You’re his personal pillow, and he doesn’t care if his arm goes numb—he’s not moving TT

Hoshi loves to tease you endlessly, whether it’s about how cute you look when you're annoyed or your inability to resist his pouty face. It’s all in good fun until you flip the tables, and suddenly, he’s the one blushing lol.

4. The “Look at Me” Type™, he will do anything to grab your attention. Dancing around the house in a tiger onesie? Done. Random aegyo attacks in public? Absolutely. But the second you look at someone else for too long? He’s all pouty and sulky until you reassure him he’s your favorite. Pls- he's too cute.

Beneath all the jokes and goofy antics, Hoshi is a great listener who genuinely cares about your feelings. Late-night conversations with him often turn into soul-searching moments where he opens up about his dreams and fears, making you fall for him even harder.

He’s that boyfriend who will brag about you to literally everyone—his members, staff, the cashier at the convenience store. "Did you know my y/nie can bake the best cookies? She should have her own bakery!"

When you do something sweet, but his ears turn red, and he starts giggling uncontrollably. Give him a compliment, and he’ll probably hug you so tight you can’t breathe.

Whether you’re chasing a career goal or trying out a new hobby, he’s that boyfriend who’s always cheering you on. He’ll show up to your event with a handmade sign and yell, “That’s my girl!” so loud that everyone knows exactly who he’s rooting for.

Hoshi doesn’t hold back when it comes to showing love. Whether it’s forehead kisses, random hugs, or pulling you close while you’re cooking, he makes sure you know how much you mean to him every single day.

If you’re wearing his hoodie or his favorite shirt, he’ll tease you with, “Wow, that looks way better on you than it does on me.”

He’s that boyfriend who can’t resist touching you—holding hands, resting his hand on your thigh during car rides, or pulling you into his lap when you’re too far away for his liking.

Don’t let his playful side fool you. If anyone hurts you or crosses the line, Hoshi’s protective instincts kick in hard. His usual goofy smile is replaced with a serious, determined expression, and you realize just how much he values you.

He’s the type to shamelessly flirt with you in front of others, only to lose his cool when you flirt back. One playful wink from you, and he’s a stuttering mess.

At the end of the day, Hoshi is that boyfriend who makes you feel like the most cherished person in the world. Whether it’s through words, actions, or the way he looks at you with stars in his eyes, he ensures you never doubt his love for you.

[yangqism]

we can't be friends | liu yangyang

actor!liu yangyang x actress!femreader

synopsis.yangyang is born to be a star, the kind of talent that lights up the screen. you, on the other hand, is a nepo baby who everyone believed got the lead role because of your family’s influence. he fought all these years to be the man that he is while you are still busy proving yourself to the populace. you believe you’re more than just your parents. he believes he’s less than without his fans. when your lives become intertwined, things get messy–one has never tasted consequences while the other lies awake at night, haunted by the thought of it.

genre. romance, angst

warnings. there's pretend kissing then there's real kissing where yangyang doesn't ask you, he just goes for it, i do not know the difference between drama and series so sorry <3

words. 8,812

eternal sunshine. masterlist

a/n. it gets better at the ending part so plZ just bear w me. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I'm turning 20 this year lol feels so scary if you think about it but whatever

The universe is unfair, but Yangyang has learned to live with that. 

It was unfair that he always played second to someone else. The second male lead, the second-best choice, the second most important. But he was never really bothered about it. Not until you waltzed your way into the picture. 

You still remember it vividly. It was a Monday afternoon, the first read through with the cast of Eternal Sunshine–a week before filming. He was already sitting beside the chair assigned to you, practicing his lines diligently while you took a sip from your coffee you ordered to-go. 

You greeted him with a warm smile but he only replied with a small and rushed one. Sure, he was your second lead in the drama but during that time, he made you feel unwanted. But who are you kidding? Of course, you were everything he wasn’t supposed to want. You’re the female lead, the one who would be with the male lead in the end. The center of attention. Realistically, you’re a nepo baby whose life had been handed to her on a silver platter, complete with designer shoes and an unearned (still) spotlight. But God, did you wear it well.

Whereas Yangyang had to work his way up. Every step of his journey was carved out of his determination and long nights filled with self-doubt, management’s uncertainty, and the media’s scrutiny. He wasn’t handed anything the first time he breathed in the land of showbiz. Every opportunity, recognition, and spotlight he’s getting right now is because he persevered. 

That’s what made sitting next to you on that Monday afternoon so excruciating. 

While he did smile to your way in a rushed manner, he viewed you as a person far differently than other people did when they looked your way. You were effortless in his eyes. Effortless in a manner that he could never be. Even in the most mundane moments like you sipping on your coffee, standing up to bow to anyone who comes in the script room, scrolling through your phone–you carried yourself with an air of belonging, like you had been born to inhabit the world he had clawed his way into. 

And yet, it wasn’t jealousy that twisted his chest when he looked at you. Heck, it was something worse. 

No matter how much he tried to deny it, when your mouth opened to read the script, Yangyang knew exactly what you were capable of. You weren’t just a nepo baby or some random female lead that the crew casted. You were the kind of actress everyone aspires to be. And also the kind of person who could uproot everything he’d worked so hard to build.

You first met Yangyang at a press conference after an award show your parents were invited for and you were their plus one. The journalist decided to pick on you, asking you pressing questions regarding your status in the industry. 

“What do you feel that everyone’s calling you a nepo baby, Ms. Y/N?” Well, you almost wish the journalist hadn’t called you ‘Miss’ if his question was like that. 

You just smiled at him awkwardly, never giving in to their pressing questions about your relevance in the acting industry. Afterall, you believe you’re more than just your parents. Sure, they opened this path for you but you’re working hard to show to everyone that you deserve that spot. 

