#//this is a snippet from a writing warm up

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hiiii! So, I just read your newest vampire snippet where the human cuts their hand and I need more! So I have a bit of a spicy suggestion! Vampire is taking blood from human’s neck and then just starts kissing their neck and then human tenses up so vampire stops and is like “is this okay pet.” And human just MELTS! And the spice progresses and everything! Anyway you obviously don’t have to do it if you don’t want to! I love your writing have a great day!

Based on this but you don't actually have to have read the first bit.

The human was sure that the first kiss was a mistake. A brush of soft lips as the vampire re-positioned sharper fangs. At the second kiss, they were less sure.

They were sitting on the vampire's lap, as was often the case when their employer was feeding on them. It had been a little awkward the first time, but apparently it worked best that way. Less strain on the circulatory system, more control of blood flow, easy access and the vampire could apparently better tell when the human's body was getting chilled enough that they needed to stop. The vampire's arm was a comfortable cage around them.

At the third kiss, nuzzled with a gentle nip just beneath the human's jaw, the human tensed.

"Is this okay, pet?" the vampire asked immediately.

"You're kissing me."

The vampire pulled back, free hand grasping the human's chin and guiding their eyes to meet. Their eyes narrowed a fraction.

The human huffed, even as their stomach fluttered. "You didn't take too much, don't worry."

"Then why are you stating the obvious like you have brain damage."

"It's an expression of surprise."

"Hm."

"Don't you, um." The human didn't know how to delicately point out the string of devastatingly pretty lovers that were in and out of the vampire's home. "You're kissing me."

"If there's a question there, pet, use your words."

The human felt their face flush and the vampire smirked. It struck, then, that was perhaps the exact reaction the vampire had hoped to achieve.

"It's okay," the human said. "You're fine. Thanks for, er, checking."

The villain studied them for a moment longer.

Foolishly, with the distant sense that they would blame the blood less for their own recklessness, they leaned in and pressed a quick chaste kiss to the vampire's mouth.

The vampire blinked. The human had a moment to regret everything before the vampire simply ducked their head back to the human's neck.

That time, though, there was no mistaking what the vampire was doing. The kisses trailed up along the side of the human's neck that the vampire had fed from - a deft flick of the tongue encouraging the pinprick puncture wounds to close.

The human had never felt so aware of their own body. Of the pooling heat of desire at dizzying odds with the lingering cold of being fed upon. The vampire was as warm to the touch as they ever got, deceptively human.

It was easy to let their head tip, offering more of their throat, to the vampire's mouth. To simply follow the vampire's guiding grip.

They didn't remember the vampire twisting them so that the human's back hit the massive daybed, but then the vampire was bent over them. Brushing the hair back from the human's face. Studying them again, like merely looking at the human could be as much of a feast as drinking them from.

The human felt halfway to undone. Floaty and wanting. A puddle of need on the cushions, which was just ludicrous for mere kisses.

"I suppose this is a bad time to negotiate some terms in your contract," the vampire said. "I should have done it before I drank."

The floaty haze threatened to rupture in an instant. The human sat up so fast that the world tipped and the corners of their vision fuzzed.

"Wait .You're firing me?"

The vampire frowned. Their hands had snapped out, catching hold and steadying. One finger moved to the human's pulse.

"I'm not dying," the human said, feeling flushed all over again. "I'm just dumb."

Something flickered in the vampire's eyes.

"No, pet," the vampire simply said. They dragged the pad of their thumb carefully along the human's lower lip. "I'm not firing you. I just don't expect you to be kissed without compensation."

"Oh. So this is - this is a work thing?"

"You have a 24/7 contract," the vampire said.

It was true. They were a live-in blood bag. It wasn't that they couldn't leave and go do other things or see friends while balancing their responsibilities, but in exchange for the free accommodation and myriad expenses they were on call. As far as any time they spent in a room with the vampire went, they were always working.

So why did that reply somehow disappoint them?

Why did it ache like fangs plunged into their throat, before the heady intoxication of vampire venom kicked in?

They'd been joking about being dumb, but maybe it was true.

The vampire, for all of their general amorality, was a generous employer so long as that generosity was embedded in contract.

"Right," the human said, hastily. They flashed a smile. "Yeah. I mean. I'm always down for taking more of your money! No offense. Not that you're a terrible kisser. Not that you care if I think you're a terrible kisser."

The vampire was staring at them, eyes dark and expression unreadable.

The human bit their lip. Cleared their throat. "So is this like, um, a permanent amendment to my contract that you want to discuss or more of a bonus, by the vibes of dinner sort of situation?"

"Today will be a bonus because I didn't discuss it beforehand."

"Right. Cool. Just kissing?"

They felt like the least cool person ever. They didn't know how people usually talked about it without completely killing the mood. They bet the vampire's other lovers - assuming any of them came with a price tag, the human didn't ask - were much more slick in their negotiations.

The vampire caught their chin, angling their head up. They leaned in and claimed the human's lips with the sort of kiss so scorching it was surely branded upon a time stream somewhere. Marked out by history as one hell of a kiss.

"Kissing," the human murmured. "No just about it?"

The fact that the vampire smiled was somehow even more of a shock than the fact that the vampire had kissed them. The vampire chased pleasure nearly as much as their own thirst - kissing fit the brief. Smiling, on the other hand, seemed a very much out of thing place for ancient evil given gorgeous flesh.

"How about I promise to only put my mouth on you today?"

The human made a frankly embarrassing sound in their throat.

The vampire's eyes glittered wicked. "Is that okay, pet."

It was not a question. The vampire damn well knew all the ways it was very much okay, albeit probably a terrible idea. Fireworks fizzed in the human's head.

"Yeah," the human said. Then, with a boldness that surprised them. "I want an extra tenner every time you put your hands on me because you can't resist me."

"Is that so."

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"That's okay," the vampire said. They made a show of putting their hands behind their back. "So, we are in accord?"

"We have a deal, yeah."

"Good." The vampire's gaze flicked over them. Then, they caught the human by the ankle and yanked them flat on their back again, falling on them like an oil painted rendition of sin incarnate. "Next time." They nipped the human's ear. "Make it a hundred."

The vampire's hand retreated and, despite themselves, the human giggled.

It was work, and a bad idea, but...

Well.

The vampire was very good with their mouth.

[synity]

hii can u write dk & woozi's sis who's a soloist + producer ? snippets of their life + carats making edits of them (were seen tgt in the green room & dk looks at them like they hung the stars) and cute interviews abt them

STARGAZER

(Lee Seokmin x FemReader ft.Lee Jihoon)

*Romance, Slice of Life, Rom-Com, Fluff, Idolverse AU, RPF (Real Person Fiction)*

[Green Room, Music Bank – 3:42 PM]

Seokmin sits in the green room, nervously adjusting his mic. He’s half-listening to his members when Y/N walks in, holding a tray of iced drinks with a shy smile.

Y/N: “Oppa told me you like peach oolong. Here.”

Seokmin lights up, eyes practically sparkling like he just won the lottery.

DK: “You’re the best… like actually. I mean—wow, thank you, angel.”

His voice cracks slightly and the staff behind the camera stifle giggles. Jihoon, who had been sitting next to them, raises an eyebrow.

Woozi: “I’m still here, just so you both remember.”

DK: “And I appreciate you too, hyung! Great genetics in the family!”

The interaction goes viral on X (Twitter), with CARATs captioning it:

“DK looking at Y/N like they hung the stars 😭✨ #SEOKYNDY #YNDK”

[Interview with Jihoon – Radio Appearance]

DJ: “So, Jihoon-ssi, we heard a cute rumor that your younger sibling is dating SEVENTEEN’s DK?”

Jihoon smirks, shaking his head.

Woozi: “They’re… loud together.”

laughter

Woozi: “But I trust Seokmin. He’s one of the kindest people I know. If it weren’t him, I might be in jail by now.”

[A CARAT-Made Edit: “He’s So Whipped 💘”]

🎞️ Soft music plays over a montage:

DK walking behind Y/N with a hand on her back protectively.

Y/N giving him a forehead kiss before a stage.

DK’s literal heart-eyes when she walks into a rehearsal room.

A fancam clip where he mouths “I love you” during “Fallin’ Flower” directly at her.

Caption: “This man looks at her like she’s his whole galaxy 🥹🪐🌟”

[YouTube Interview: “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done?”]

DK: “I once wrote a song just using her laugh. I recorded it secretly.”

Host: “That’s… wow.”

DK: “She has this laugh that sounds like wind chimes. Jihoon hyung helped me mix it into the bridge.”

[Text From Y/N’s Private IG Story (Leaked by DK 😂)]

📸 Photo of DK in pajamas holding a cat plushie.

Caption:

“He showed up at my door like this after practice just to say goodnight.” 😭❤️

[Woozi’s Vlive Clip]

Woozi: “I was mixing a track and Seokmin kept smiling at his phone.”

Chat goes: [DK & YN texting?]

Woozi: “Turns out she sent him a video of their dog sleeping. He watched it on loop for 10 minutes.”

[MCountdown Ending Fairy]

Y/N is backstage cheering. DK glances over as he finishes the final pose and breaks into the softest smile.

Camera zooms in.

“That smile wasn’t for the fans this time… 😭🫶 #SeokYNDyForever”

One Quiet Afternoon — DK x Y/N ft. Woozi

The Pledis lounge was unusually quiet that day. Rain trickled down the windows, soft and steady, a rhythm almost matching the calm inside.

Y/N sat curled up on the new gray couch, laptop on her knees, frowning slightly as she scrolled through color palettes for a stage outfit she was designing. Her glasses kept slipping down, and she kept pushing them up with the back of her hand.

DK walked in with two mugs one slightly chipped, filled with hot cocoa, and the other with tea. He placed the cocoa on the small table next to her and plopped down beside her with a little bounce.

"Your eyebrows are doing that thing again," he said.

Y/N glanced at him. "What thing?"

"Like…" He leaned closer, gently smoothing her brow with his thumb. "Like you’re trying to win a frowning contest with yourself."

She huffed a quiet laugh, eyes returning to her screen. "I just can’t pick between this navy or the darker blue. Jihoon’s stage lighting might wash it out."

DK leaned his chin on her shoulder, studying the swatches. "That one," he pointed lazily, “darker blue. He always uses warm-toned lights anyway.”

Y/N blinked. "Since when do you know lighting setups?"

DK grinned. "Since I fell for a genius and started paying attention."

Y/N blushed and looked away.

Suddenly, a quiet voice cut through the peace.

"Can you both shut up?" Woozi muttered from the corner, sprawled out on a beanbag with his AirPods in. "Some of us are actually working."

DK grinned wider. "Some of us are trying to have a cute moment, hyung."

"Try quieter," Woozi grumbled, but didn’t get up. Didn’t even look mad, really.

DK gently took Y/N’s laptop and set it aside, replacing it with the warm mug.

“You work too hard,” he said softly, nudging her head to rest on his shoulder. “Let me do the frowning today.”

She didn’t reply just smiled into her cocoa, sipping in silence while the rain tapped against the windows and Woozi mumbled about deadlines in the background.

Want me to write a version where fans somehow witness this moment from afar? Or a similar one from DK’s point of view?

One Quiet Afternoon

The cocoa warmed Y/N’s hands. DK’s shoulder was warm too solid, familiar. She let her head rest there a little longer.

“You smell like vanilla,” she mumbled.

Dokyeom huckled. “That’s my body wash. I bought it because the name reminded me of you.”

She turned her head slightly. “So I’m… a body wash now?”

He beamed. “No, you’re vanilla cloud comfort essence, obviously.”

Y/N groaned. “Seokmin, you’re impossible.”

“Impossibly cute?”

“Impossibly dramatic.”

Mingyu groaned louder from his beanbag, still not moving. “I beg you. I’m not even trying to third-wheel. You’re just making it impossible to exist in peace.”

Y/N giggled quietly while DK leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “He’s just mad I’m cuter than him.”

“I heard that,” Joshua muttered without opening his eyes.

Dokyeom looked over at both Joshua and Woozi with a sly grin, then back to Y/N. “Wanna sneak out and get tteokbokki before practice? the Hyung won’t even notice.”

“we're literally in the room,” Woozi said flatly.

Dokyeom grinned wider. “But you’re emotionally absent.”

Y/N nearly snorted her cocoa.

They didn’t leave right away. They just sat there for a bit longer DK quietly humming something under his breath, Y/N sketching lazy lines on her screen with her finger, Joshua reading a mazine and Woozi pretending to ignore them all while secretly smiling behind his AirPods.

The rain kept falling, soft and steady.

Outside, a few CARATs lingered by the entrance under umbrellas. One of them spotted the trio through the slightly open blinds Dokyeom's head tilted toward Y/N, her laugh caught mid-motion, and Woozi glaring like a fed-up cat.

The photo would surface on Twitter later with the caption:

"Dokyeom looking at Y/N like she’s his entire sky and Woozi silently regretting introducing them 😭💙☔ #Seokmin #Woozi #Y/N #caratlife"

But inside that lounge?

It was just a quiet afternoon.

No lights. No fans. No edits. Just them. Normal. Soft. Home.

[hypnobeauty]

a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 14?)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, fluff, reflections, my rusty writing. a/n: hi…. is anyone here? *blows dust off blog* i’m back, i guess! sorry for taking so long. this is not an actual update, just a little snippet—future in thailand, more reader focused! honestly, i’m not happy with the way the “official” story went lol so these past months i’ve been writing on and off, random things; planning on posting them. i hope you enjoy it! this piece was slightly based on me: the stray cat, the moving countries, the kettle left by the previous renter owner. as usual, comments are always welcome xx love, lika taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings @dikeu-yoiz (are u still interested? lemme know!)

part 14. stamped and sealed

the air was thick with the kind of warmth that settled in your skin and stayed there, fragrant with lemongrass and sun-warmed dust, a familiar welcome you’d come to expect each morning. a breeze moved lazily through the still air, carrying the sharp, peppery scent of grilled skewers and roasted chili from the street vendors three blocks down, who had already begun firing up their stalls in preparation for the dinner crowd. you stood barefoot on the porch, sipping iced tea from a glass that sweat in the heat, condensation trickling slowly down your fingers.

the stray cat with the stubby tail—now semi-adopted, unofficially christened meatball—padded through the garden with a sense of haughty ownership. she sniffed the bougainvillea blooms, then went in your direction, weaving through your legs with a lazy meow. you had tried to move her in completely, but she scratched the door the whole night until you gave in and opened it at 3 am. meatball is perfectly content in existing around you two, asking for food or chin scritches, and napping on the sofa during the afternoon, but refusing to let go of her freedom and right to come and go as she pleases. you often wondered if it could be a metaphor for something.

all of it was. this house, with its stained concrete, and one light switch that always sparked if you flicked it too fast. it wasn’t love at first sight. at least, not for hyun‑ju. you’d seen the house online first, in a grainy listing photo that made her scoff. “it looks like a ghost lives there,” she had said.

still, when you’d arrived for the showing—her trailing behind with her arms crossed and a skeptical scowl—you’d pushed open the metal gate, walked up the overgrown path, and something about it had clicked into place. as if it had been waiting for you. as if you had been waiting for it.

the house sat halfway down a sleepy residential street in lat phrao, flanked by a gleaming white villa boasting a koi pond and a stately two‑story residence with ornate columns and a marble mailbox. and then there was this—your potential forever home. it looked like it had been abandoned for decades or forgotten by time as a deliberate act of defiance. 

you stepped onto cracked porch tiles; each footfall stirred up dust motes that danced in the afternoon sun. the yard was a jungle of overgrown grass and defiant weeds. the paint on the façade had surrendered years ago, flaking in tired strips. half the floor tiles in the entryway were either cracked or missing entirely, and the roof… 

“skylight?” you said, pointing at the bizarre sheet of cloudy plastic covering the ceiling, one hand on your hip, the other waving dramatically.

hyun‑ju’s eyes widened in disbelief. “that’s a tarp, babe. a tarp glued to the ceiling.”

the owner, an old woman with a bent back and warm, crinkling eyes, came forward with surprising grace. she rubbed her hands together and smiled at you both. “my son bought me a nice condo close by, and this old thing… well, i’m too old to take care of it now. it needs someone strong. someone young. someone who can make it happy again.”

her voice was gentle, her affection tangible—a mixture of joy and longing, and suddenly you missed your mom so much. that unexpected tenderness softened the moment. hyun‑ju’s brow furrowed as she watched the way the woman traced her hand over cracked wood and you noticed her jaw soften by the slightest millimeter.

back in your bangkok rental—a shoebox of an apartment wedged between a laundromat and a perpetually closed café—you both had to shuffle sideways to move past one another. the walls were thin, the fan made a noise like a dying blender, and your bed was only a mattress on the floor, pressed up against a window that didn’t close all the way. still, it was home for the moment. the kind of home that madehyun-ju long for something a little more permanent… but also made her break out in hives every time she thought about the financials.

you sat cross-legged on the laminate floor, legs brushing hers, while she opened her laptop like it was a vault of secrets. her expression was all business, pencil already wedged between her teeth like a cigarette. “okay,” she muttered under her breath, flipping open the calculator and opening three different tabs simultaneously. “roofing first. that tarp is not a long-term solution unless you want a waterfall feature in the bathroom.”