You never really paid attention to the young actor during that time but you saw him looking at you while you were being interrogated by the rude journalist. Your eyes met for a brief moment before he broke it to talk to another actor. 

At first, Yangyang didn’t feel bad for you during that time, considering how he thought you were an annoying actress, like what he had heard from rumors. 

“Miss Y/N, what’s with you today? You keep on failing the scene,” the director yells another disappointed ‘cut!’ after you fumbled your lines with a scene with Sicheng. “Let’s take 5!” 

“I’m sorry, Sicheng,” you gave an apologetic smile to the star actor but he just shrugged and went to his assistant to freshen up. 

If there was one thing you loved about working with Sicheng, it was because he doesn’t really care about where you came from or what you did to become his female lead. He’s just there for work. A bonus is that he treats you nicely, he’s just nonchalant at times. Especially when that pop star comes into the set. 

“You’re too stiff, Y/N,” the sudden voice from behind your back startled you. You whip around to see Yangyang leaning casually against a prop stand, arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips. 

“Your body’s too tense, that’s why you keep messing up,” he points out, tilting his head. “I saw it when you were delivering your lines.”  

“Oh, Yangyang-sunbaenim! I see, I’ll try to deliver these lines as smoothly as possible,” you replied, giving him a small smile.

“Practice it to me.” 

“Huh?”

“Practice your line to me and I can give you feedback, dummy,” Yangyang reiterated, his tone filled with playful impatience.

“O-oh! Uhm…” You focus, taking a deep breath before looking directly into his eyes, “Lei… I don’t think you can understand me… I don’t think we’re… we’re…” Your voice falters right where it did before. You clench your jaw, trying to force the words out, but they just won’t come. 

Your shoulders drop as you let out a sigh of defeat, “I don’t think I can do this,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper but Yangyang heard it. 

“You think you can’t because you want Lei and Riko to be together. You’re so immersed in your role right now, Y/N,” Yangyang scolded, giving you a bottle of water from his staff. 

“This isn't real, Y/N. You need to separate work and your personal feelings. If you want Lei and Riko to be together, they will in the end. Just not in this scene. Get yourself together and wrap this scene up so we can all go home,” he reaches up, ruffling your hair like you’re a little kid on the set, and before you can even process what he did, he’s already walking away, hands shoved in his pockets heading straight to annoy Kun.

“Separate work and personal feelings, huh?” You muttered, staring at the water he gave you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the busy mumbles of the crew around you. Maybe what he said is true considering how you can’t bear to think that Lei, Sicheng’s character, and Riko, your character, will end their love escapade for a few episodes before rekindling again.

“Y/N, Sicheng, back on stage!” The director yelled, giving you a brief smile before instructing the cameraman. “Do your best.” 

You nod, tightening your grip on the water bottle before setting it aside. Your feet move automatically, carrying you toward the place you’ll be delivering your line in. As you’re heading to your place, you can feel Yangyang’s eyes on you. 

You looked in his direction and he already had his signature gummy smile plastered on his face, “Do your best,” he mimicked the director’s voice, making you giggle.

It was a week after the first shooting for Eternal Sunshine that the director called you in her office for an emergency revision for the later episodes. 

You were wearing your favorite faded jeans with a long sleeve and a coffee on your hand. At first, you thought it was just gonna be you and the director but a sleepy Yangyang came into her office like it’s his second home.

“Greetings, Yangyang!” The director annoyingly scolded him, throwing a pillow at him when he immediately latched himself onto the sofa. 

“Hello, noona. Hello, Y/N.” 

“I’m very sorry about him, Ms. Y/N,” his manager, Huang Renjun, apologized on behalf of the second male lead. “He just came from an overnight shooting with Mr. Qian Kun. The two of them had to shoot their scenes more than once because the rookie actor kept messing up and they didn’t want to be assholes on set.” 

“Hey! What about an apology for me?” The director playfully demanded even though she had known the reason for Yangyang’s behavior beforehand. The director was like family for Yangyang and Renjun. This isn’t the first project they did together hence they’re comfortable with each other.

“As he said, Kun-ge,” Yangyang mentioned the golden boy and the three immediately saw the flabbergasted reaction of the director. “Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-” Yangyang teased, his smile grew wider as the director’s face became more embarrassed before having enough of his ministries. 

“Enough, second lead!” The director sassed, “I called you here today because there’s a change in the storyline we’re going to record for tomorrow,” she started as her assistant gave you and Yangyang the copy of the revised script and concept for the shoot. 

As you skimmed the pages, you realized that you and Yangyang’s character will be in close proximity, fully giving justice to his second male lead role. “As you can see, Riko and Jun will be closer to each other after Lei’s and Riko’s fall out. Of course, this will be brief as the latter couple will get back together,” she explained. “I just want the both of you to prepare yourselves. I know that the both of you have the least interaction throughout this series but you need to prepare… like, prepare,” she emphasized before adjourning the meeting, leaving you dazed. 

“After reading this script, I think Riko will fall harder for Jun than Lei,” you joked, already feeling the pressure as you saw a scene where you and Yangyang had to kiss. 

“Will you?” Yangyang asked, his tone was interrogating. 

You tilted your head, confused with what he meant, “Will I what, sunbaenim?”

But he just shrugged, telling you to prepare for tomorrow before leaving the office.

The ride on the way home was unusually quiet. 

“What do you think of him?” Your manager, Chenle, asked you.

“Of who?”

“Of Yangyang.”

You tried to think about what to say for a moment, “Well, he’s nice to me.” 

“That’s it?” Chenle glanced at you through the rearview mirror, one brow arched. “Nice? He’s Yangyang, Y/N. Everyone I heard who worked with him can’t get him out of their heads after.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head against the window. “He’s good at what he does. Professional. Maybe those people can’t separate work from their personal lives or whatever.”