“it’s basically a spa experience already,” you offered with a toothy smile.

she didn’t look up. “no.”

“fair.”

she began listing line items aloud as she punched in numbers. “roof — professional job, has to be. i’m guessing 50,000 baht minimum. plumbing... looks okay. pressure’s decent, no obvious leaks. electrical? might be old, but no shorts, no sparks. so far, not terrible. cosmetic stuff we can do ourselves if we plan it out right.”

you peeked over her shoulder. “see? that’s not so bad.”

she side-eyed you, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you giggled and leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “that’s what i’m banking on.”

still, she soldiered on. for over an hour, she ran different combinations—worst-case costs, best-case budgets, everything in between. she triple-checked estimated contractor fees and local supply prices, even converted it all to won just to see the damage in your own currency. “it’s still cheaper than anything else we’ve seen,” she admitted at last, voice softer now, more measured. “and at least we’d have space to breathe. i’m so sick of tripping over our laundry basket every time i turn around.”

you sat up, blinking at her. “so… is that a yes?”

she narrowed her eyes, but her tone had already turned. “you’ll help with the renovations?”

“i’ll lead them.”

she rolled her eyes in fake annoyance. “you’re impossible.”

you clasped your hands together like a cartoon character. “and yet so lovable!”

hyunju took a long sip of water and finally—finally—gave you the smallest nod.

“alright. fine. but i swear, if a raccoon falls through that tarp ‘skylight,’ i’m divorcing you before we’re even married.” you didn’t need more than that.

you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around her and tackling her gently to the ground, peppering her face with kisses. “you won’t regret it! you won’t! this is going to be our house! our home!”

she laughed beneath you, heartily this time, not the soft chuckle of skepticism but the real thing. her eyes crinkled at the corners as she pushed your hair out of your face.

“yeah,” she murmured, smiling. “ours.”

you bought it that same week. the old woman had insisted you take the kettle she kept on the stove. “for luck,” she said in thai, smiling as she patted your hand. you still used it, it whistled a little off-key when it boiled, like it was trying to sing.

after you left the games that november, bank accounts heavy and heart heavier, you and hyunju had counted every won like it was prayer. the money had never felt real—not when you received the non-descriptive cards with your names on it, or when you stacked it in front of you. but the moment you paid off the debt collectors, the hospital bills, the loans, and the tiny balances that haunted both of your inboxes like ghosts, the sum that remained—₩152 million—finally took on shape.

it wasn’t life-changing in seoul. not anymore, not in a city that churned ambition for breakfast and swallowed dreams by dinner. there, it would’ve barely gotten you a studio apartment in a decent neighborhood, it would’ve dried up before you had time to exhale.

but in bangkok?

in bangkok, it was a door cracked open.

it was enough to buy the house, outright—decrepit as it was. enough to pay for visa work, for paperwork translations, for the endless bureaucratic loops you had to leap through in a country that wasn’t yet yours but was slowly becoming home. it was enough to exhale, for once. to put down your bags without preparing to pick them up again.

and that was what you wanted now; not the sleek life, not the sterile shine of high-rise condos with fingerprint locks and white-leather everything, not the rooftop bars or instagram dinners or stilettos worn to impress. you had chased that version of adulthood once—when success looked like gloss and your worth was measured in how many nights you worked overtime without crying. you didn’t want it anymore.

you wanted the slow.

you wanted mornings that began with birdcalls and sunlight slicing through broken blinds. you wanted afternoons sticky with heat and iced tea sweating in your hand. you wanted cicadas in the trees, rain drumming soft on metal, the smell of fish sauce wafting from the neighbor’s open kitchen window. you wanted to sit on cracked tiles and argue over paint swatches, to fall asleep with the ceiling fan humming above you and her leg tangled with yours.

you wanted to hear hyunju’s laughter ring out in echoing, empty rooms, you wanted to fill them together.

even if the walls needed mending, even if the plumbing groaned and the roof still leaked when it rained too hard, it didn’t matter.

because you wanted her.

that had always been the constant. from the moment she pressed a drink into your hand at the edge of some party neither of you belonged to. from the first time she rolled her eyes and called you dramatic while secretly tucking your hair behind your ear. from every night she pulled you in closer instead of away.

you wanted her in every version of your life: the old ones, the ones you left behind, the ones you were building now.

and everything else—the ghosts, the names you still couldn’t speak aloud, the final click of the game’s vote on november 24th, the gunshots that still made your shoulder flinch in your sleep—all of it slowly began to dissolve in the soft hum of your days together.

there were hard nights, sure. there were moments when the silence felt too wide, when one of you would wake up gasping from a dream neither could explain, when you remembered young-mi. but you held each other through those, too. you learned to live in spite of the memory. maybe even because of it.

because of cho hyun-ju.

because of the way she always handed you the second-to-last bite of her food, saving the last one for herself like a secret. because she left you little notes on the fridge when she left early—terrible drawings of cartoon animals or scribbled reminders to eat the food she made. because she  reached for your hand under the table when in a room full of strangers, and never once let go until you told her you were okay.

because of her, your life had become something warmer, gentler.

because of hyunju, you had a partner who stood beside you, not in front, not behind. someone who built with you, laughed with you, argued and cried and tried with you. she made the ordinary feel like magic. and you loved her in the quietest ways—through laundry folded without being asked, tea poured before you even reached the kitchen, a towel warmed and waiting after every shower.

and she loved you right back. fiercely, patiently, like you were worth everything she had. your name wasn’t next to hers on any official document—not yet. but it was written into her habits, her language, the way she said "we" when planning anything. it was in the way she said "you first" and meant it.

the tea was growing warm in your hand when you heard the gate rattle: the metal screeched and the lock gave its familiar clunk. you turned, smiling already, heart rising with the familiar sound of her gait.

not because of where you were, or what the house looked like. but because she was here and  with hyunju, even a half-finished house felt like a whole world.

[wakkoroni]

oh and Family Dance Night

Hellooooo againnnn

Ah yes. The title is slightly misleading I fear cause one would think this would be a silly crack fic but it's actually angst and of course: damian centric because I love my son.

Damian is drained mentally after a series of unfortunate academic events yet he still has to deal with his family who are just a handful to deal with. He is trying his hardest not to be a pain in the ass and he wants to self-isolate so badly but his family isn't letting him and he ends up getting annoyed and in a bad mood.

The family dance night comes in because eventually after an afternoon filled with activities, he's finally allowed to go to his room as rest but not for long because he is rudely awaken with a bunch of noise from downstairs and he goes to see because he just wants to sleep and no one is letting him sleep but finds out his family is having fun doing karaoke and dancing and messing around and he really doesn't want to get involved but Dick sees him and drags him to join and he's forced play along for a bit to not ruin the mood but internally is dying and eventually finds a way out to go back and rest.

This fic is very personal ngl since it may or may not be based on a true event that happened years ago (when I started writing it it was fresher) and it's honestly pretty much done just need to do the conclusion but yeah. It's complicated.

Here's a snippet:

They arrived at the Manor with Alfred waiting for them with hot chocolate in his hands. Now the question was: did he want one? He didn’t necessarily want one because if he wanted one then he would have to stay downstairs with everyone as they retold what happened at the mall. And he didn’t want to stay with people but if he took the hot chocolate and went upstairs then that would be seen as rude and disrespectful. If he declined the hot chocolate then it wouldn’t be disrespectful? But who in their right mind would decline some hot chocolate made from Heaven?

Good thing Damian wasn’t in his right mind. He declined and went back upstairs to change into some comfortable clothing. His sweater was itchy anyway. He changed into leggings and an emerald green sweatshirt with his initials on it in gold thread. He got this shirt at a hotel they were staying at on a trip and the hotel gave them all sweatshirts, but Damian uses his frequently. It’s soft, fuzzy on the inside, and overall very comfortable. He sat down at his desk, watching as Alfred the cat played with his pencils and proceeded to zone out again. Or attempted to zone out, someone knocked on his door.

“Damian? Can I come in?” His father asked from the other side of the door. Damian opened the door for him and noticed that he was holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

He looked up at him in confusion. He declined the hot chocolate? Or did he decline it in his head and just walk off. Holy shit did he accidentally have a mental interaction with everyone and forgot to actually interact with them. Shit-

“I know you said you didn’t want any but I figured I’d bring one up for you anyway. A warm drink should help you fall asleep” Bruce handed him the mug, which Damian accepted. He stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m not going to sleep?” Damian meant to say it as a statement but ended up as a question instead.

“I think a nap will be okay”

“I don’t take naps” Damian protested as he watched Bruce close the blinds and shut the door slightly. He pulled back the covers so Damian can climb in. “I don’t want to take a nap”

“It might help you feel better”

Yes, he is tired so a nap should help. But he isn’t known for naps and what if naps become a regular occurrence? Plus naps are for toddlers and he isn’t a toddler. He took sips from his mug as he thought about this. Bruce sat down on the bed next to him and took the mug from his hands once he finished drinking from it. Damian got comfortable under his covers and curled up. With the weighted blanket on top, it felt more secure. He let out a sigh of relief and of exhaustion and closed his eyes for a second. He distantly heard Bruce kiss his forehead goodnight before shutting the door.

[admin-courtneys-corner]

{Tabitha said it was scary, creepy, and to not do it- but she’s always done this ever since she was a little girl, it’s how she skyrocketed in her classes, her tendency to hyper focus in on things is how she’s always lived her life, Leader Maxie praises her ability, praises her dedication, praises her. So it must be good, it had to be. If Leader Maxie liked it then she’s doing something right.}

{But then why is she so…lonely. Why doesn’t anyone talk to her, why is she pushing people away without even trying, why does it seem everyone can see through her like a window; why do they run with their tails between their legs the second she tried to play nice and be friendly.}

{She’s not normal, she knows that. But she doesn’t know what normal is.}

[monstrsball]

Iwaizumi doesn't know what to think when he finds his boyfriend in the entry way of their apartment, soaked from head to toe and clutching his jacket to his chest.

"I'm home." Suga says with a sheepish grin while he clumsily tries to get his shoes off without using his hands.

“You’re soaked,” Iwaizumi frowns, pushing his wet bangs back out of his face and eyeing the barely noticeable trembling of his shoulders. “Why aren’t you-”

Suga’s jacket meows.

Suga frowns down at the jacket in his arms. “You were supposed to let me do the talking first.” He says lightheartedly, his words are met with another slightly more indignant meow.

“Koushi, we talked about this.” Iwaizumi says.

“It’s raining, Hajime. The poor thing was soaked, I couldn’t just leave her out there.” Suga says, his tone soft. “Can we just keep her here for tonight? Until it stops raining? And then I’ll take her to the shelter.”

Iwaizumi wants to stand firm but his resolve slowly melts away when he looks at the cat again. She’s shivering just as much as Suga, the now soaked jacket likely not helping her keep warm. She’s nuzzling into his chest in search of warmth and it tugs at Iwaizumi’s heartstrings. 

He glances back at the door to the balcony. Still raining. 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi relents. “She can stay for tonight. Until it stops raining.” 

He has a nagging feeling that ‘for tonight’ is going to turn into indefinitely but the pure joy lighting up Suga’s face distracts him from this fleeting thought. 

“Yeah, yeah. You need to get out of those clothes.” Iwaizumi reaches out to take the cat from Suga’s arms. She's oddly compliant for a stray. “I’ll dry her off and get her some food and water. I think we have some canned tuna in the cabinet.”

“Ooh,” Suga whistles, gently depositing the little tabby into Iwaizumi’s open arms. “You hear that, baby? He’s spoiling you.” He coos. 

“It’s the only thing we have,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, readjusting his grip once he has the cat safely in his arms. She nuzzles into the newfound warmth immediately.

[stottlemorgan]

A Dog is a Dog / Low Honour Arthur Morgan x Female Reader (Smut 18+ MDNI)

Summary: Arthur returns to camp in the middle of the night after being gone for weeks. Will this time be any different? Tags: Smut, 18+, MDNI! Angst within smut. P in v mostly, kissing, grinding, Arthur bring a rude bastard and not in a fun way. He's a little bit pushy and very aloof. Word count: 4,250. Author’s Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent but after posting snippets, I've had people very interested in it, so thank you my loves! <3 I'm not suuuuper enthralled by parts of it but my enthusiasm at my own writing tends to wax and wane quite rapidly. I hope you enjoy, my dears. Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

Blankets and pillows unbelonging to you grow heavy with the floral musk of your sheened skin in the early summer warmth. Yet another sennight has passed and the cot you doze in feels as though it belongs less and less to the man who owns it. Days spent growing quieter with each morning that you wake alone; your stomach clenching alongside your fists as you anticipate the abrupt return of the wild dog who has so firmly locked his jaws into your rump.

The camp is draped in a slumbersome blanket of indigo; the communal campfire bidding the previous day a farewell with its last lingering smoulder. The warm whispering breeze weaves between the strong legs of a Hungarian Thoroughbred as it slows to a thumping trot before halting, followed by equally heavy boots meeting the dirt. The clunk of spurs and the whip of reins being thrown over a hitching post disquiets the still night air. Two firm pats to the horse’s neck sound out as a hand sinks into the satchel at its side, retrieving an apple and guiding it to the horse’s mouth with a satisfying crunch. Steady steps soon follow, working a purposeful path through the camp and into the tent where you lay amidst your dreams.

“Girl.”

A baritone voice grates through the gentle sough of the soft summer wind and your sleepy breaths.

“Girl.”

The word is reiterated, low and impatient as hands move to pull off boots, dropping them loudly one after the other. A brief furrow of your brow is met with a deep nasal huff and a palm coming to roughly shove your shoulder, “Up.” Another shove of your shoulder streamlines your senses further. Blurs of bronze and blue blend through your fluttering lashes as you stir. Your upper lip curls, a weak grumble croaking through your throat. Yet another rude shove into your arm strengthens your gentle grousing into a truculent groan. The rustling of the sheets as you turn over toward the object of your annoyance clashes uglily with the shucking off and discarding of a jacket.