“Professional, huh?” You can hear the smirk from Chenle’s tone.

“Just stop overthinking things, Chenle,” You sighed, dumping all of your body weight on the car seat. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day with him so you better not make any weird comments like whatever this conversation is.” “There’s nothing weird with the conversation we’re having, Y/N.” Chenle retorted, “I’m just hoping you could come to your senses tomorrow and do your best as an actress. You still have a lot to prove in the industry.”

“I know that.”

It’s tiring, honestly. For you, it’s a never ending quest of ‘proving’ yourself to the industry, general public, and your own family. It’s sad to think about how as a child, everyone was looking forward to your acting debut but once you did, all the nepotism news bombarded your career hence, you’re now known as the ‘nepo’ baby. 

You used to think of it as a positive thing, you never forgot to thank your parents in every interview for this opportunity as an actress because you know, since as a kid, that this is the path meant for you. It’s like you’re honoring them every chance you have but the public deemed it as ‘rubbing your nepotism face’ every chance you get. 

In the end, this whole issue got out of hand and you don’t mention your parents as much as you used to, even coming as close to declining films where they are starring in or in affiliation with in fear of the nepotism thing getting even bigger. 

The next day on set had this heavy atmosphere not usually there when it’s you and Sicheng filming. You think it’s probably with the revised script that got everyone on their edge because the crew were everywhere, ensuring all of the props and sets are nice and perfect for your shoot. 

It was also during this time that you realized the scene you’re about to do. 

It’s the middle part of Riko and Jun’s relationship where they kiss because they realized they love each other, only for a short period of time, and it ought to feel magical or else people would believe that Riko’s still in love with Lei and is using Jun but in the script, Riko’s in love with Jun, even if it’s just for a brief period. 

The director deemed it easier for the both of you to finish the hard scenes first before the others so as to ensure smooth filming in the later days of the schedule, considering that Yangyang and other actors in this series also has other schedules. 

“Relax,” Yangyang’s voice broke through your thoughts as you couldn’t shake your nerves.

First day with Yangyang as your character’s lover and you’re already about to kiss. What’s there to not be nervous about? 

He was leaning against the makeup station, dressed amazingly by his stylist. You think of his presence as effortless but right now, there’s a glint of something in his eyes–quiet yet intense. 

“I’m trying, sunbae,” you replied, turning to face him.

He stepped closer to where you are, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re overthinking it, Y/N. It’s just a scene. We’re professionals, remember?” 

You nodded, but your hands were still trembling slightly. Yangyang saw your state and sighed. “Nepo babies,” he teased as he shook his head before giving you again a bottle of water. “Take a sip, madam. It will make you feel better.”

“I’m sorry for feeling nervous, sunbae.” You apologized as you took a sip from the water he gave you. “It’s just that… it’s my first kissing scene ever and I’m not familiar with the grounds for kissing in a scene.” you admitted. 

Yangyang’s smile was wide and charming as he listened to your confession, “Don’t worry, sunbae will guide you.”

It was show time and the director called you and Yangyang in for a brief summary again. 

“Look,” Yangyang said to catch your attention, “Think of this scene as an important moment for Jun and Riko. They came from heartbreaks and found comfort from each other,” he gave you an advice, “It’s like their enlightenment scene where they kiss and suddenly, all is well.”

You stared at him, trying to gauge what he had just said. “I’ll do my best,” you said shyly, offering him a small smile before walking to the center.

“I know you will,” Yangyang replied, his gummy smile returning. 

“Okay, lovebirds for a glimpse,” the director called. Lovebirds for a glimpse is you and Yangyang’s new nickname on set because of this RikoJun scene you’re doing. “Kiss your way!” was all she said before giving the both of you the cue. 

As the scene began, you convinced yourself that this isn’t about you. This is about Riko finding love again after what happened with Lei. This is her first kiss with someone who comforted her. And with that, you found yourself more at ease. 

Yangyang’s character approached yours, his eyes showed vulnerability and it almost felt too real when his orbs directly looked into yours. The lines flowing out of his mouth smoothly, as if he meant them. 

And when the moment came, when Jun leaned in and Riko didn’t pull away, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. 

The kiss was soft, hesitant, and lingering–exactly as it was supposed to be. Yangyang held your head with such gentleness while your hands found their way to his back, trying to get him closer to your body. 

You know it’s just pretend kissing but part of you wished it was real with the way Yangyang was holding you and your proximity, his warmth made you feel small in a way that is not condescending. He made you feel safe. 

When the two of you break the kiss, your eyes meet again. This time, you definitely went out of character as you looked at him deeply, fully portraying Riko’s yearning for him. Her ‘I found you’ moment. 

“Cut!” The director yelled ecstatically. “That was such a good scene!” 

You thanked the director while your mind was still in a daze as Yangyang gave you a small, reassuring nod–as if saying that you did well. You couldn’t help but give the actor a smile in return. 

As the crew buzzed around you again, you caught Chenle’s gaze from the sidelines. He raised a brow, smirking at your direction as if he knew something you didn’t. 

And maybe, he did. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Between the countless takes, script changes, and the director’s endless feedback, you barely had time to process anything. Except when Yangyang was in the same room as yours. You admire how his presence seems to fill every corner, tugging at your attention no matter how hard you try to focus on anything else. 

By the time you wrapped up for the day, your body ached from exhaustion, and all you wanted was to crawl into bed. At this time, you thoroughly expected a grumpy Chenle waiting for you in your dressing room but you were taken aback with what you got instead.

It was Yangyang, leaning against the wall near your dressing room, scrolling through his phone like he’s your boyfriend waiting for you to finish your shoot… you mean, what?

You hesitated to greet him but he looked up at you before you could even decide.

“Y/N,” he greeted, “Chenle’s out with Renjun. Figured I’ll wait for you instead, considering how late it is now.”

“Oh,” you mentally cursed your manager, your inner monologues filled with ‘How dare he’ and ‘How could he’. “It’s fine, sunbae. I can manage on my own.” 

Yangyang slipped his phone into his pocket, standing up straight in the process. “No, nepo baby. You’re gonna be with me until you enter the backdoor of your apartment.” 

You’re too tired to decline a persistent Yangyang that you just nodded before heading to the parking lot. “Long day,” you sighed, leaning into the car seat of Renjun’s van. 

“Tell me about it,” he responded as he started driving. 

You glanced at him, surprised, “I almost forgot! Aren’t you supposed to be staying for the night shoot?”

“Nah, Kun’s taking over because of changes again. Figured the director would have also preferred it that way,” he laughed as his hands smoothly maneuvered the steering wheel. 

You giggled at his response, “Sounds about right.” 

The two of you drove in an awkward silence for a while, the cold air conditioning of the van touches your body, making you shiver. 

“So,” he said eventually, looking at you for a brief period in his rearview mirror. “How’d it feel? The scene, I mean.”

You bit your lip, avoiding his brief glances at your place. “I don’t know,” you started, “It felt different… I don’t think I can find the right words to describe it right now, really.” 

You try to brush off his question with a laugh but you know deep inside your heart that you couldn’t just tell him you wished that the kiss was real. That you wish there was something more and that his glances at you earlier meant something. 

“But your advice did help a lot!” You tried changing the topic which you think was effective after he gave you a smug chuckle in return. 

“Told you.”

There was something easy about talking to him like this, away from the cameras and the crew and everything.

While driving, Yangyang made sure to take all the precautions he needed so as to not get caught with you in his manager’s van. Sure, he’s being friendly and acting like a dependable sunbae to you but he can’t afford being caught in a scandal, not with you. 

When you reached your destination, he made sure to contact the security to ensure no one was there before letting you go. 

“Thanks for earlier, sunbae! I don’t think I would’ve gotten through it without your reassurance.” 

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment before giving you a soft smile. “You would’ve been fine, with or without my advice. Give yourself some credit.” 

You stood frozen in the middle of your apartment’s parking lot at the sudden compliment. “Anyway, Y/N, get some good rest as tomorrow will be just as crazy as today.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You too, sunbae, you too.”

By the time you reached your unit, you were surprised to see Chenle’s outdoor shoes in the entryway. 

“Yangyang said you’re out with Renjun,” your face turned sour at the sight of Chenle chilling on your sofa. “What a bad manager you are!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I left the restaurant earlier than Renjun.”

You didn’t mind what he said and went directly to your room to change. When you come back to your living room, he’s still in the same spot you left him a while ago. 

“What do you think of him now?” He asked again. This time, you already know who he was referring to. 

“He’s still fine and I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you rolled your eyes, joining him at your sofa. 

“He looks at you like you’re the lead of more than just the show, Y/N,” Chenle said slyly. 

“You’re overthinking things again, Chenle. Yangyang-sunbae is nice. I think we just have a good hoobae-sunbae relationship that’s why you’re acting like that,” you defended the actor. 

“I hope you’re right,” was all he said before placing all of his attention back to the television. 

At this point, you hope you’re right. 

It’s been a week since you spent time with Yangyang, filming the scenes for RikoJun and today, you guys are wrapping it all up–they’re gonna end their relationship and Lei will come back into the picture. 

“Missed me, Y/N?” Sicheng teased you. 

It’s also been a week since you last saw Sicheng, considering how busy he had gotten with his modelling gigs and sneaking out the pop star every night to his condominium. 

“You wish,” you retorted. 

“I heard you and Yangyang have a great chemistry,” he said again, his arms crossed to his chest.

“I like to think we do, too!” You gleefully replied, “His advice helped me a lot, especially during the heavy scenes we have together.”

Sicheng looked at you, “Mhm. I hope we still have that spark together after your time with him.”

Everyone on set was perplexed as to why Yangyang’s watching your scenes with Sicheng now, considering how he doesn’t have any upcoming shoots with you or with other actors of the drama today.

“Yang? Why are you here?” The director asked, completely puzzled to see the young man on set.

“Just wanna watch some of my colleagues, noona,” he showed off his gummy smile before proceeding to sit at the chair where the intern is supposed to sit. 

“Back off, Liu. The intern’s assigned there,” Hendery hissed, giving Yangyang a side eye before watching the younger one go away from the seat.

“Chill, Wong.” 

But Hendery didn’t give him any more attention, walking back to his van again to wait for the director’s orders. 

“Woah! What a tense situation you got there, Yang!” The director saw what happened, grinning ear to ear at Yangyang. 

“Shut up, noona. Why you gotta hire that man, anyways?”

“Well, he’s a good actor and he’s not rude to me,” 

“Whatever,” was all he said before looking for another seat to conquer.

After your shoot, you saw Yangyang outside your van, leaning against it while busying himself with his cellphone.

“Sunbae?” 

“Oh, Y/N. Already finished?” He asked, his eyes filled with joy as soon as he saw you in front of him. 

“Yeah. Why are you here, sunbae?” 

“N-nothing, Y/N. Have a great day.” 

You found it weird that Yangyang’s in front of your van yet left when you arrived but you didn’t divulge deep into the thought as your manager’s already waiting for you inside. 

“He was waiting for you,” Chenle told you the moment you sat on the leathered seat. “I thought he’s going to ask you out or something.”

“Please stop, Chenle. I know you like joking about stuff like that but he’s just a nice sunbae, that’s all!” 