“Mmhn– Arthur?” You rasp, inhaling deeply, your hands coming up to rub some focus into your vision before your muscles tingle with the urge to stretch. A slow shudder streams up through your body as you reach above your head, your back and hips arcing. As a quiet strained sound leaves you, your blinking eyes are greeted with the sight of Arthur unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Through the dim and fuzzy night, you drowsily register the soft and strong shapes of his body. The faint gleam to his unwashed skin, the hug of his jeans around his thighs as he pushes his hips forward to unfasten his gun belt and lets it drop with a clank. The slight plushness of his stomach that bunches at the waistband of his jeans as he takes a hefty seat on the cot beside you. The warm, thick veins that snake through the skin of his hands and arms as he unbuttons his jeans with one hand and reaches out with the other to palm greedily at your hip through the blanket before moving to your waist, then your breasts. A surprised, shaky gasp fills your lungs and he subtly responds with a low hum as he clumsily lifts his hips, yanking his jeans and drawers down in a few jagged motions before kicking them off to the floor. You bring your hands down to bat his away but it quickly moves from your chest to pull the blanket draped over you down, his eyes trailing over your wrinkled chemise.

He shifts to face you more, taking a deep breath, savouring the special way your flowery musk mingles with the sharp remnants of his own. Your attention is drawn to the peek of his flushed cock as it bobs upwards from between his thighs, and then to the tug of a smirk which bares his teeth for the briefest moment.

“My bed comfortable enough for you, Miss?” A tilt of his head and a raise of his brow only adds to the cattish tone of his voice. Your mind lags, snagged on slumber, on the rosy tip of his cock, on the acrid scent of his sweat as he leans in over you, his hands grabbing the hem of your chemise. “Up, sit up.” He grumbles and before you can properly follow, he tugs the garment up, bringing you with it.

“Arthur.” You protest, your voice cracking, but he keeps pulling, forcing your arms up and taking it off over your head, baring your upper half. He presses the bunched up chemise to his face for a moment, his eyes closing. The quiet meaning behind the covetous gesture muddles your annoyance with a hot flash of yearning and you very almost whine. He throws it to the floor and leans back in. A strangled sound bursts from you as his mouth opens against the softness of your stomach. You sit up further, swaying a little as you push a palm into his head, knocking his hat off in the process. He glares up at you and bites down, his teeth smarting your flesh.

“Arthur!”

“Quit your whinin’.” Arthur warns as he climbs onto the cot, it dipping greatly with the added weight. He pushes your thighs apart and ducks down, mouthing at your ribs. You writhe and sigh, a hotness flowing from his mouth down through to your core, your drawers starting to stick to your skin from more than just the humidity. With a huff, you push yourself up the cot with your feet but he’s quick to grab your waist and firmly pull you back down as if you’d not even tried. You grunt and push his head but he grabs your wrist and thumps it back into the cot. His eyes flit up to meet yours and they’re dark, the usual springy hues of his irises clouded over by a familiar and nasty hunger. Your hand twitches, about to move again but the way his eyes widen slightly gives you pause.

“Stop.” He breathes against the skin of your breast.

“You drunk?” You whisper as he closes his lips around your soft nipple, swirling his tongue until it grows hard. Your mouth drops open and you shudder out a sigh to which the edges of his mouth curl into a smile. He continues until he draws a whimper from you. Until your head lolls to the side. Until he feels your back delicately bow. He teases with his teeth briefly, and his hands squeeze low on your hips, dipping into your skin. His breath draws and releases, deep and shaky through his nose, and a quiet rumble of triumph vibrates in his throat when he feels the faintest buck of your hips. Gotcha.

He releases your nipple with a quiet pop and licks his lips, “No.” He murmurs and palms about your sides, fiddling with your drawers until he pinches the fabric and drags them down. You huff as he unceremoniously bends your leg and pulls the drawers to your knee, and repeats with the other leg. He then slips your drawers from your calves in one move, throwing them away, and uses the moment where your legs are raised to press down against you, your underthighs warm against his solid chest. His cock throbs as he presses the underside flatly against your clit, his balls resting warm and heavy against your ass. A sigh seeps from his chest, tired and low, soothed.

“Then what–”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, his brow furrowing and you let out a little vexed breath in response. A moment passes quietly between you. He thumbs at behind your knees, his head tilting as he just watches you. Your flushed, aggrieved expression. Your chest rising and falling that bit quicker. Your arms resting either side of your head, no longer making any attempts to move. He loves it when you wait for him. He loves it when you accept what he so desires to give you. You feel his cock twitch and he feels the tension move through your legs as your toes curl. He takes in the faint wince that curls your upper lip and pinches your brow. A lazy smirk pulls at his mouth and in tandem with how his grip on your legs tightens, so does the ticklish want coiling through your gut. It takes you another moment to find your voice again, 

“Where you bee–?” He thrusts and your eyes roll back, a tight whimper bursting from you as he warms his thick cock between your slick folds. He groans quietly, rocking his hips languidly, his hands finding your breasts. He circles the pads of his thumbs gently over your nipples, the sensation drawing the hairs on your skin towards him as your skin tauts and prickles. “Where–” You huff out but cut off with a sharp gasp when he laps at the sensitive skin behind one of your knees. Your corresponding foot kicks in the air, your leg seizing and he hums into your skin, the roll of his hips picking up.

“Where I’ve been don’t matter.”

Pleasure and aggravation swirl in your stomach, making you feel drunk with both the want for Arthur and the burning urge to smack him. You find yourself reaching for his head, trying to pull him down, to kiss him, but the column of his neck stays locked straight as he watches his cock glisten with your arousal, his lips parted. You join him in peering down at the sight and a shaky moan slips from you before you look back up to his steadily flushing face. Through the haze, you notice that his beard has grown, the scar on his chin buried beneath bristling hazel hair. You also notice that his hair isn’t in fact pomaded back as you’d thought but tied back.

His eyes flit to yours and immediately back down in response to the sudden doting look on your face, “I miss–” you squeak only to watch him swiftly press down onto you, catching your mouth with his. Stop talking. Stop looking. Light traces of rum and something savoury coat your mouth as Arthur’s tongue licks at your teeth and curls against your own, moving in sloppy tandem with each thrust of his twitching cock between your folds. Your hands grasp at his hair, feeling the leather strap tying it back and pulling him ever closer, letting him in as you always do, as he always hopes you will. The both of you moan into one another’s mouths, so similarly heated that his breath shakes at the vulnerability of the moment. You feel his hands squeeze your waist before one trails down to stroke your swollen clit, teasing the building pressure between your thighs. The way your thighs push at his inner arms, trying to open further, and the huff from you that warms his mouth draws a strained gasp from him as he pulls back. He brings that same hand to your mouth, palm up, resting the tips of his fingers against your bottom lip.

“Spit,” he orders breathily, and you lift your head a bit, pooling some saliva into your mouth before dribbling it onto his flattened fingers, “Gonna need more than that for me, darlin’.” He gives a slow thrust of his hips and you shiver, having to force yourself to pay attention in order to drool into his hand further. He grunts in appreciation before brushing the remaining spit from your lips and moving to slather his cock with it, his gaze drawn to your soaked core. He returns to slowly rocking his hips, his now fully slickened cock pulling a gasp from you as your slightly cooled saliva makes contact with your tingling warm tissue.

“Arthur, please, it’s been–”

“You know I ain’t here to talk.”

Arthur takes hold of your underthighs yet again, holding them apart and pushing them upwards until your knees brush your shoulders. You yearn to pull him down again, to hold him close, but the set of his jaw stops you. He arches his back, pulling his hips back a little more with each thrust, his cock slowly sliding down your centre until his tip notches into the rim of your core.

“We can talk some other day.” His hands come to hold your shoulders. Despite the gulp that thickens in your throat and the way your hands grip the blanket as you realise what’s coming, you snark up at him, 

“When’s that, then?”

“God, just shut up–” He bares his teeth as he pushes his cock slowly but firmly all the way in, a growl in his throat underscoring the keening moan that slips from your gaping mouth. Your mind blanks, your thoughts simmering down to just feeling as he uses your shoulders to keep you steady and carelessly starts up a rough rhythm that makes your feet bounce either side of his head. His body rolls against you, the soft ridges of his length rubbing against your plush walls with each eager thrust. A whine shakes in your throat and your head falls back into the cot, your core squeezing around his cock and your back begging to arch. Arthur bites down on a curse, his hands sliding down your chest to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his forefingers. “S’nice, ain’t it? You shuttin’ up for a second?” He stickily mouths his way up your chest to your neck. Your response is a breathy mewl, your hands snaking around his shoulders and threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums into your skin, suckling and steadily biting harder and harder until you cry out. He keeps his teeth locked into your purpling flesh as he picks up the pace, the familiar buzzing pressure forming in your stomach causing you to dig your nails into his scalp.

“Oh, Arthur–”

He releases the skin of your throat with a wet sound, his voice ragged, his teeth tacking against your glowing skin as he speaks, “Better not be another question, girl–”

“Don’t stop!” Your voice comes out loud and pleading, your toes curling. Arthur feels your walls starting to pulse and a shivering groan tears through his chest. Driving himself deeper, enough so that his cock meets your sweet spot, he circles his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit. His curly pubic hair burns at the soft tissue and your moans only louden. The cot beneath squeaks and groans along with you, growing egregiously noisy when Arthur grasps the top edge of it, pulling and using it to keep both depth and speed. A sonorous whimper bursts from you, out into the quiet of the night, and Arthur licks his lips,

“Yeah?” He breathes, his cock throbbing as he grinds into you.

You give a dumb low-lidded nod, your hands clammy and pawing around to grab hold of his face. His lips press into a thin line and he growls, so close to release that he quells the ache in his chest at the feel of your affectionate and needy gaze flickering about his face, instead roughening his movements and forcing you over the edge.

“Arthur– Oh, my Arthur!” You keen breathlessly, squeezing his cock with your walls and his head with your hands. Your hips rock as much as you can muster in an uneven rhythm as your orgasm snakes through your spasming muscles, tingles of bliss gracing your sheeny skin. Arthur almost looks pained, his lashes fluttering, his breaths strained as he maintains a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the cot. He draws out his thrusts, deciding to fuck out the sweet feeling threatening to bloom in his heart. Each whimper you let out, the way you let him carry on, your shaking thighs, the glimmer of tears in your eyes– he finds himself itching with the compulsion to evade the tenderness but he can’t.

His orgasm strangles him, a shuddering groan searing his throat and you take the chance to tug him down into a messy kiss that very almost makes him spill within you. With a panicked gasping moan into your mouth, Arthur arcs his hips back to quickly slip out of you before slamming forward, his warmly slickened cock sliding up your centre and spurting his release over your stomach as his balls tighten against your clit. His weight drops to his elbows and he partially smothers you as his heaving chest brushes your own. Your legs fall open as he releases them and slips his hands beneath your back. He cradles you, lost in the sensation of your lips gliding against his again and again. You gently hold his face, feeling his jaw muscles flickering as he kisses you and a small laugh puffs from your nose when you feel some of his hair fall forward and tickle your cheeks. He feels the smile in your lips against his own and he pulls back, a stuporous expression melting the usual tension from his brow. Your smile fades slightly, a stirring of worry in your gut, the usual question suffocating you both.

Will he leave?

Arthur lifts himself with a grunt and moves to kneel back on the cot but, as he’s halfway there, he gives a heavy sigh and ducks back down. He plants a singular, firm kiss to your mouth before pulling back again, standing up. You remain where you are, your lips slick with his spit, your skin tightening with his drying spend as you blink up at him. A nervous hope spindling around your spine, you quietly watch Arthur wipe himself down with his shirt before he passes it to you. You clean yourself up as much as you can, casting him the occasional glance while he unties his hair and runs his fingers through the knots. He lifts his head and gives a scrunch of his nose, avoiding your attention as you sit up and drop his shirt to the floor. His voice is slurred and overly casual,

“Ain’t got nowhere to be ‘til Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“Mhm.”

You recall how you had laid in bed that morning, having woken to the sounds of Uncle playing the banjo and to the dull aching yen in your lungs at the thought of being three days from yet another Sunday parted from the man who seems to not fully understand that he tucks your heart into his satchel along with his revolver each time he leaves. Three days until Sunday. Is he suggesting that he’ll be staying for three days? Arthur sinks back down onto the cot and you watch his throat undulate as he tries to form actual words in place of snapping, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Just over a month,” you answer and shift, curling up on your side, facing the canvas of the tent, exhausted and ever used to his excuses. You let your eyes flutter shut, letting the gentle throb in your core and the tingling of your mouth remind you of the fleeting affectionate embrace Arthur had held you in moments ago.

“Don’chu start with me, woman,” he grouses firmly, climbing into the cot with you and grabbing the blanket that had made its way to the bottom. His tone makes you tut, sensing his already thinning patience that, despite its innate fragility, wears slower when it comes to you.

“Start what? Ain’t nothin’ to start when you keep endin’ things,” you peck back at him, and barely a second passes before he sighs irritatedly and forces his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t end what was just happenin’, darlin’.” His chest hair tickles your back as he pushes your hair out of the way with his face, whispering lowly against your neck, “Lucky you kept your mouth shut long enough to give us both a good time.”

He begins to mouth slowly at your throat, one of his hands grasping your hip, the other coming up to knead your breast. In spite of your enjoyment of his touch, you frown, slapping his hand. You let your head grow heavy against the pillow as you grumble,

“You’re a bastard.” His shoulders shrug with a quiet chuckle as he continues his ministrations and speaks between lapping at your neck,

“I been tellin’ you that, sweetheart.” You sigh, your mind and body aswirl with tiredness, hurt, and the bubbling arousal that lingers in your loins at the presence or mere thought of Arthur. Your voice softens into a slur as his repetitive movements and warmth begin to lull you into sleep,

“Whatever, Arthur.”

“Mm, whatever, darlin’,” he responds quietly. He rests his head on the pillow behind yours, letting his focus glide up and down your spine, seeing the way you tuck your feet up, the way your hands lay against the cot. He feels the rise and fall of your chest as sleep fully takes you, relaxed and deep. He takes a bigger breath in and holds it, savouring your soap and the sweet tang of your sweat. A cold guilt settles into his bones before it freezes into a stiff and sick self-loathing. He sighs out the breath, and it blows gently into the back of your hair, along with the spark of desire he had to stay. He can’t do this. 

Taking a sliver of your dreams along with him, Arthur is uncharacteristically careful as he quietly detaches himself from you and collects some fresh clothes from the chest at the foot of his cot. As he dresses, he casts half-glances over at your sleeping form, your mussed hair and the way your cheek is smushed into the pillow drawing a soft curse from his lips. Longing flows through his chest, heavying his breaths as he pulls on his boots.

Steady steps exit the tent, working a purposeful path back toward the Hungarian Thoroughbred. With two firm pats to the horse's neck, the whip of reins being retrieved from the hitching post and the clunk of spurs sounds out into the quiet of the night as Arthur mounts the horse, landing weightily with the burl of his stature but also an awful load of feelings and questions choking him of much thought other than get out of here.

“Girl,” he grunts, tugging the reins and guiding the horse away from camp, gradually falling into a trot.

An inappreciable breeze breaks through a small gap in the tent flap, creeping up your bare back and through the hair at the nape of your neck as if to mock the touch of your lover. You fight the heaviness of your eyes as you rouse, the muggy summer heat already having set in for the day, blinding your bleary vision with the vivid bluish hues of the tent canvas. Kneading at your oily face, you lift your hips to turn over only to halt with a whine when a familiar string of discomfort threads through your abdomen. “Bastard,” you whisper to yourself, an equally familiar upset flooding your limbs and soon enough your eyes. Your watery gaze drifts about, steadily picking up on a few unwonted items strewn about the floor.

Arthur’s gun belt. His hat. His jacket. The shirt and pants he had stripped himself of are sprawled across the grass. For once, the tent looks lived in, as lived in by Arthur as your heart is. Dreamy visions of the night before begin to dance through your mind as well as warm your sticky and sore body.

The kiss he gave, awkward but filled with something. How he held you until you fell asleep. How he held his tongue more than usual, lacking the venom but maintaining the usual aloofness. A gentle whirl of tentative affection flurries in the depths of your chest, shaking your breath. He has left behind things which he knows he’ll have to come back for within a day. Within the stifling summer heat, which pales in comparison to the overwhelm of your realisation, you lay back into the cot. Unfocused, you stare up at the canvas, wondering whether these hiccups in his usual behaviour were due to anything in particular, wondering about the permanence of them. Overhearing the early morning goings on of your fellow camp mates, you debate whether to exit Arthur’s tent so soon. You know there is no way you hadn’t woken anybody with your mewling pleasure, with the creaking cot, with Arthur’s grunting and the smack of his skin against yours. You have done many, many times before to the displeasure of some and the ardent curiosity of others.

You shift onto your side, facing out to the rest of the tent, trailing your sleepy focus over Arthur’s belongings and dangling an arm toward the floor. You graze your knuckles over his gun belt, your nails catching on the bullet casings with a quiet, twinkling rhythm beneath which the distant thumping trots of a nearing horse sounds. The thwip of reins followed by a wary greeting call of his name from John brings your heart into your throat; whether it be from excitement or dread still remains elusive to you but one seed of hope nestles itself into the far too long barren garden of your stomach.

He’s come back to you.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[joelsrose]

Tangled in Paradise

my masterlist here!

Ahhhh here is chapter 1 of my new mini-series!! I am so freakin excited for you guys to read it, i've had so much fun writing it - to everyone waiting for my other stories thanks so much for being patient and i promise i will get to them! enjoy and let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in the next chapters xx

The marble counter was cool against under your skin, a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. You perched on the edge, scrolling through your phone with one hand, the other holding a burrito that was rapidly becoming your favorite part of the evening. Mimi, your cat, stretched luxuriously beside you, her fluffy tail flicking in idle disinterest as she basked in the low glow of the kitchen light.

Your thumb idly swiped up, Instagram reels flitting past like a mindless parade. A stupid AI-generated meme caught your attention—something ridiculous but hilarious enough to make you snort, burrito in hand.

The sound of a FaceTime notification cut through your laugh, your phone vibrating in your palm. The screen flashed with Maria’s name, her photo—a sunny candid of her grinning at a picnic—lighting up the display.

You swiped to answer.

Her face appeared, as vibrant and glowing as ever, framed by the golden light of her apartment. “Hey, girl!” she chirped, her voice carrying the kind of energy that made you suspicious.

“Hey, you,” you replied, taking a bite of your burrito mid-sentence. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your honeymoon in Hawaii or something?”

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Maria groaned, her eyes rolling so dramatically they could’ve done a full lap.

“Sure,” you drawled, giving her a knowing look. Maria and Tommy had been dating for a year and a half, and if anyone was going to get engaged in an annoyingly picture-perfect way, it was them. “But seriously,” you added, “don’t you leave in, like, two days?”

“Yeah, about that…” Her voice trailed off, her expression shifting to something between sheepish and conspiratorial.

You froze mid-chew. “Oh no. Are you guys okay? Don’t tell me you—”

“No!” she interrupted, waving her hands at the camera as if to swat the idea away. “God, you’re such a cynic.”

“Cynicism comes with being single,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely to your burrito.

She laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Okay, so here’s the thing,” she said, leaning closer to her screen. “I have… a situation.”

“Go on,” you said, intrigued now.

Her sigh was long and theatrical. “For some reason, I let Tommy book our trip.”

“And?” you prompted, taking another bite.

“And the idiot accidentally booked a couples package,” she said, dragging out the words like they physically pained her.

You blinked, unfazed. “I don’t get it. You guys are a couple.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head so fast her hair whipped around her face. “He booked it for two couples. Four people.”

You nearly choked on your burrito, a laugh bursting from your chest. “Classic Tommy,” you said, grinning. “So? What’s the big deal? You’ve got a million couple friends. Pick one.”

“I’ve been asking around!” she huffed. “But everyone already has New Year’s plans, and the package is non-refundable.” She gave you a pointed look, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“Oh no,” you said immediately, holding up a hand. “If this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Would you want to come?” she asked, her tone overly sweet. “You’re my best friend. You’re legally obligated to say yes.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “Maria, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious, I’m single.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why Tommy was going to ask his brother Joel to come along. That makes four people. Problem solved.”

You paused, brow furrowing. “Joel, huh?”

Maria nodded eagerly.

You thought about it for a moment. Joel. You didn’t know much about him—just snippets from Maria here and there. He worked with Tommy in construction, lived in Texas. You didn't even know what he looked like.

“I don’t know…” you hedged.

“Oh, come on,” Maria whined. “You’re not doing anything for New Year’s, and you know it. You’re just gonna sit at home, watch Bridget Jones’s Diary, and drink cheap wine with Mimi like you do every year.”

You glanced at Mimi, who stretched lazily, her tail flicking as if to agree. Maria wasn’t wrong.

“Plus,” she continued, her grin widening, “once we get there, you guys can do whatever you want. Hawaii! Beaches, cocktails, hot guys—live your best life.”

You sighed, the temptation starting to outweigh your resistance. A free trip to Hawaii with your best friend? Sand, sun, and maybe a chance to flirt your way into a memorable New Year’s Eve?

“Prettyyyyy please?” Maria hummed, drawing out the word in a way that made you laugh despite yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally, shaking your head. “I’m in.”

Maria let out a squeal of victory, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re the best! I’ll text you the details. Pack something cute!”

As the call ended, you set your phone down and looked at Mimi, who yawned lazily in response.

“Well,” you said, leaning back on the counter. “Looks like we’re skipping Bridget Jones this year.”

Hawaii, you thought. The idea felt distant, unreal. But as you glanced at the empty corner of your apartment where your suitcase sat gathering dust, you had a feeling this trip might just change more than your New Year’s plans.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Hawaii was breathtaking. The kind of beauty that made you forget how much your neck hurt from the long flight or how unreasonably sweaty you felt in the tropical heat.

You leaned your head against the open window of the taxi, letting the warm wind tangle through your hair as you gazed out at the scenery. Endless shades of green blanketed the mountains in the distance, framed by the electric blue of the ocean stretching out to the horizon. Palm trees lined the road like an army of dancers frozen mid-sway, their fronds whispering in the breeze.

Maria sat beside you, her voice animated as she gave Tommy a play-by-play update on your whereabouts. “Yep, we’re just pulling in now,” she said, twisting her body slightly to look at the approaching hotel. “Alright, bye, love you!”

You turned to her, sticking a finger down your throat in mock disgust.

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

The taxi turned into a long driveway lined with torch-lit paths and vibrant hibiscus flowers in full bloom. As the hotel came into view, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning closer to the window.

It was like something out of a movie—a sprawling, open-air building with white stucco walls, wooden beams, and a terracotta-tiled roof. The entrance was framed by a massive archway, beyond which you could see a lush courtyard with fountains trickling water that sparkled in the sunlight.

A uniformed staff member waved the taxi forward, and your jaw nearly dropped as you took in the full view. The lobby was entirely open, its vaulted ceilings soaring toward the sky. Just beyond it, you could glimpse the infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the ocean. The smell hit you next—salt air mixed with plumeria and something faintly sweet, like coconut.

“This is insane,” you said under your breath.

Maria beamed. “Right? This is so much better than the photos.”

The taxi slowed to a stop, and the driver hopped out to help you with your luggage. You tipped him generously and offered a polite “Mahalo,” feeling strangely self-conscious about whether you pronounced it right.

“Tommy already checked us in, so we can go straight to our room!” Maria practically bounced on her toes as she grabbed her carry-on. “Eeeeek, I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” you said with a grin, taking it all in. “And to think, you’ll be leaving here engaged.”

“Hey,” she said, giving you a mock glare. “Don’t jinx it.”

As you approached the entrance, a small group of staff members greeted you with warm smiles. A woman wearing a flowy dress in bright tropical prints stepped forward, holding a pair of leis made of fresh flowers. She draped one around Maria’s neck first, then yours, the cool petals brushing your collarbone as she said, “Aloha, and welcome.”

“Aloha,” you replied awkwardly, still feeling like an outsider in this slice of paradise.

Another staff member offered you both chilled glasses of pineapple juice, the condensation slicking your fingers. You took a sip and practically melted. It was fresh and sweet, with just the right amount of tartness.

“This is heaven,” Maria whispered as you followed the bellhop toward the elevator.

You couldn’t argue with her.

Everything about this place felt surreal—the golden light filtering through the palms, the faint hum of ukulele music from somewhere in the distance, and the soft roar of waves crashing against the shore. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, urging you to forget the rest of the world existed.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“So,” Maria began, standing beside you in the elevator, glancing down at her phone. “Since it’s already…” she trailed off, squinting at the screen. “Five o’clock, how about we settle in, freshen up, and then have dinner around 6:30?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed, leaning back against the elevator wall, the faint scent of hibiscus and sea salt lingering in the air.

The elevator chimed softly, announcing your arrival at the designated floor.

You followed her as she led the way down the long, carpeted corridor, passing room numbers etched into sleek gold plaques.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, stopping in front of Room 712. “This is us.”

Us? you thought, a flicker of confusion crossing your face. But you let it slide, figuring she meant she and Tommy.

Maria slipped the key card into the slot with a practiced flourish, and the door opened with a soft click. You stepped in behind her, expecting a hotel room. Maybe a nice one—Maria had said Tommy splurged—but this wasn’t a room.

It was a suite.

No, not just a suite—a goddamn palace disguised as a hotel suite.

Your breath hitched as you took it all in. The entryway alone was larger than your living room back home, its polished marble floors gleaming under warm recessed lighting. Beyond it, the suite opened into an expansive living space with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed an unbroken view of the turquoise ocean. Sheer white curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors, where plush loungers and a private hot tub overlooked the horizon.

To your left, an oversized sectional couch sat in front of a sleek flat-screen TV, its armrest stacked with neatly folded, resort-branded towels. To your right, a dining table made of dark, glossy wood was set for four, complete with fresh flowers and an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne.

“Shit, Maria,” you breathed, turning to her with wide eyes. “This is insane.”

“I know!” she squealed, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas. “We’re gonna have the best time!”

You were about to ask where you’d be staying when a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“Hey, baby,” Tommy called, appearing from one of the adjacent rooms. He grinned as he walked over, pulling Maria into a hug and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I thought I heard you. How was the flight?”

“Good,” she replied, resting her head briefly against his shoulder before pulling back to gesture around the suite. “This is incredible, Tommy.”

“Yeah, guess I didn’t fuck up too bad, huh?” he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Tommy’s gaze shifted to you, his grin widening. “Hey, darlin’. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile as he pulled you into a friendly hug, the scent of sunscreen and a hint of aftershave clinging to him.

“Good, Tommy. You?”

“Better now that I’m in fucking Hawaii,” he said with a laugh, gesturing around dramatically.

You laughed, too, feeling some of the tension from the long day begin to melt away. Tommy had always been easy to like—funny, respectful, and completely devoted to Maria. He had that older brother vibe with you, always quick to check in and make you laugh when you needed it.

“So,” you said, glancing around. “Do I have a room key or something?”

Maria and Tommy exchanged a quick glance, his arm still draped casually around her shoulders.

“Oh,” Tommy said, scratching the back of his neck as he turned to Maria. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, the first twinges of unease creeping in.

Tommy gestured around the suite. “This is it. The suite. We’re all staying here. There are two big rooms—come on, I’ll show you!”

Before you could even react, Tommy had slipped his arm around yours, steering you further into the space like an overenthusiastic tour guide.

“Maria—” you started, but he was already pointing things out.

“Look at this place!” Tommy exclaimed, his voice brimming with the kind of excitement that made it hard to stay mad at him. He pointed at the sprawling living room like a proud real estate agent. “Big-ass TV, private balcony, minibar—it’s nuts. And wait ‘til you see the bedrooms. King-sized beds, the works.”

You shot a quick glance over your shoulder, catching Maria hovering by the door. She met your glare with a sheepish shrug, mouthing a silent sorry, her lips curving into an awkward half-smile.

Sorry? That was all she had to say?

Tommy was already leading you deeper into the suite, his arm draped comfortably around yours, blissfully unaware of the rising irritation simmering beneath your polite nods.

“Over here’s the kitchen,” Tommy said, gesturing to a sleek, open-concept area with dark wood cabinets, marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances that gleamed like they’d never been touched. “I mean, not that we’re cooking or anything, but still—pretty sweet, huh?”

You nodded absently, still reeling from the revelation that this wasn’t just their setup—it was your setup, too.

“And here,” Tommy said, stopping in front of a door, “is one of the bedrooms.” He swung it open with a flourish.

The room was absurdly gorgeous. A king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in crisp white linens with a soft, seafoam-green throw draped across the foot. The headboard was made of rich, dark wood, its edges carved with delicate floral patterns that gave the room an understated elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a private balcony, where you could already hear the gentle crash of waves in the distance.

“Not bad, huh?” Tommy grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not bad?” you echoed, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in your tone. “Tommy, this is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously awesome,” he corrected, winking.

You let out a breath, forcing a smile as you turned back toward the living room. Maria was still hovering by the door, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

“Maria,” you hissed, your voice low but sharp as you made your way over to her.

She plastered on an innocent smile. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” you whispered, glancing back to make sure Tommy wasn’t listening. “You didn’t think to mention we’re all staying in the same suite?”

She shrugged again, this time with exaggerated nonchalance. “I didn’t think it was a big deal! The place is huge. You’ll hardly even notice.”

“Hardly notice?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly before you caught yourself. You took a calming breath, lowering your tone again. “Maria, I thought I’d have my own room. My own space.”

“You do have your own space!” she insisted, gesturing toward the suite with a grin. “Look around—it’s basically a mansion. And Tommy said the other bedroom is just as nice as this one.”

“Maria,” you started, pinching the bridge of your nose.

She cut you off with a dramatic sigh, stepping closer to loop her arm through yours. “Look, I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but come on. It’s Hawaii. The suite is incredible. We’re gonna have an amazing time.”

“I didn’t realize me and Joel would be sharing a fucking room together!” you hissed, keeping your voice low but sharp.

Maria waved a dismissive hand, her expression almost too breezy. “It’s fine. Joel’s a gentleman. He’ll sleep on the couch or something.”

“Oh, so I’ll just be the bitch who forced a man to sleep on a couch during his vacation?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maria winced, but only slightly. “You’re being dramatic.”

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Am I?”

She stepped forward, placing her hands on your shoulders, her expression softening into the kind of pout that had gotten her out of trouble since you were in college. “Please,” she murmured, drawing out your name like a plea. “It’ll be fine. Joel’s easygoing. And think about it—how much time are you really gonna spend in the room? You’ll barely even notice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off again. “Plus,” she added, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m getting engaged this week. You can deal with this, right? For meee?”

Her eyes were wide and imploring, and despite every bone in your body wanting to say no, the guilt crept in like an uninvited guest. You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair.

She was right. You could deal with it. Worst-case scenario, you’d take the damn couch yourself. It was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things… right?

“Okay,” you said finally, the word coming out like a reluctant exhale. “Okay. Yeah. Fine.”

Maria’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “You’re the best! I owe you one,” she said, pulling you into a quick, triumphant hug.

“Oh, you owe me big,” you muttered, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

She pulled back, grinning. “I promise, this is gonna be the best trip ever. You’ll see.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You stepped into the room you’d be sharing with Joel and let out a long sigh. It was gorgeous, of course, just like the rest of the suite—spacious, luxurious, and dripping with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an imposter just by being there.

The centerpiece was a king-sized bed that dominated the room, its crisp white linens layered with soft, seafoam-green pillows that practically begged you to sink into them.

A pair of matching nightstands flanked the bed, each topped with sleek glass lamps that cast a warm, inviting glow. Across from the bed, a low, polished dresser supported a large flat-screen TV, and the far wall was made entirely of glass, leading out to a private balcony. Through the sliding doors, you could see the ocean stretching endlessly, the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance.