“Drop the act, Y/N. I know you like him.”

This time, he’s right.

It started with the kiss scenes then the lovey-dovey shootings then came the drive-you-home extravaganza. Everything about Yangyang screams boyfriend for you. When he’d smile at you like you’re his most favorite thing in his world or when you’d be the only one he’d give techniques and advice on set, you knew what Chenle said about the man is right. 

At first, you were in-denial about it. Thinking that maybe you’re thinking this way about Yangyang because you can’t get your shit together and that you’re acting unprofessional. But, you know yourself. All this time, you are professional and diligent but his acts towards you aren't. 

Now, you’re here watching his character meet up with a new character the director added on a whim, saying something along the lines of ‘I’m sad Yangyang’s character didn’t have a partner.’

“Cut!” The director shouted, “That was a good run! Thank you, everyone!” 

The moment your eyes locked in with Yangyang, he immediately walked your way, not minding the new female character in his vicinity. 

“You were great out there,” you complimented. 

“Thanks,” he looked up before looking right into your eyes again, “But that’s just an act you know, what you saw earlier.”

“...I know?” You laughed. Of course, you know. You’re an actress for god’s sake!

“Just… saying,” he responded. “Anyways, are you free? Do you want to hangout with Sicheng and the rest?” 

You thought he’s about to ask you out on a date but Sicheng’s name flew out of his mouth and made your mood a bit down. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” you replied, opening your SMS app to message your manager about the said gathering.

You were about to sit beside Yangyang when the new actress beat you to it and told you to sit between Sicheng and Hendery. 

“It’s more fun if we sat beside our partners in the drama!” She suggested but you knew she just wanted to sit besides Yangyang. 

The table was tense, with the actress giving Yangyang a lot of food on his plate while you and the rest were quietly looking at the both of them. 

“I told Yangyang not to invite the newbie,” Hendery murmured. 

“Wouldn’t that be bad?” You asked, surprised he even talked to you. 

“So what? He could tell her I’m the one who suggested it.”

“That would be bad for you, then.”

“Everyone knows I’m bad. Much better for her to experience it sooner.’ 

You wanted to continue the conversation with Hendery more but he was clearly preoccupied with his ramen.

“That’s Hendery for you,” Sicheng smiled. “Here, get some of the beef I cooked.” 

“Thank you, Sicheng,” you thanked him as he put some cooked beef into your plate. 

From time to time, Yangyang kept on glancing at you while the new addition to the crew kept on pushing herself to the man. He was being uncomfortable because even though they rented a private section of this restaurant, rumors can still go and he can’t afford to have that. 

“He’s looking at you, Y/N,” Sicheng said, as if you hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

“I know, oppa. It feels weird.”

“Miss Y/N, you haven’t been touching your plate. Is everything alright?” Dejun asked rather loudly and everyone’s eyes on you now which made you feel small, especially when Yangyang’s gaze turned concerned. 

“Yes, Dejun-sunbae. I just feel full now,” you smiled at his direction which is a bit to the left whereas you were in the middle. 

“I’ll finish your food, Y/N. Give it to me,” Yangyang suddenly said, his right hand in your direction, waiting for you to give him your plate. 

“But–”

“Sicheng-ge, give me her plate,” you swear you could hear the newbie disagreeing with Yangyang but he didn’t mind.

Sicheng, being the biggest shipper of you and Yangyang, gladly followed the younger’s request. 

“Thank you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you said, eyes glinting with affection that everyone on the table didn’t miss. 

Of course, the both of you may not notice your deep fondness towards each other but everyone around you can feel it–they just don’t want to meddle with it. 

After everyone finished eating, you guys decided it would be better to part ways with each other and when the cast vanished into the busy streets of Seoul, you found yourself alone with Yangyang. 

“At last,” Yangyang jokingly said, nudging you playfully with his elbow while grinning from ear to ear. “At last, I can be with you alone!” 

Your heartbeat raced as you tried finding a reasonable response to him. “Don’t say that, sunbae!” 

“Why? Don’t you want to spend time with me?” 

“I like being with you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you responded, your tone was heartfelt but your execution was shy. 

Yangyang glanced at you for a while before forcing you to look back up at him, his fingers found your chin, racing it up so you could meet eye to eye. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, Y/N.” 

“Mhm?” 

“You can stop calling me sunbae, you know,” he continued, “Just call me Yangyang, like everyone does.”

“But I don’t like calling you the way they do,” you argued, your lips forming a firm line. 

He just laughed at your stubbornness before ruffling your hair. 

“Okay, nepo baby. Just call me whatever you want,” he smiles at you genuinely, never getting tired of your little habits. 

“Okay, my dearest sunbae,” he laughs again this time but you truly meant what you had said. 

Sure, you might have other sunbae than him that you look up to and respect the most but none of them is Yangyang. None of them can make you feel the way he makes you feel. To you, he’s irreplaceable. 

Yangyang’s presence is a constant in your day as an actress. He’s always there, watching your scenes and cheering you on every chance he gets. He would also lean over your script, pointing out notes with an exaggerated seriousness that makes you not pay attention to him.

“You know, I could just ask the director,” you say, snatching the paper back.

“But I’m more fun,” he whines, leaning back with a pout. 

Then there are the quieter moments, like when you’re both reviewing scenes on his tablet, shoulder’s brushing as you sit close enough to share the screen. Or the way his hands would instinctively hand you a water bottle before you could even realize you’re thirsty. 

Or when he would always stay up late at night, waiting for you to wrap up your shoot before bidding you goodbye, watching you go inside your van before minding his own way home.

“Sunbae, you don’t have to wait for me everytime,” you say one evening as he lingers beside the director’s chair, watching you finish your last take for the day.