It was beautiful. It was serene. And it was yours… and Joel’s.

Sharing a room with a stranger wasn’t exactly how you imagined this trip starting, but it wasn’t like you could back out now.

You smoothed down your clothes and stepped out into the suite’s living room. The evening light poured through the massive windows, painting the space in shades of gold and orange. Maria and Tommy were curled up on the couch together, her head resting on his chest as they laughed softly at something he’d said.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you called, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“Hey!” Maria greeted you with a bright smile, sitting up slightly while Tommy offered you a quick nod.

“So, uh…” you began, shifting awkwardly. “Is Joel—?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, interrupting you as he sat up straighter. “The idiot missed his flight.” He shook his head, though there was no real malice in his voice, only amusement. “But he’ll be here soon.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “Okay. I think I’m gonna take a shower in the meantime.”

“Alright,” Maria replied, stretching her legs out across Tommy’s lap.

But just as you turned to head back to your room, Tommy’s voice stopped you.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his tone softening as you glanced back. “I think you two will really get along.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he continued, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “I know it’s a weird situation—sharing a room and all—but Joel’s… he’s a good guy.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond but unable to stop the flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest.

“Well,” you said finally, “I guess we’ll see.”

Tommy grinned, leaning back into the couch as Maria nestled closer to him.

You turned and headed for your room, the sound of waves and the low murmur of their voices fading behind you. As you closed the door, you couldn’t help but glance at the bed again. Sharing a room might be awkward, sure—but it might also be the most interesting part of this trip.

And something told you that Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man you could easily forget.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The shower was as luxurious as the rest of the suite, a spa-like haven of sleek stone tiles in earthy tones that stretched from floor to ceiling. The water cascaded from a wide, rain-style showerhead above, warm and steady, like a soothing tropical downpour.

Built-in shelves held miniature bottles of fragrant shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, each scented faintly of coconut and vanilla. Soft recessed lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, and a small, fog-free mirror was cleverly positioned above a polished stainless-steel bench.

You hummed softly, the sound mingling with the rhythmic patter of water as you worked shampoo through your hair. The gentle steam wrapped around you like a cocoon, loosening the knots in your muscles and leaving your skin dewy and warm.

This was paradise, you thought, your hands scrubbing at your scalp. For the first time in months—years, maybe—you felt truly relaxed. No deadlines, no responsibilities, just the soothing rush of water and the faint scent of the ocean wafting through the cracked bathroom window.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice rang out from the living room, muffled by the sound of the shower.

You turned the water pressure down just enough to hear her better. “Yeah?”

“Tommy and I are gonna head out and grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Ooh! An iced vanilla latte please!” you shouted back, your voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls.

“Got it!” she called. “We’ll lock up behind us.”

“Okay!” you yelled, adjusting the temperature slightly.

A soft click of the door signaled their departure, the quiet settling over the suite like a warm blanket. You were alone now, the world outside reduced to the distant hum of waves and the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles.

You sighed, working conditioner through the ends of your hair, letting the tension in your shoulders melt away. This was perfect. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of peace—a moment entirely yours, untouched by worry or distraction.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The bathroom was warm and hazy with steam, the scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air as you wrapped a fluffy white towel around yourself. Your hair dripped in lazy rivulets down your back, and you ran a hand through it, reveling in the feeling of complete relaxation. This was bliss.

You barely registered the muffled sound of the suite door opening, or the faint, low rumble of a man’s voice calling, “Tommy?” from the living room. Even if you had, it would have been drowned out by your impassioned rendition of Smooth Operator, your voice echoing off the bathroom tiles as you gave yourself over to the moment.

Joel Miller—unknowingly your temporary roommate—entered the shared room with his eyes glued to his phone, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance. His thumb scrolled idly as he typed out a text to Tommy, Where the hell are you? He muttered something to himself under his breath, the deep, low timbre of his voice carrying a faint Texas drawl.

Completely oblivious, he walked toward the bed, not noticing the neatly folded pile of your clothes sitting on top of it, or your travel bag perched on the dresser. His focus was laser-sharp on the glowing screen in his hand, his frustration apparent in the slight clench of his jaw and the furrow of his dark brows.

You didn’t hear him.

He didn’t see you.

Not until you pushed the bathroom door open, a plume of steam rolling out ahead of you as you stepped into the main room.

And there he was.

Standing by the bed, his broad shoulders filling the space as effortlessly as the sunlight spilling in from the balcony. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his scruff-lined jaw shifted as he frowned down at his phone. He was gorgeous.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Joel, still engrossed in whatever was on his screen, didn’t notice you at first. Then, slowly, his head lifted—like he sensed your presence—and his eyes landed on you.

The moment stretched, silent and charged.

And then you screamed.

Like, actually screamed.

Joel jumped, his phone nearly slipping from his hand as his wide eyes shot up to meet yours. “Jesus Christ!” he barked, his voice rough and sharp, like gravel. “What the hell—”

“What the hell?” you shrieked back, clutching your towel tighter as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

Joel held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender, his phone dangling precariously between his fingers. “Hey, easy! I—” His words faltered as his gaze flickered—briefly, too briefly—to the towel clinging to your body before snapping back to your face. His cheeks flushed slightly, though his tone remained gruff. “I didn’t know you were… here.”

“You didn’t know?” you sputtered, taking a defensive step back toward the bathroom door. “What are you even doing in my room?”

Joel frowned, gesturing vaguely at the space around him. “Your room? Pretty sure this is my room too.”

Your jaw dropped, words failing you for a moment as your mind scrambled to process the situation. “You—you’re Joel?”

His brow lifted slightly, his mouth twitching into what might have been a smirk if the situation weren’t so absurd. “That’d be me,” he said, his voice dipping lower.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your damp face. “Of course. Of course this is how I meet you.”

Joel crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the edge of the bed as he regarded you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Look, didn’t mean to scare you, alright? Figured this room was empty when I didn’t see Tommy’s stuff.”

“Well, it’s not empty,” you shot back, your cheeks burning. “Clearly.”

“Yeah, I got that now,” he said dryly, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to a smile. His gaze flickered briefly to the bathroom door, then back to you, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “You, uh… wanna put on some clothes before we keep yellin’ at each other?”

Your face burned, heat flooding your cheeks as the reality of the situation hit you. You were still standing there, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel, completely exposed in every possible way.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, tightening your grip on the towel.

His eyebrows shot up, and damn it, he looked smug about it. That stupid little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that only made him seem more amused.

Before you could say anything else—or throw something at him—Tommy burst into the room, Maria trailing close behind, both of them wide-eyed and holding coffee cups.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, his voice loud and panicked. “Are you alright? We heard screaming—”

He froze mid-sentence, his gaze bouncing between you, half-naked and flushed, and Joel, standing entirely too casually by the bed.

Maria’s hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh as she took in the scene, her eyes dancing with poorly concealed amusement.

“Maria!” you snapped, your voice a sharp plea as you clutched the towel tighter around you.

Tommy, meanwhile, didn’t miss a beat. He grinned, his worry evaporating in an instant as he stepped toward Joel. “Hey, big bro,” he said, pulling Joel into a quick hug, completely unfazed by the tension in the room.

“Hey,” Joel replied, his voice smooth and easy, like this whole situation wasn’t absolutely mortifying.

“How was your flight?” Tommy asked, stepping back as if this were the most normal reunion in the world.

“Good,” Joel said, shrugging as he turned to Maria. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his tone softening just slightly. “Hey, Maria.”

You stood there, utterly stunned, your mouth slightly open as the three of them exchanged greetings like you weren’t standing there, soaking wet and humiliated in the middle of the room. It was laughable. It was absurd.

Maria caught your desperate look and cleared her throat, nudging Tommy. “We should, uh…”

“Right,” Tommy agreed, glancing at the coffees in his hands. “We should get outta your hair.”

Joel, however, didn’t move right away. His gaze flicked back to you, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes dragging over you in a way that felt both infuriating and electric. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“See you soon, roomie,” he drawled, the emphasis on the word sending a jolt of annoyance through you. He finished with a wink that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t care to analyze.

You barely managed to hold back a growl as he turned and followed Tommy and Maria out of the room, their laughter trailing behind them. The door clicked shut, leaving you standing there, still clutching your towel and feeling like the universe’s favorite punchline.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the door. “This is just great.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, staring at the crisp white linens like they might hold the answer to your predicament. For thirty long minutes, you debated your options, none of which seemed remotely appealing.

Option one: walk out there and pretend like nothing happened, even though Joel’s smug face was now burned into your memory. Option two: stay in this room for the rest of the vacation, surviving on room service and spite. Option three: book a flight home and disappear into the dead of night, leaving Maria to deal with the fallout of her matchmaking debacle.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

Your phone buzzed, the soft ding breaking the silence. You picked it up, already bracing yourself.

Maria: You gonna come out or stay in there forever?

You sighed heavily, typing back a quick response. You: Maria, this is so embarrassing.

Her reply came almost immediately. Maria: It’s not. Can Joel come and get settled? The poor guy.

Poor guy? Was she kidding? Poor you!

You sighed again, the sound loud and dramatic even to your own ears. Fine. If Joel needed to get into the room so badly, you weren’t going to be the one standing in his way. You: Yes. He can.

Maria’s response came with an infuriating kissy-face emoji that made you want to hurl your phone across the room.

A sharp knock on the door startled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

And then the knock came again. And again. And again.

You rolled your eyes, standing up and calling out, “Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Joel,” his voice came from the other side of the door, deep and slightly muffled. He kept knocking.

Still knocking.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you shouted, exasperated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Are you clothed?”

You threw your hands in the air, your irritation bubbling over. “Jesus Christ!”

He laughed softly through the door, the sound aggravatingly charming.

You stormed to the door and yanked it open, ready to let him have it—but the words caught in your throat when you saw him. Joel stood there, hand still raised mid-knock, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly, and the playful glint in his eyes told you he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Just makin’ sure,” Joel said, his tone easy as his gaze flicked over you, his eyes pausing briefly on your flushed cheeks before settling on yours. There was a teasing glint in his expression, the kind that made your pulse do a little stumble.

You stood there, arms crossed, doing your best to meet his gaze without faltering.

He tilted his head slightly, his brow lifting as he watched you.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharp, defensive.

“You’re, uh…” he gestured toward the doorframe with a small tilt of his chin, “kinda in the way.”

“Oh.” You blinked, flustered, before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Joel stepped past you, his eyes scanning the room with a low whistle. “This place is insane,” he said, his voice warm with genuine awe. “Fuckin’ worlds away from Texas.”

You almost smiled, thankful he didn’t make the whole towel incident more awkward than it already was.

He turned to you then, leaning casually against the edge of the dresser, his arms crossing over his chest. “So,” he began, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to playful. “I see you claimed the right side of the bed.”

“Is that a problem?” you shot back, mirroring his crossed arms with your own.

“Nah.” Joel shook his head, his lips quirking into that same infuriating smirk. “I should be closest to the door anyway.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“In case a murderer comes in,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What the hell?” you asked, staring at him.

“What?” He gave you a look, like you were the one being unreasonable. “Us men gotta think about these things.”

You were about to reply—maybe point out how absurd he sounded—but the words died on your tongue as Joel casually reached behind his neck, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shrugged it off in one smooth motion.

Your breath caught.

He stood there, completely unbothered, the golden light from the balcony casting shadows across the toned muscles of his chest. His skin was sun-kissed, his shoulders broad and strong, with a faint trail of dark hair running down his stomach. It was like something out of a magazine—effortless, masculine, and almost unbearably unfair.

You gulped, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

Joel caught your stare, his mouth twitching into that damn smirk again. “What’re you doin’?” you managed, your voice higher than you intended.

“What does it look like?” he replied, tossing his shirt onto the back of a chair like he owned the place. “Seriously, if you’re gonna freak out every time I take my shirt off, we’re gonna have a problem.”

You blinked at him, floundering for a response.

“We’re in Hawaii,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the balcony as if to drive his point home.

“I know that,” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter, though the heat rushing to your face wasn’t helping your case.

Joel grinned, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from the dresser. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, his tone light, teasing, like this was all some game he was enjoying far too much.

You stood there for a moment after Joel disappeared into the bathroom, the faint click of the door echoing through the room. It was ridiculous how your heart was racing, how the heat lingering in your cheeks wouldn’t budge no matter how many deep breaths you took.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself as you crossed the room. “Unbelievable. Insufferable.” You tossed a glance at the bathroom door, half-expecting Joel to stick his head out and throw another one of those infuriating comments your way. But all you could hear was the sound of the shower turning on, the steady stream of water muffling whatever he might be saying to himself in there.

You tried to focus on something else, anything else. You unpacked a few things, neatly folding your clothes into the dresser drawers, your movements quick and sharp. But your mind refused to stay on task, wandering back to the way Joel had just… shrugged off his shirt like it was nothing. Like he didn’t notice—or care—how good he looked doing it.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you shoved the last of your shirts into the drawer. You’d met plenty of flirty guys before, but there was something about Joel—something about the way he seemed so at ease, so himself, that made him impossible to ignore.

The bathroom door opened, and Joel stepped out, a cloud of steam following him like it was part of his aura. He was shirtless, of course, a white towel slung casually around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, darker now that it was wet, and he was rubbing the back of his neck as though he hadn’t just walked out looking like a whole damn Calvin Klein ad.

You froze, your hand still on the drawer handle, and for the briefest second, you considered looking away. But Joel caught your gaze before you could, his lips curving into that easy, teasing grin.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your unpacking,” he said, his tone warm and playful. “Figured you’d need the bathroom soon.”

“I—uh—yeah,” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself for how pathetic that sounded.

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know,” he drawled, “you don’t have to look so nervous. I don’t bite.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Unless you’re into that.”

Your mouth fell open, and you snapped it shut again almost immediately. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, pushing past him toward the bathroom.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, its golden light filtering into your room through the slightly ajar door leading to the suite’s main balcony. From outside, you could hear Maria, Tommy, and Joel’s voices carrying on the ocean breeze—easy laughter and teasing banter.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting against the edge of the bed. The large mirror propped in front of you reflected your half-done makeup, the bronzer brush in your hand hovering mid-air as you muttered a curse under your breath. You were running late—distracted by the events of the afternoon.

Behind you, the bed was a mess of organized chaos: two dresses—one slinky and black, the other vibrant red—lay sprawled across the sheets, along with a carefully chosen collection of jewelry. Your music played softly from your phone on the floor, and you hummed along absentmindedly between swipes of blush.

What you didn’t notice was the sound of the balcony door sliding open, or the way Joel sauntered into the room like he had all the time in the world.

He wore a pale linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, paired with beige shorts that hung low on his hips. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed his skin, highlighting the faint sheen of the humid evening air. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he’d just run his fingers through it, and he carried two beers in hand, the bottles clinking softly as he moved.

“Hey,” he said casually, his deep drawl breaking through your concentration as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed behind you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

You jumped slightly, your eyes darting to the mirror where you caught his reflection. Your gaze locked with his, and for a moment, the air in the room felt heavier, smaller. “Hey,” you replied, suddenly hyper-aware of the blush brush in your hand and the faint flush already spreading across your cheeks.

Joel leaned back slightly, one elbow propped on the mattress, his expression easy but his eyes sharp as he studied you. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he said with a faint grin, holding out one of the beers. “Beer?”

You shook your head quickly, turning back to the mirror and dabbing more blush onto your cheeks, as if that could somehow cool the warmth rising to your face. “Oh, no thank you. Can’t stand the taste of beer.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, twisting the cap off one of the bottles with practiced ease. “Can’t stand it?”

You laughed softly, glancing at him through the mirror. “Nope. I don’t get how anyone likes it.”

He chuckled, taking a swig before setting the untouched bottle on the nightstand. “Guess that means more for me.”

The silence between you settled, not awkward but charged, the kind of silence that felt heavy with words unspoken. Joel’s gaze drifted to the bed beside him, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the red dress before he glanced back at you.

“So,” he began, his tone teasing but gentle. “Which one are you plannin’ on?”

Your hand froze mid-swipe, and you turned to face him fully, your lips parting slightly. “I, uh…” You looked between him and the dresses, suddenly feeling shy under his steady gaze.

Joel tilted his head, his grin shifting into something softer, more crooked. “C’mon, roomie. You gotta pick. Red or black?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I was leaning toward the black one,” you admitted, though you weren’t entirely sure why you felt the need to explain.

Joel nodded thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the fabric of the red dress again before he picked it up, holding it out as though inspecting it more closely. “Black’s classy. Safe,” he said slowly, his voice quieting. “But…” He paused, swallowing hard enough that you noticed. “I think red.” His usual confidence faltered for a fleeting moment, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to the dress. “Red would look, uh… really good.”

Something in his voice—almost awkward, but sincere—made your chest tighten. “Okay,” you said softly, turning back to the mirror before the moment stretched too long. “I’ll think about it.”

Joel nodded, setting the dress back down just as your timer went off on your phone. You swore softly, rushing to finish your blush. “Shit, I swear I’m almost done,” you said, glancing at Joel apologetically.

Joel stayed exactly where he was, his gaze still on you in the mirror, his voice warm and easy. “Hey,” he said. “Take your time. We’re not in a hurry.”

You hesitated, meeting his eyes through the reflection. “You sure? I don’t want to hold everyone up.”

Joel shook his head, his grin softening. “We’re in Hawaii. Ain’t no rules about bein’ late here. Besides, worth the wait.”

Your chest tightened again, and this time, you couldn’t quite hide the faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“No problem,” Joel replied, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll, uh, let you get ready.”

His gaze caught on something on the bed, and he reached out, picking up the delicate necklace you’d set aside. “Oh. Did you need help with this?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

“It’s really no problem,” Joel said, already standing and crouching down behind you.

The warmth of him was immediate, his presence so close that you swore you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your neck. “Here,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Hold still.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted your hair, exposing the back of your neck. Joel’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as he fastened the clasp, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said, his voice soft as his hands dropped back to his sides.

You turned slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said a word.

“Perfect,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Thanks.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The hotel grounds were even more breathtaking at night. The warm glow of lanterns lined the stone pathways, their soft light spilling onto lush tropical plants and casting flickering shadows on the ground. The air was thick with the mingling scents of saltwater and frangipani, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore carried through the warm breeze.

Maria and Tommy walked ahead of you, their hands interlocked, their laughter soft and easy. Maria wore a flowing emerald-green dress that seemed to shimmer as she moved, her hair styled in loose waves that framed her glowing face. Tommy leaned toward her as she said something, his smile wide and unrestrained as he brushed a kiss against her temple. They looked like something out of a postcard—effortlessly in love and perfectly matched.

You and Joel followed behind, your steps falling into an unspoken rhythm. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his shorts, the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt revealing the golden tan of his forearms. The easy sway of his stride gave him an air of confidence that felt completely natural, like he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

As you passed beneath an arch of twinkling string lights, Joel glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching the light for a brief moment before his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

“So,” he drawled, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You listened to me, huh?”

You glanced up at him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He nodded subtly toward your dress, the red fabric clinging to your figure in all the right ways. “The red,” he said, his grin turning slightly crooked. “Told you it’d look good.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the heat crawling up your neck despite the cool evening breeze. You glanced down at the dress, brushing invisible lint off the fabric as you tried to steady your voice. “Thanks,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough to give him a sidelong glance. “Guess you’ll be my fashion advisor for the trip.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich, like a melody you didn’t realize you wanted to hear on repeat.

“Careful now,” he said, leaning closer as his voice dropped just a fraction. “You let me make too many decisions, and next thing you know, I’ll have you in cowboy boots and denim shorts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

“Never say never, roomie,” he teased, his grin widening as his arm brushed yours for a fleeting moment.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a few beats, your steps in sync as you followed the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the path. Maria and Tommy’s laughter floated back to you from up ahead, their silhouettes framed by the soft flicker of string lights.

“So,” Joel said after a moment, leaning slightly toward you as though he were sharing some grand secret. “Tommy thinks Maria has no clue he’s gonna propose.”

You glanced up at him, your brow furrowing. “Seriously?”

Joel nodded, his grin growing more playful. “Yep. Poor guy’s convinced she hasn’t pieced it together.”

“She’s got a hunch,” you said knowingly, the corners of your mouth quirking into a small smile.

Joel let out a warm laugh, the sound easy and genuine. He leaned a little closer, his voice dipping just enough to feel more personal. “So,” he began casually, though the teasing edge in his tone gave him away, “you, uh… got a boyfriend or something?”

Your steps faltered slightly, and you turned to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow. “Joel,” you said, your voice dry but amused. “If I had a boyfriend, do you think I’d be here on a couples trip, with someone who is not my boyfriend?”

Joel blinked, his lips parting as he realized how ridiculous the question was. “Oh,” he said quickly, his grin softening into something sheepish. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you replied, brushing it off with a wave of your hand.

Joel’s smile returned, his gaze flicking over you with an almost curious warmth. “Just find it hard to believe,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more sincere.

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the shift in his tone. “Oh, come on,” you said, rolling your eyes to cover the sudden flutter in your chest. “Does that line usually work for you?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his expression turning playfully indignant. “What line?”

“The cheesy pickup lines,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smirk.

“I’m being serious,” he said, his tone dipping into something earnest, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained.

“Mhm,” you replied, your voice laced with mock skepticism as you tilted your head at him.

Joel let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head as though genuinely disappointed. “Wow. So cynical,” he said, his grin returning as he leaned slightly closer, the heat of his gaze brushing over you. “Bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

Before you could fire back a retort, Maria’s voice called out from ahead, cutting through the night air. “Guys, hurry up! We’re gonna miss the live music!”

Joel turned toward her voice, then glanced back at you with a grin that was all charm and mischief. “Better pick up the pace,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing. “Wouldn’t wanna get left behind and have to serenade you myself. Though, fair warnin’—my singin’ ain’t free.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you quickened your step. “Lucky for you, Joel, I’m not paying to hear whatever cowboy karaoke you’ve got up your sleeve.”

Joel chuckled, falling into stride beside you. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and playful. “Talk like that, and you’re gonna hurt my feelin’s.”

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” you replied with a grin, your heart skipping as his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

As the two of you caught up with Maria and Tommy, the warm glow of the hotel lights and the faint hum of music ahead set the perfect stage for the night—and for whatever this thing between you and Joel was slowly becoming.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“Holy shit,” Tommy murmured as you all stepped into the restaurant.

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

The place was stunning, a picture of understated luxury that somehow felt warm and inviting rather than intimidating. The open-air design let in the salty breeze, while woven lanterns hung from high wooden beams, casting soft, flickering light across the room. The walls were draped with lush greenery, accented by vibrant tropical flowers that seemed too perfect to be real. Somewhere in the background, the faint hum of live music blended seamlessly with the rhythmic crash of waves.

“This place is insane,” Joel murmured beside you, his deep drawl laced with quiet awe as his gaze swept across the space.

You glanced at him, catching the way the soft lighting brushed over the angles of his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the warm brown of his eyes. “Not bad, huh?” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing.

He nodded, his lips curving into a slight grin. “Guess Tommy finally got somethin’ right.”

A waiter appeared, all effortless poise as he greeted you with a warm smile. “Right this way,” he said, motioning for you to follow.

The four of you trailed him through the restaurant, past tables filled with couples leaning into quiet conversations and groups laughing over cocktails. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across polished wood and crisp white tablecloths, giving the whole place a dreamy, golden hue.

The waiter led you outside to a terrace overlooking the ocean, where more lanterns were strung across the open space, their warm light mingling with the silver glow of the moon reflecting off the water. The sound of the waves was louder here, blending with the distant strum of a ukulele from the live band.

Maria and Tommy slid into one side of the table, their fingers already interlocking as they settled in. Joel, without hesitation, pulled out a chair next to yours and gestured for you to sit.

“Ladies first,” he said, his grin softening into something almost gentlemanly.

You gave him a small nod, sinking into the seat. He followed, sitting beside you with the kind of ease that made it seem like he’d been doing this for years.

“Here are the menus,” the waiter said, placing them delicately in front of you. “And the drink menus.” He offered a quick, practiced smile. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

As soon as he disappeared, Tommy leaned forward, flipping open the drink menu with wide eyes. “This place has everything,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Maria laughed, resting her chin on her hand as she glanced at her boyfriend. “Don’t get too excited. You still have to pay for it.”

“Worth it,” Tommy replied, already scanning the cocktails.

Beside you, Joel leaned back in his chair, his arm resting casually along the back of yours. He opened his menu with one hand, but his attention wasn’t on it—it was on you.

“See anything you like?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “The menu just got here.”

“Not talkin’ about the menu,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening just enough to make your pulse skip.

“Jesus,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head and focusing hard on the menu in front of you.

Joel laughed, the sound warm and rich, as he grabbed a menu for himself. “Relax,” he said, flipping lazily to the drinks page, his eyes scanning the options with a faint smirk.

After a moment, he leaned closer, angling the menu so you could see it too. His shoulder brushed yours, the warmth of his presence impossibly distracting. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing to a section of colorful, overly elaborate cocktails. “These all sound fancy. Perfect for you.”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing at the names—everything from Tropical Temptation to Hibiscus Bliss. “You think I’m a ‘fancy cocktail’ kind of person?”

Joel’s grin grew wider. “I dunno. Thought you might enjoy somethin’ a little sweeter. Balance out all that sass.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Joel straightened in his seat, his gaze lighting up with a spark of mischief. “Hey, let’s play a game,” he said, turning to face you more fully.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “What kind of game?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dipping low as though sharing a secret. “Simple. I choose your drink, you choose mine.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “How is that a game?”

Joel chuckled, resting his elbow on the back of your chair as he met your gaze head-on. “Because,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate, “it’s a test of trust.”

“Trust?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, completely unfazed by your skepticism. “Yep. You trust me not to order you somethin’ ridiculous, and I trust you not to screw me over with, I dunno…” He gestured toward the menu. “A Pink Flamingo Paradise or somethin’.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head. “You don’t strike me as a Pink Flamingo Paradise kind of guy.”

Joel smirked, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence. “I’d rock it, though.”

You snorted, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the menu as you debated. “Alright, fine,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But if you pick something gross, I’m holding it against you for the rest of the trip.”

“Fair,” he replied easily, his grin never wavering. “Same rules apply.”

You both turned back to your menus, scanning the options with newfound purpose.

Joel glanced at you, his tone teasing. “What’re you thinkin’? Something with an umbrella in it?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, smirking. “What about you? Something boring like beer?”

“Boring?” Joel placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense as he leaned back in his chair. “You wound me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head as you glanced back at the menu. After a moment, you settled on a drink, pointing it out to the waiter with a confident nod. Joel followed suit, his choice quick and deliberate, though the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t about to let the game end there.

“All right,” Tommy said, leaning forward and slapping the table lightly. “We gotta get serious about this food situation. There’s too many damn things on this menu. What’s everyone thinkin’?”

Maria laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re acting like we’re solving world hunger, babe. Just pick something.”

Joel glanced at his brother with a faint smirk before turning his attention back to you. But this time, his playful demeanor softened, his gaze shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful.

“You got any dietary stuff I should know about?” Joel asked, his voice lower now, almost tender.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His tone was so different from the usual teasing lilt you’d come to expect—gentle, sincere, like he genuinely cared about the answer.

“Uh, no,” you said after a beat, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

Joel nodded, his expression relaxed but still warm. “Good to know,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the menu.

You swallowed hard, the faint warmth of his attention leaving a subtle flutter in your chest.

“Okay,” Tommy said, clearly oblivious to the moment as he squinted at the menu. “What the hell is a coconut lime mahi-mahi? Am I supposed to know what mahi-mahi is?”

“It’s fish, Tommy,” Maria said with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes fondly. “You’ve had it before. Remember that time we went to the seafood place in Austin?”

“Oh,” Tommy said, nodding. “Right. That was good.”

Joel chuckled, his voice breaking the small bubble of tension that had lingered between you. “Y’know, Maria,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, “you’re gonna have your hands full with him.”

Maria grinned, clearly unfazed. “Already do.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

This was fun, you thought, glancing around the table as laughter spilled into the warm night air. The conversation flowed effortlessly, Maria and Tommy trading playful jabs while Joel chimed in with his dry, easy humor. For the first time in a while, you felt completely at ease, the tension of earlier moments melting into the atmosphere of good company and golden light.

The food arrived before you even realized how much time had passed, the waiter placing each dish with practiced elegance.

Tommy, true to form, had ordered something hearty—a perfectly seared steak topped with garlic butter, its aroma rich and mouthwatering. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing it like it was the centerpiece of a grand feast. “Now this,” he declared, picking up his knife and fork, “is what I’m talkin’ about.”

Maria, ever the balance to his bold choices, had gone for a delicate seafood linguine, the pasta glistening with olive oil and white wine, studded with shrimp and fresh herbs. “You’d better share,” Tommy teased, eyeing her plate, but Maria only swatted his hand away with a laugh.

You had chosen a grilled snapper, its crispy skin drizzled with a tangy mango salsa and paired with a vibrant side of coconut rice. The bright colors and tropical flavors made your plate look like something straight out of a magazine.

Joel’s choice was classic and unfussy—a plate of barbecued ribs slathered in smoky sauce, with a side of roasted potatoes and charred corn on the cob.

He caught your gaze as he picked up a rib, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What?” he asked innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “You were gonna judge me no matter what I got.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I wasn’t judging. Just… admiring your commitment to the messiest thing on the menu.”

“Gotta live a little,” Joel replied, his tone light but his gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart skip.

The laughter continued as everyone dug in, the clinking of silverware and the hum of the nearby live music weaving seamlessly into the scene. Soon after, the waiter returned, a tray balanced expertly in his hands.

“For the lady,” he said with a polite smile, setting a vibrant, colorful cocktail in front of you. It was topped with a slice of fresh pineapple and a tiny pink umbrella, the drink itself a swirl of coral and gold hues.

Your jaw dropped slightly as you stared at it. “Oh my god,” you said, biting back a laugh. “What is this?”

Joel leaned in, his grin widening as he inspected the drink. “That,” he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness, “is a Sunset Paradise.”

You shot him a look, your lips twitching as you tried to hold back your laughter. “Are you kidding me? You picked this?”

“Hey, I thought it suited you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sweet, colorful… a little over the top.”

You shook your head, picking up the glass and taking a small sip. The flavors burst on your tongue—pineapple, passionfruit, a hint of coconut rum. Damn it. It was actually good.

“Alright,” you admitted reluctantly. “Not bad, Miller. Not bad.”

Joel’s grin only widened.

“And for the gentleman,” the waiter continued, placing Joel’s drink in front of him with a subtle flourish.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you as you stared at the delicate martini glass, filled with a pale pink liquid and garnished with a single orchid flower floating on top. “Oh, this is perfect,” you said, barely able to contain yourself. “Joel Miller, enjoying a Hibiscus Bliss.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at you, his lips twitching as though he was fighting a laugh of his own. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much,” he muttered, picking up the glass with exaggerated care.

“Go on,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Take a sip. Let me see you savor that hibiscus.”

Joel held your gaze, his grin slowly breaking through as he raised the glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip, setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” he said, his tone deadpan. “Real sophisticated.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. “I can’t believe you’re pulling this off.”