“And miss seeing you trip over your lines when you’re tired? No thanks,” he teased, flashing you a mischievous grin. 

You rolled your eyes at him, tossing a tissue towards his direction which he dodges with a dramatic flair. 

Moments like this have become the norm, not just to you but to everyone else. 

Everyone on set notices it. The way Yangyang’s eyes soften when he talks to you, the way your laughter is always louder in his presence. It’s in how he seems to move with you, like gravity itself pulls him into your orbit. 

“They’re so obvious,” the director complains jokingly. 

“Would you say anything, though?” Kun asked with a hushed tone, glancing at you both from across the room.

“Hell no.” 

To the crew, it’s an open secret that no one dares to talk about. To you and Yangyang, it’s just the way things are. 

And Chenle’s really worried for you.

You’re sitting in the dressing room, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Chenle organizes your schedule for the following months. The buzzing voices and footsteps of the crew fades as you stand up for a while to close the door, creating a rare moment of peace and solitude in your otherwise hectic day, before sitting comfortably again. 

Chenle sets his laptop down on the table with a deliberate thud, breaking the comforting silence.

“We need to talk, Y/N,” he says, his tone filled with urgency.

You glance up, already sensing the shift in his usual sunny demeanor. “What is it this time?” You asked, trying to lift his mood up but it seems like your manager has no time for jokes or any of your ministrations. 

“It’s about Yangyang.”

You look at him puzzled, “What about him?” 

Chenle crossed his arms, his expression was stern. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s too much. Everyone on set sees it.” 

“So what if they do? People talk all the time,”you counter, feigning nonchalance, though your heartbeat races and you feel a knot tightening in your stomach. 

“This is serious, Y/N,” his tone now direct, “This isn’t just about people talking. You’re putting your reputation and his career at risk!” 

You roll your eyes at what he had said, leaning back in your chair. “Chenle, it’s not that serious. Even if something happens, my parents can fix it. They’ve done it before. Don’t worry.” 

“See? That’s exactly the problem Y/N,” he snaps, “You’re so used to your parents cleaning up after you that you don’t even see how dangerous this is for him,” you could tell his frustration is boiling over but you don’t seem to understand why he’s angry. “Sure, you can tell everyone how you’re so much more of your name or your parents. You can decline any movies or series with their name, but that action of yours. This action of yours is why people still think you’re a nepo baby.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, feeling confused. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Chenle. I’m sure Yangyang knows how to handle himself.”

“Does he?” Chenle laughs at your naivety. “Do you have any idea how hard he’s worked to get here? He doesn’t have the privilege of a safety net like you, Y/N,” he pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “One scandal, one rumor, and everything he’s built is gone.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The weight of his words made you understand where he’s coming from but your response only deepened the rift. “Okay, fine. If it comes to that, I’ll handle it. My parents will definitely make sure nothing happens to him either. I’m sure of it.” 

Chenle was cynical after hearing what you have just said. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about who your parents can pay off. It’s about respect. Respect for his work, his sacrifices, his entire life!” 

Outside the door, Yangyang stands frozen, his hand stuck on the knob. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on you and Chenle’s conversation, he just wanted to hang out with you today but instead, he got to hear your careless and out of touch words, making his chest tighten. 

He hears Chenle’s voice lower, ultimately giving off the vibes that he’s intensely irritated at what you have said. “You’re so caught up in thinking everything will be fine because it always is for you. But for him? It’s not. And if you really care about him, you’d stop pretending this isn’t a big deal. Stop whatever is going on with you two, Y/N.” 

Yangyang doesn’t want to hear anymore of what you guys are talking about. His stomach churns as he walks away, Chenle’s words and your indifference playing over and over in his head.

The ride home was quiet but not the quiet you wanted to have with Chenle. You genuinely can’t understand why he’s so exasperated with you when you’re just telling the truth. You can’t seem to find the problem with your parents paying off tabloids and threatening news agencies to keep the rumors about you and Yangyang out of the public eye.

And maybe, just maybe, the reason why you can’t find the problem with what you have said is because you’d never truly had to worry about the consequences of your actions. For you, it was simple: if things went wrong, you had the means to make it right.

“Chenle,” you finally broke the silence, your voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I thought I was being practical, you know? Looking out for everyone… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve missed something.” 

Chenle’s hand tightened around the steering wheel of the van and you could see the tension in his shoulders. “It’s not just about you, Y/N,” he said, “It’s about Yangyang too. You have no idea how much risk he had put out on himself just so you could be close with him the way you are with him now. How he’d probably be in his bed every night, thinking when or where news would break out about you two but still continue to act like your lover day by day. You have no idea how much he’s risked for you and here you are, thinking everything can be handled with a few phone calls from your parents.” 

His words stung more now, the sharpness of them cutting through your confusion. You tried to open your mouth to speak but nothing came out. This time, you knew Chenle was right. You have no idea. 

“Do you really think this is just a game for him, Y/N?” Chenle continued, “I know, it’s partly my fault for letting him drive you home that night and for not giving you a heads up but I didn’t think it could go deeper. I didn’t think it could end up like this.”

“It’s not your fault, Chenle. I just… I just didn’t think of it like that,” you murmured, your voice almost too quiet for him to hear. “I just thought that… that it’s the way things work for me. I didn’t realize our situation could put him in a worse situation than me.” 

Chenle’s expression softened at your confession, “I know you didn’t. But that’s why I need you to start seeing it from his side. From his perspective. This isn’t about what you can fix or what you think you can get away with.”

Betrayed is an understatement of how Yangyang feels right now. Hearing Chenle’s frustration and your clueless words earlier made his heart twist uncomfortably. Just when he thought everything was okay. Just when he thought it was okay to let his guard down for you. You just had to let him feel different from you. 

“What are you going to do, Yang?” Renjun asked, sighing as he saw his talent leaning against the window of his car. He had heard about you and your manager’s dispute from Yangyang. The young man was already on the verge of crying when Renjun calmed him down, even just for a moment.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone that far into whatever we had, ge.” 

“I’m sure Y/N had her reasons as to why she said those things, Yang,” Renjun tried to save you from Yangyang but he knew it’s no use. 

Knowing Yangyang, Renjun’s too sure that the boy will completely distance himself from you, considering how he just realized how dangerous it is for him to fall for someone like you. 

“No, ge. This has to stop. Whatever this is. Chenle’s right. Even if I hadn’t heard her talking with her manager, I can’t let things go that far, ge. I have a career to uphold,” Yangyang sighed, “What would the public think if they learned about us? It’s so scary.”

“You’re overthinking again. Try to talk things with her tomorrow, maybe it’ll clear your mind.”

Tomorrow came and Yangyang dreaded it the most. You, on the other hand, are oblivious to the fact that your potential significant other potentially heard your conflict with Chenle last night. 

“Yang-sunbae!” You greeted, still clueless. 

With you greeting him with a huge smile that could cure the world, Yangyang wished he hadn’t heard what you had said yesterday. Yangyang wished this could go on. Yangyang wished you guys were just ordinary people. 

“I heard your conversation with Chenle,” he wasted no time. Yangyang spoke to you with the coldest tone he could muster but his insides were shaking. 

“Hm?” You were confused. 

What conversation with Chenle? You thought. 

Oh. You realized. 

Oh.

“Must be nice for you, huh? To not be worried about your career because your parents can clean your mess up,” his words cut you like a knife. He swore to himself to become calm once you met him but Yangyang felt overwhelmed. 

“What are you-” you couldn’t even continue what you were about to say because he interrupted you again, his disappointment in you evident in his eyes.

“I like you, Y/N.”

Those were the words you hoped Yangyang would one day say to you but his tone wasn’t the way to put it. You felt no butterflies in your stomach because you know this is not the confession where the both of you would end up together. More like a confession where you’d end up alone. 

“I like you too, Yangyang-sunbae,” you try. You hoped that he would calm down. That this revelation of feelings would soothe him and make him realize that everything is okay. That he’d realize you’re ready to risk everything for him.

But deep down, you know you’re just a fool for even confessing. 

Yangyang shook his head, “I like you, Y/N,” he repeated, “But we should stop. Your manager is right. What we have right now shouldn’t continue. We’re not allowed to be like this,” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence. 

A confession and a closure at the same dialogue? Yangyang is the only one who could do that.

“Yang…” but he didn’t respond. You look at his figure walking out of the set. 

You cried at where he had left you. You look like a fool there, with the director coming at your direction, completely confused as to why Yangyang left so suddenly and why you were left there, sobbing. 

“No amount of public hate could make me hurt the way his words did,” you cry at the director’s shoulder. You were almost shaking. 

It was your first ever rejection you have received your whole life. Sure, some individuals do not accept you in this field but his rejection of you was personal. 

“Why’d you do that to her?” Yangyang found it surprising that Hendery was the one to ask him why. Out of all the people in the set, this young and rude man was the first one to ask him why. 

“She can’t understand me or my situation. She can never understand it,” Yangyang just replied as he brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply as smoke curled up in the air. 

“You should have known that from the start, considering she’s a product of nepotism,” Hendery replied. Him, too, lighting up his own cig. 

“She’s more than what the public thinks of her,” Yangyang argued, “But, I think I have overestimated her.” 

Yangyang didn’t mean to leave you crying, he felt hurt himself. When he saw you earlier, memories of yesterday flooded his mind, overwhelming him and causing him to say whatever came to mind in that moment.

He was terrified that he would become nothing once the news about you two broke. The thought of a dating scandal uprooting all the sacrifices he had made for his career filled him with dread. In truth, he was afraid of you.

From the first time he saw you at the read-throughs, he sensed something about you could destroy him. Still, he tried until all that remained was the painful realization that you couldn’t be with him.

Hendery didn’t respond to Yangyang anymore. Instead, he just stood there while Yangyang found himself sitting with his truth in silence, grappling with the weight of his emotions. It was just him, Hendery, and the unspoken fears that lingered between you two, a reminder of what could never be.

“I know this is bad timing but the editing team accidentally deleted a kissing scene from Riko and Jun and now–” the director was frantic, almost worried for you and Yangyang but Kun calmed her down.

“Breathe,” he said, patting the back of the director to soothe her.

“Thank you,” she smiled before continuing, “I need the two of you to get your act together and film this one, just one, scene again.”

Yangyang didn’t reply, as if he’s distracted with something. You, on the other hand, gave the director a small nod. 

It was the day after the confession-closure thing and you kinda accepted to yourself that while he has become wary with you, you’re still willing to accept him. Even if it takes a lifetime. 

“Good morning, sunbae!” You gave him your best, energetic smile but he just gave you a nod. 

“At least, he acknowledged you,” Sicheng’s makeup artist felt bad for you so she tried to cheer you up. 

“Okay, Y/N and Yangyang! Give us your best shot!” The director calls, you breathe deeply before looking straight into Yangyang’s, you mean, Jun’s eyes. 

Be professional, Y/N! You scold yourself.

Yangyang immediately dives into the kissing scene, leaving you no room to mentally prepare for it. 

The kiss was fierce and desperate. You feel as if you’re trying to consume each other, pouring all your unspoken words and pent-up feelings into this single moment.

Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer as if afraid he might disappear. He responds by deepening the kiss, his hands gripping your waist tightly, grounding you both in this whirlwind of passion.