“Darlin’,” Joel said, his grin turning cocky as he leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “I could pull off anything.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The four of you sat back in your chairs, the plates cleared and glasses now reduced to condensation-rimmed remnants of colorful cocktails and beer. The warm buzz of good food and drinks settled over the group, and you realized with a start just how comfortable you felt.

Somehow, throughout the course of dinner, you and Joel had drifted closer. His arm rested casually along the back of your chair, and though he wasn’t quite touching you, you could feel the faint pull of his presence—the warmth radiating from him like he was the sun itself.

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice soft and low as he turned to you, his grin creeping in at the edges. “Now you gotta rate the drink I picked for you. Outta ten.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, though the teasing glint in your eye gave you away. “Hmmm…” you hummed, dragging it out just to watch his brow twitch in anticipation. “I’ll give you a… seven.”

Joel leaned back, letting out a low hum of approval. “Seven, huh? Above average. I’ll take it.”

You smirked, leaning slightly toward him. “And now you?”

He glanced at the remnants of his Hibiscus Bliss, the delicate pink drink looking comically out of place in his hand, then back at you with an exaggerated frown. “Five.”

Your jaw dropped, and you straightened in mock offense. “A five?”

Joel nodded, his lips curving into a crooked smile as he took another sip. “Yeah, and that’s me bein’ generous.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

In front of you, Maria and Tommy were leaning into each other, their voices softer now, heads close as they shared a quick peck. Maria’s laughter was light and sweet, blending with the faint strum of live music in the distance. The two of them were completely in their own world, whispering and exchanging smiles like the honeymoon phase had never ended.

Joel’s voice cut through the moment, low and warm as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear. “Let’s make a bet.”

You turned to him, your brows arching in curiosity. “I’m listening.”

He angled himself toward you, his grin widening just enough to make your heart do an annoying little flip. “Whoever’s right about when Tommy proposes gets to make the other person do whatever they want.”

Your brows furrowed as you studied him, skeptical. “That’s not fair,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s your brother. He’s probably told you everything he’s planned.”

Joel raised a hand, his expression softening into something almost boyish. “Swear to God, he hasn’t said a thing. I got no clue when he’s gonna do it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for any hint of deception, but Joel just held your gaze steadily, his grin turning a little smug, like he knew you were about to give in.

“So?” he prompted, his voice a touch lower now, coaxing. “You in?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Maria and Tommy. The way they were leaning into each other, so completely at ease, made you think it had to be soon. And honestly, the thought of beating Joel at his own game was too tempting to pass up.

“Alright,” you said finally, turning back to him. “I’m in.”

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned back in his chair, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly as he settled into the space between you. “Good,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, roomie. I’ll go easy on you when I win.”

“You mean if you win,” you corrected, your voice sharp but playful.

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he raised his glass in a mock toast. “To fair play,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing.

You clinked your glass lightly against his, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. Whatever this was—this slow, teasing back-and-forth—it was addictive, pulling you in like a tide you didn’t want to fight.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

When you arrived back at the suite, the quiet hum of the evening enveloped the four of you. The buzz of laughter and conversation from dinner had given way to the heavy weight of exhaustion. Maria and Tommy murmured their goodnights as they veered off to their side of the suite, their soft laughter fading behind the sound of their door closing.

You and Joel walked to your side in silence, the tension between you as palpable as the warmth of the tropical night. You could feel his presence behind you, his steps slow and deliberate, and you swore you could feel his gaze burning into your back. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the cool tiles beneath your bare feet as you reached the bedroom door.

Inside, Joel moved toward the bed, dropping his phone onto his side with a casual thud before sprawling back against the pillows. His arm rested lazily above his head, the glow from his screen illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You grabbed your pajamas and headed toward the bathroom. The cool splash of water on your face was grounding as you scrubbed off your makeup, brushed your teeth, and slipped into something more comfortable. But even as you tried to settle your thoughts, you couldn’t shake the image of Joel, relaxed and at ease, sprawled out on the bed like he owned it.

When you emerged, Joel’s eyes flicked up from his phone immediately, locking on you like you’d just stepped into a spotlight. His gaze traveled over you briefly—too brief to feel invasive but long enough to send heat rushing up your neck.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you set your things on the dresser.

“Nothing,” he said easily, his lips curving into a faint smile as he stood, grabbing his own bundle of clothes. “Just didn’t realize bedtime was a fashion show.”

You shot him a glare, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Go brush your teeth, Joel.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Christ,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a long sip.

You settled into bed, plugging your phone into the charger and pulling the covers up to your chest. The clock on the nightstand blinked 11:03, and the suite was quiet except for the faint sound of the ocean outside.

Just as you were starting to relax, the bathroom door swung open, and Joel strolled back into the room like it was nothing—barefoot, shirtless, and in a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His hair was damp, his skin still warm and golden from the day, and he was entirely, maddeningly unbothered as he crossed to his side of the bed.

Without a word, he threw himself onto the mattress, the springs creaking slightly under his weight as he flopped down with an exaggerated sigh.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, your voice sharp as you stared at him.

“What?” he asked innocently, propping himself up on one elbow to meet your gaze. “I live here too, roomie.”

You gestured vaguely toward him, your eyebrows lifting. “Could you maybe warn someone before… doing that?”

Joel tilted his head, clearly biting back a grin. “Doin’ what?”

You waved your hand in his direction, exasperated. “Showing up half-naked like some—some—”

“Some what?” he interrupted, his voice low and teasing as his grin finally broke free. “Greek god? Movie star? Go on, I’m listenin’.”

You groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm as he turned his head to look at you, his grin teasing but his gaze soft. “And you,” he emphasized, his drawl stretching the words as though savoring them, “are too wound up.” He rested one arm behind his head, the picture of lazy confidence as he continued. “Good thing you’re on vacation, or you might just explode.”

You turned your head to glare at him, though the twitch of your lips betrayed you. “Gee, thanks, Joel.”

“Just statin’ facts,” he said easily, his smirk widening as he stretched out across the bed like he owned it. “Bet you’re one of those people who makes to-do lists for their time off.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do not.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So you didn’t already plan out tomorrow?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together, and Joel laughed, the sound rumbling and warm.

“Knew it,” he said, his voice laced with triumph. “C’mon, roomie, you’re supposed to be relaxin’. Let me guess—early morning hike? Sunrise yoga?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulling it higher up your chest. “For your information, I was thinking about hitting the beach. Maybe snorkeling. Normal vacation stuff.”

He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before meeting your eyes again. “So, what time we headin’ out?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Tomorrow,” Joel said, his voice casual but his grin edging toward mischievous. “You’re plannin’ it, right? Guess that makes me your plus one.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening slightly before you caught yourself. “You want to come with me?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his tone turning mock-serious. “You expect me to leave you unsupervised in Hawaii? What if you trip over a rock or somethin’?”

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine. But only if you promise not to complain the whole time.”

“Me? Complain?” Joel said, his brows lifting in mock offense. “Never.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him, but before you could retort, his gaze shifted, softening as it settled on you.

“Serious question,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make your heart falter for a beat.

Your eyes snapped to his, the teasing grin on your face fading as your breath hitched slightly. “What?” you asked, wary of his tone.

Joel tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before he said, deadpan, “Do you snore?”

Your heart stopped, then restarted with a kick of disbelief. “Joel.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his brow furrowing like this was some grand existential question. “I can’t do snorin’. It’s a dealbreaker.”

You glared at him, though the faint blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I do not snore.”

“Good,” Joel said, nodding like he was checking something off a list. “Because sometimes… pretty girls do weird things in their sleep.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp but your cheeks betraying you as they burned.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long as your blush deepened. “Just sayin’,” he added with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying himself.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in your chest, but before you could respond, Joel’s expression shifted again—his grin fading into something gentler, more serious.

“Also,” he began, his voice quieter now, “if you want, I can, uh, sleep outside. On the couch.” He gestured vaguely toward the suite’s living area, his tone so casual it almost masked the sincerity in his words. “It’s no big deal. I know you weren’t expectin’ this whole… shared bed thing.”

The offer caught you off guard, the sweetness of it pulling you up short. Joel—so cheeky, so infuriatingly confident—was looking at you now with an openness that you hadn’t expected.

You breathed in slowly, your gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his. “No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Joel raised a brow, his lips curving faintly. “You sure?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed.”

His grin widened, that playful spark returning to his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Because, truth is, I really didn’t wanna sleep on the couch. It looked lumpy.”

You laughed softly, your chest loosening as the tension faded. “Wow, such a gentleman.”

Joel leaned back against the pillows, his grin turning smug but somehow still boyish. “Told you. I’m full of surprises.”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh escaping you, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. Settling back onto your side of the bed, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders, the faint scent of clean linen and something distinctly Joel filling the air.

The room was quiet now, the low hum of the ocean outside mingling with the soft creaks of the suite as it settled around you. Despite the space between you, the warmth of Joel’s presence lingered, stretching into the silence like something unspoken but understood.

“Night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and a little shy as you closed your eyes.

There was a pause—a small, almost imperceptible beat—and then his voice came, low and warm, carrying the faintest trace of a smile. “Night, roomie’.”

CHAPTER 2 IS OUT HERE

[mindless-existence1]

Bakugo x reader fluff

Summery: You and Bakugo are just friends so why is it when the bakusquad comes by and finds you (innocently) sleeping in his bed does it make Bakugo realize something. Maybe he doesn't just want to be friends.

Authors note: This is a snippet of the longer fic I'm writing about mutual pinning between Bakugo and Reader. I just wanted to put this out there since the actual fic might will most definitely take me a while. To anyone who has sent in requests I promise I'm working one them and I love you all ♡

Words: 1008

Your soft snores paired with Bakugos near silent tapping was all that could be heard in the small dorm. Light shone through the large glass doors, giving the room a soft ambience.

Bakugo, who was sitting at his desk, glanced towards your sleeping form. A fuzzy feeling filled his chest at the veiw of you peacefully curled up in his blanket on his bed. He can't put his finger on why he feels that warm feeling whenever he sees you like this.

A forgotten manga layed next to your hand, he had put a marker in it for you once he realized you had fallen asleep. Bakugo also put the blanket on you and just so happened to notice hair in front of your face that he moved out of the way. Why was he doing all of that? Bakugo doesn't even know.

Its not uncommon for you to hang out in the young hero's dorm, or vice versa. Actually it was very common for the two of you to hang out with eachother. Somehow you had latched onto him and although Bakugo used to hate admitting it, he latched onto you to.

It had been an hour or so since you'd drifted off, the night was still young but what else did he have to do? The question answered itself when Bakugos door was nearly busted through but four very energetic teens.

The blond man jumps up at the intrusion. "Bakugo! What're doing not answering your texts man?" Kirishimas voice loudly questions his friend. Bakugo watch as Kaminari, Mina, Sero, and Kirishima barded their way into the small dorm.

Bakugo doesn't answer, instead looking towards you. Hoping your still asleep. To his horror dismay you once sleeping form pushes itself up with one hand, the other rubbing your eyes.

Confusion washes over your features as you take in your surroundings. The teens all look towards you, Kaminari and Sero's jaws seems to be on the floor. Kriishima and Mina look between you and their firey friend.

Once you realize what was going on you smile, "Oh hey guys." You yawn, covering your mouth and waving slightly. Your words are slurred with exhaustion. Mina grins, "Hey girl!" She waves while giving Bakugo a sly knowing smirk.

You plop back down onto the bed beneath you, grabbing the blanket and curling up to get comfortable. Once you lay back down Bakugo is quickly pushing his friends classmates through his rooms door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He practically yells after he shuts the door behind him, he is cautious to keep his voice hushed to not disturb you.

"Us? What were you and y/n doing?" Kaminari and Sero start laughing in shock of what they saw. "Yeah what was y/n doing in your bed Bakugo?" Mina's voice is sly and knowing and for some reason it makes Bakugos ears grow red at her implications.

But no. It was you. It was nothing like that. So he grits his teeth and glares at the teens in front of him. "The fuck you trying to say racoon eyes?" Mine just smirks and shrugs he shoulders innocently. Kirishima intervenes before Bakugo can blow up the whole hallway.

"We just came by because we had a study session and you and y/n didn't show up." Sero cuts his friend off. "Though we didn't expect to find both of you here." Kirishima puts a hand on his angry friends shoulder, effectively keeping him away from Sero.

"We were just hanging out and she feel asleep you perverts." Bakugo watches his friends laugh, his scowl growing bigger. "Now fuck off, you screwed up your chance to get tutoring help from me assholes." Now he watches regret wash over his friends features.

Kirishima speaks up, "Don't be like that bro it was super manly!" This doesn't have the affect he wanted, it only makes the blond man angrier. "There was nothing manly about anything because nothing happened you freaks. Now I'm going back to my dorm. Ask the ponytail girl for help."

"Oh boo you whore, say hi to y/n for us lover boy." Mina waves him scoff teasingly. Kaminski and Seros laughs are quickly cut off when Kirishima fails to stop Bakugo coming at them. The three screw teens run down the hallway, leaving Bakugo with his spiky haired friend.

When Kirishima see his friends have left he chuckles, looking towards the angry blond. "Hey Bakugo you know it's not bad to have a crush on y/n right? In fact it's quite manly." Krishimas voice is sincere, it takes Bakugo back.

For some reason he fumbles over his words. Him? You? Together? No. Absolutely not. Not when he had to become the Number One hero, he can't be in a relationship. No distractions. He knows this. So why, just why, does the thought of you and him make him so goddamn flustered.

"Oh shut up shitty hair." Is all he can push out, trying to cover up his slip up. Kirishima catches his friends new demeanor. "Just think about man. See you later." Kirishima waves his friend goodbye, heading down the hallway most likely trying to find Momo and his friends.

After cursing under his breath Bakugo quietly heads back into his dorm. When he towards his bed and see your body, slightly moving up and down with your breathing, he almost falls to his knees when his feeling hit him.

Holy fuck.

Theres no way that he had a crush on you. No way. You were his friend. Sure he thought you were gorgeous. Maybe he always thought you were the strongest in the class, second to him of course. Maybe he tried to spend the most time he could with you, going out of his way to see you.

But that didn't mean anything.

But as Bakugo plopped himself in his desk chair with a flush face facing your sleeping form. He knew it was a lie. How did he not see it before. He was in love with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had such a strong urge to write this and it took me over. I will be tweaking this for the actual fic but yeah thanks for read and hope you enjoyed.

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[kunareads]

snippet from the untitled choso fic that has been occupying every corner of my brain edit: the full fic is done now!

idk if this specific part qualifies as dark content but i did get a little creeped out writing it lol. mdni.

choso likes keeping things.

it started small. innocent.

a receipt left on the table after lunch, your signature scrawled across the bottom. a pen you let him borrow. a candy wrapper, the foil crinkled between your fingers when you pressed it into his palm. he didn’t mean to keep them. he just…never let them go.

then, a bit more personal.

a cherry chapstick left behind in his car. an earring you thought you lost—he remembers watching it fall, small and shiny and delicate. a tissue, blotted with lipstick.

none of it was on purpose.

but you leave so many pieces of yourself behind. you’re careless, in a way that only makes sense to him. he had to start paying attention.

the things he keeps now are less accidental.

a bracelet you thought you lost. a nearly empty perfume bottle. strands of your hair, pulled from his hoodie after you borrowed it. a bloodstained tissue, from the time you cut your finger cooking for your mutual friends.

your voice in his head hours after you’ve spoken. your fingerprints burning his skin like you meant to leave them there.

a photo of you sleeping. that one’s his favorite. a little secret, tucked between pages of a book. a moment you don’t remember, but he does. proof that you’re his.

even if you don’t know it yet.

he knows things about you that you’ve never told him.

he knows your passwords. your wifi login. how much money is in your bank account.

he knows what you search for late at night, when your body is warm and restless. he knows what you watch twice, what you turn the volume up on, what you come back to later. sometimes, he watches with you.

at the bottom of his drawer, there’s a single zip tie. red and sturdy, waiting. it isn’t yours.

but it makes him think of you.

it’s not wrong. he’s just keeping you safe.