It’s as if you guys weren’t Riko and Jun. The pretend kiss was extremely intense, everyone on set felt that it was genuine than it was supposed to be. But the director liked it. 

“Cut!” The director shouted and Yangyang was quick enough to detach himself from you. “That was a good one-take!”

You weren’t able to respond because Yangyang was already leading you to a secluded place.

“Hey! Wait!” You try to make him stop, “The director’s not finished talking, sunbae.”

Once he deems it’s safe enough, he looks at you before sighing deeply. He leans into you, kissing you for real this time. 

Yangyang doesn’t know if this is your first kiss but you don’t care at all. You close your eyes, feeling the moment. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, breathless.

“I should be the one apologizing, sunbae.”

Yangyang inhales, looking straight into your eyes, “It’s just… it’s just I’m afraid to disappoint them, Y/N. My fans. The public. I don’t like the way they’d paint me if we’re revealed.” 

“It’s okay, really. At least, you told me now,” you give him a half smile. 

In that instant, you realize how much you’re willing to risk for him. You were so easy to forgive him that you’d already forgotten what he had made you feel yesterday. But there’s this thought that has been eating you since then… that Yangyang’s not ready to risk what you’re ready to give him. 

“Look,” you were determined to make this right. “I know it’s complicated but–” 

He shakes his head harshly, cutting you off. “No, Y/N. You don’t understand this ‘complicated’ you’re talking about. I like you, Y/N. I genuinely, deeply fell for you but I can’t afford to risk my career or put you in danger of being even more hated by the general public.” 

“Yangyang-sunbae,” your voice was trembling but you still gave him a forced smile, “We can still be friends, you know?” You don’t want to be friends with him but if that’s the only way to keep him around, you’re willing. 

“No, Y/N. We can’t be friends.” 

“Why not?” You plead, desperate for him to explain whatever he has on his mind because he’s been puzzling you since earlier. 

“Because I like you more than friends do,” he admits, his voice betraying him again. 

The confession sends a rush of emotions through you, “So what does this mean for us?”

“It means…” He hesitates again, his brow furrowing, knowing that whatever comes out of his mouth next will change his relationship with you. “It means I have to lose you to protect you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the face. You want to scream that it’s not fair, that love shouldn’t come with conditions or sacrifices, but only a shaky breath left your lips.

“Yangyang-sunbae,” you say softly, stepping closer again despite the chasm between your desires and his fears. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like time stands still. In those gaze of his lies everything unspoken: the love that burns fiercely but is overpowered by his fear.

“I wish things were different,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You reach out, fingers brushing against his hand, wishing for him to reconsider. But deep down, you know he’s already made up his mind.

“It’s premiere day!” The director gleamed. 

“Sicheng, you ready?” You ask your lead partner.

“Ask yourself first if you’re ready,” he replied. And he’s right about it, considering how this is the first time you’re going to see Yangyang again after your closure. 

The venue was filled with energy, cameras flashing from left to right, fans cheering for every cast member, and the buzz of excitement filling every corner of the room. You take a deep breath before diving in with Sicheng at the stage, reminding yourself of the work you had put into this series. 

The lights were blinding you and Sicheng and you can’t even hear the cheers of your fans with your heart thumping incredibly loud and fast. As you pose for photos, your eyes can’t help but wander to Yangyang. And when you did? Your heart almost dropped.

Yangyang looked dapper in his suit, standing with his partner in the drama as well as the other cast members. He catches your gaze for a second before continuing to smile at the cameras pointed at him. You can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. 

You mean, what’s the point of looking that good if there’s a distance between the both of you?

After the dashing and successful premiere of Eternal Sunshine, you find yourself at the after-party where only the crew and the cast were invited. 

The atmosphere was celebratory, filled with laughter and clinking of glasses. Heck, you even heard someone say that this drama is going to be a hit and that you deeply hope. But your mind wanders to Yangyang, sitting at the side with Hendery, exchanging small talks with the man every once in a while. 

You don’t know what came to you at that exact moment but you can’t help yourself. Your feet found its way towards an unsuspecting Yangyang. 

You first greeted Hendery, who even though feels the atmosphere didn’t need his presence there, didn’t give a single care and continued to eat. 

“Y/N,” Yangyang greeted you first.

“Hey,” you smile softly at him before leaning to his level, whispering, “I just want you to know that I’ll wait for your love, Yang.” 

It was the first time Yangyang had heard you call him without honorifics, making him flustered and shocked. He was about to respond to you but you shushed him, walking towards the area where the director is to talk with her. 

You know that there’s no need for further explanation because deep down inside, you're resolute: you’ll absolutely wait for his love. You like this man deeply, more than words can explain, and no matter how long it takes you're willing to endure it all for him.

COMING UP NEXT. “Yeah, but it’s so weird because you can feel the tension and I think it’d be even weirder now because they’re wrapping up the first season and Ten has to get the interesting bits while the makeup artist has to make sure Sicheng is the interesting bit.”

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi. 

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile. 

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes. 

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.    

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman. 

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject. 

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more. 

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse. 

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.” 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.” 

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence. 

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.  

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence. 

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening. 

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment. 

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.   

“You okay?” he asks. 

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm. 

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart. 

“You will never be alone,” she promises. 

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.   

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight. 

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him. 

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.  

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him. 

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms. 

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.  

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him. 

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt. 

“I choose him over you,” she says. 

Then, she slips back inside.     

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds. 

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now. 

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.” 

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones. 

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.” 

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.  

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say. 

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though. 

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says. 

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once. 

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks. 

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother. 

“I will think on it,” he says. 

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life. 

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut. 

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers. 

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek. 

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

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(Going back to the regular Dean tag list, plus those who said they'd like to be tagged on this series!)

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