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[zepskies]

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader 

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” 

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

⋆˙⟡ Read the Sequel: A Subtle Invitation

Summary: “You needn’t be so formal,” Éomer said. His lips moved against the shell of your ear. “I am Éomer, especially when we are alone.”

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[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Yuu has the audacity to ask a question. It leads to some interesting moments  

Jade Leech, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit, Floyd Leech

Jade Leech 

“Jade, can I ask you a question?” It’s not often that the library is so packed that you end up sharing a table but if it had to be with anybody, at least it was Jade.  

Jade wasn’t naturally academically smart. He took a lot of notes and studied in order to come out in the middle. There were folks that thought he was simply keeping his head down, but Yuu found out by accident. She knew Jade was incredibly street smart and people savvy though, no matter what grades he got. It worked in her favor though, as Jade let them copy notes from last year in exchange for not sharing the information anywhere. Not that Yuu planned too, but they weren’t going to pass up such an opportunity either.  

“Of course, I will assist in anyway I can.”  

“Do you have any books that you would recommend for scavenging for local flora and fauna in the woods back at Ramshackle? I’ve tried searching through the library but it’s a bit too vague for what I need.”

If Yuu had blinked, they would have missed the brief surprise and delight on his face.  

“Well,” he sets his pen down, “As the president of the Mountain Lovers club, I’m sure we could discuss that during our meetings. If only you were a member.” he sighed  

“If only Crowley would allow me to join any clubs.” Yuu muttered, “I know it's a requirement for first and second years to be involved in at least one, but he says I have far more to offer as his unofficial assistant. Unpaid is more accurate but what do I know.”  

Jade smiles, the one that matches his brothers. Wide and full of teeth.  

“Leave Crowley to me, dear Prefect. You just meet me in the morning behind Ramshackle. Bring a basket and your camera, oh, and dress warm. It'll be cold for you.”  

He writes some extra instructions on a slip of paper and collects his things, turning left at the library doors. Damn, that was straight to the headmasters’ office too. Jade really doesn't play around when it comes to the Mountain Lover's club.

While Yuu isn’t able to attend every meeting, the Mountain Lover’s club apparently includes trips to other countries, recipes cooked in the Ramshackle kitchen as well as appreciating cultures and crafts made by various peoples which slowly starts to decorate the rickety dorm into something interesting and unique. Jade becomes a different person as a traveler and seems to find joy in just exploring and discovering all the different ways that people create and eat and live.  

After he graduates, Yuu gifts him the book that the two of them created, with pictures and descriptions of all the Night Raven College fauna and flora, their uses, if they are edible, and different recipe and potion ingredients, the regions it comes from, and even snippets of stories and memories they share.  

Jade is not an emotional man, but when he asks you to come with him on his next expedition, his smile is full of joy.  

Rook Hunt

“Rook, can I ask you a question?”  

Rook looks down from his spot in the tree, a camera perched in his hands. “Amazing eyesight, Mon Trickster! I did not anticipate being found. Ask away, but be quick, less Roi de Lion suspects me.”  

“Are there any plays or poetry books that would be good for a beginner? I read a lot back home but I know there is cultural and historical context I'm going to be missing-” 

“I am so happy!” he practically drops the tree, taking both of her hands to kiss the knuckles, “I would be happy to help you. Come, come!”  

Oh, they are going to the library now. Right now. Ok, Yuu should have expected that.  

Rook is always excitable, but he’s mindful as well. Picking out smaller volumes at first, and adding some reference materials, putting a few back as he asks questions about what she has already read or what she typically enjoys. He also writes out a list for audio books and radio performances. Thank the Seven that Crowley finally got them a phone and they could excuse the data usage for school.  

“I have the films I would be willing to lend, but I would ask you be incredibly careful.”  

“Oh, I don’t have a TV or any type of DVD player at Ramshackle. We try and keep the places as authentic as possible. It helps when the ghosts come to visit on Hallow’s eve.” They don’t have wifi either and their electricity runs off a backup generator, but Yuu doesn’t mention that. They are distinctly aware of how rundown Ramshackle is, but they try not to advertise how badly.  

“What dedication you have to your dorm and the history of Night Raven College. We may do so in Pomefiore!”  

And that’s how they end up having movie night basically every Wednesday night, sometimes with other Pomefiore members or even Vil himself refreshing on the classics. Rook would sit close by, quietly explaining certain contexts and even joining Yuu on reading through some of the poetry books. His passion comes out more with his knowledge than his speech in those moments, and it’s...nice. Normally Rook is the most reserved person she knows. He’s family is still a mystery, but she’s learned more about his beliefs and insights into how he perceives life in general. 

“This is how I met Roi de Poison, you know. He enchanted me at first sight, but his mind...he understood my passion for theater, music and beauty. He respected me, once I proved that I loved him for more than his looks and roles.”  

Crazy fan he might have been in the past, it was definitely more of an equal relationship once you saw past the surface level. Yuu eventually started picking a few habits and fashion tips, slowly becoming a bit more refined. Elegant even, she might say.  

When she hesitantly asks for help with other things, it's easier each time. Help with skincare routines, or experimenting with make-up, what colors work best and how silhouettes come across. It’s never been this fun to experiment with her style. It helps that Rook, while thinking certain things definitely work, will be gentle in the things that aren’t.  

“They do not enhance your beauty,” he says, sounding like Vil, “And you are already magnifique.”  

He is the first person that she shares her book of stories with, the precognitions that she has  

“Do you think fairy tales are fiction?” He asks her, quietly skimming over the passages of Snow White. The Fairest Queen is barely mentioned, but without her, there is no story.  

“Living here feels like a fairy tale, but if it is, you’ve made it a wonderful dream.”  

Rook looks at her, a surprised chuckle slipping out. Before he can hide it, his nose crinkles, a smile wide enough to show his gums, and Yuu thinks it enhances all the best of him.  

Vil Schoenheit 

“Vil, may I ask you a question?” 

“At least somebody paid attention when I went over manners. You may.” Vil says, as he adds in some sort of lilac powder. Normally, they wouldn’t have any classes together, but with Yuu acting as an ‘assistant’ towards the teachers to make extra cash, they got to see the second and third years more than even the other first years in their dorms.  

“How do you make time for it all? Between the acting jobs, getting good grades in school, indulging in potionology and homebrew makeup in your limited free time, it seems like you get so much done with just as much time as the rest of us.”  

“Thank you for noticing.” Vil says, looking up from his potion work. “And yes, I do keep a very organized schedule. Every minute is planned and my down time is spent decompressing efficiently.”  

“Is there any articles or techniques you would recommend? Or a template you used?” 

“You could just ask me for help, you know.” he retorts, huffing a bit.  

“I know I could, but I also want to be respectful of what you have on your plate.”  

“Ah, potato...I have plenty of time, especially in this season. I don’t schedule anything this close to finals. Come sit with me this evening for dinner and we will talk goals and progress markers. There is more to this mentally than most people think.”  

Vil is a bit less than impressed when he sees just how much Yuu accomplishes for Night Raven College with no credit and makes a note to talk to the teachers and Crowley about getting her properly compensated or at least. But overall, it goes well, making time for exercise, hobbies, studies and even some time with him. Telling her about the techniques he used and actually practicing them were two different things, and some things are just easier to show rather than tell.  

“Alright, let’s start here.”  

Mindfulness, ironically for somebody outside Scarabina, is important to Vil. Sinking fully into the experience of his daily life, looking at all the colors, enjoying his foods with no screens, or just enjoying the quiet while he removes makeup. His decompress is like a valve that he releases in minutes throughout the day, not hours at the end of it.

“This takes practice. Don’t discourage yourself if you don’t get it every time, eventually it will come more naturally.”  

And it does. Over the months, Yuu feels more productive than ever, even finding time to wonder about her own style. It is a bit embarrassing when Vil enters Ramshackle to use the Guest Room to study and sees her hastily trying to wash off eyeshadow. 

“Oh, spudling, not your color. No, no, here.” He sits, and teaches, a bit harshly at times, but he wouldn’t be Vil if he wasn’t direct. Much like Riddle, he fully believes that people can reach his level, and sees no reason why they shouldn’t. And while Yuu will never be Vil pretty, she certainly feels more beautiful and confident now than she ever has before.  

It isn’t until Vil is reviewing one of his performances that Yuu makes a comment, some offhand remark about the script not quite matching the vernacular expected for the period, that he invites her to sit and review more.  

Yuu doesn’t think it’s anything spectular, it’s kind of obvious, but apparently it wasn’t to the rest of the audience.  

Vil sits at thier usual tea table in the Night Raven Gardens, and slides a ticket over to her.  

“If you have time. I know you recently picked up a few photography jobs in town that would be a shame to miss. Rapport with clients is key, you know.”  

It’s the red-carpet event to a 5th year anniversary movie he did as a child. All glitz and glam, showing just how much they have grown as actors and people since their debuts. It’s a milestone even for Vil, the first and only role where he was played a supporting role that wasn’t a villain or antagonist.  

“What colors are you wearing? I might have something that compliments.” Yuu asks, already going through their mind for anything suitable in Ramshackle.  

“Well,” Vil preens, opening his laptop. “We will just have to buy something together to ensure we match, won’t we? When are you free?” 

It’s so small Yuu almost misses it, but hidden underneath his painted blush is a heated blush, quiet and pink and delighted.  

Floyd Leech

“Floyd, can I ask you a question?”   

Floyd doesn’t even bother looking up from his spot at the table, “Better not be a boring question Shrimpy, or I’ll squeeze ya~” 

“Where do you go to get your shoes repaired?”  

His head snaps up just a bit, left eye brighter than usual.  

“Ace had mentioned that your sole had torn during practice,” Yuu continues, feeling like they have to explain themselves with how intensely he was staring, “But the next day it had been stitched back on like new. There are some fantastic leather boots from the old NRC uniforms that I'd love to use, but I’m trying to find somebody who won’t butcher them or tell me they aren’t repairable just cause there old or out of style, you know?”  

Floyd nods, eyes still searching before ultimately just shrugging his shoulders. “Hmmm...at least it wasn’t boring. Meet at Monstro Lounge at 6 lil’ Shrimpy, bring the shoes!”  

He walks away before Yuu can even say that they have to meet with somebody else, but that really isn’t a possibility when a Leech brother has demanded your attention. Looks like you’ll have to reschedule with Deuce.  

The Monstro Lounge is fairly steady, though Yuu has never seen it slow. Always some sort of deal or exclusive that sets these rich bastards running through the doors, even if it’s just so they don’t have to deal with the lines in the cafeteria or cook their own food.  

Jade waves you in, taking the box from your hands in a gentlemanly manner, and leading you to the side. Floyd is quick to intercept, mumbling a thank you before his long strides leave you almost jogging.  

“Alright, let’s see what we are working with.”  

The dorm is clearly shared between him and Jade. Crisp white walls, a seashell and sea motif on the desk and headboard and some floating shelves that look vaguely like drift wood, exactly what she expected from Octanvinelle. But that’s about all the two sides have in common. Jade’s is organized, of course, but notable is the terrariums on the shelves and a stack of geology books tucked into the corner, along with photos of places he may have been or plans to go.

Floyd’s half is a mess, yes, but it’s organized chaos, like looking at Ace and Deuce’s dorm. High protein snacks are tucked on the shelves, completed 3D puzzles, and...fashion magazines? Huh, he did say that merpeople didn’t really have a reason to wear clothes so land peoples being so obsessed with it would be interesting, especially in different regions or cultures. And the trends are constantly changing. It actually started fitting, the more Yuu thought about it.  

Floyd set the box on the desk, picking up the shoes and bending them this way and that, pressing on the heel or pinches the toe.  

“You’ve taken good care of them,” He says, “The stitches are loose and the nails need to be hammered back in, but the leather is clean and strong. I’d get some new leather laces though, the wax on these has completely frayed from misuse. How old are these?”  

“They're from back when Ezra and the others went to school, but they don’t have a great concept of time.” Floyd raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the ghosts at Ramshackle.”  

“Huh, no wonder it felt like the place was trying to kick us out.” Floyd walks over to the walk-in closet and Yuu has to double take. She would have mistaken the closet for Jade’s! On the left, the clothes are hung neatly on the rack except for the everyday items like the basketball or school uniform which have their own spots hung neatly on the door itself. Below that are clear boxes that seem to hold all sort of tools. Are these hobbies that Floyd has picked up and gotten bored with?

But the right side of the walk in closet is just racks and racks of shoes. Wing tip dress, loafers, even a few kitten heels and red backed stiletos. All perfectly shined and displayed.  

“Floyd, you repair your own shoes?” Yuu taking the box he hands her.

“When you are as tall as me and Jade, you end up having to customize and fix a lot of your own clothes, unless you wanna pay some stupid prices, and standing there while they pin and stuff is boring. I’d rather just do it myself.” He takes out a wicked looking needle and a stand, securing it to the desk with a flick of a lever. “Which pair is your size?”  

“Oh, these.” she says, picking up a pair of loafers and ankle boots. “I can’t afford for you to do this for me Floyd. I don’t have the funds right now.” 

He just leans against the table with a laugh, “Oh, I aint doin’ it for free. Your gonna pay me by letting me keep a pair, specifically those.”

He points to the bottom of the box, a pair of thigh high riding boots from what she can tell.  

“Those are the ones in the worst shape?”  

“Oh, I won’t be able to get them to their original form, but I can lengthen the sole and toe area a bit, add a heel, and have a wicked pair of thighs high stilettos that’ll have even Betta fish jealous~” 

“With your legs, you’d look really good in a skirt.”  

They both blink.  

“Shit, sorry, my mouth ran-” Floyd laughs, something softer than usual.  

“Your damn right Shrimpy.” He smiles, “I do look damn good in a skirt. I prefer dresses though.”  

He takes a seat, motioning for her to take the other side, sets the shoe inside the stand, and starts explaining the process. It doesn’t always make sense but he’s clearly passionate about it.  

This might be a truer version of him, Yuu thinks, seeing him carefully take out a rusted nail to pull out a fresh silver one from an even smaller box. One that isn’t bored or moody, but just...getting able to do something that actually interests him.  

“Hey Floyd. Do you want to go thrifting with me and Kalim on Sunday? I think you’d have some interesting things to say about some of the finds, especially the clothes mart. They literally have a bin of vintage pieces for a dollar a piece.”  

He leans back, and does that smile again. All teeth but his eyes relax, all boyishly charming.  

“You got all the audacity in the world, don’t you?” He chuckles, “I’ll get my shift covered.”  

[moodymisty]

Author's note: Funny Guilliman snippet. Guilliman/Fem!Reader implied, Tokophobia warning maybe, @lemon-russ enjoy

Guilliman often found himself preferring the feeling of writing on the rough surface of parchment than anything else, dipping his pen in fresh ink to finish his sentence. He nearly fumbles it, grumbling to himself. The pen he manages to catch, but his slight shifting causes him to wince and wait for noise.

Cradled in the elbow nook of his right arm his own child lets out a soft murmer, just barely disturbed but not enough to wake. They shift just slightly, wiggling in the warm blanket and continuing to suck on their thumb.

Guilliman could barely contain the sigh of relief.

This is the first time he has taken care of his child without you close by to help him; He isn't entirely confident he could soothe them if they woke up. The nervousness is, unfamiliar to him- though he can't help the fear of this new unknown.

But you desperately need the break, and Guilliman knows he can only cower in fear of his own child for so long. He can no longer use the excuse of their tiny size in comparison to his own hands to hide his broader fear of failure.

Shifting in their little blue blanket and resuming their nap, Guilliman resumes his work, but a feeling on the back of his neck causes his eyes to glance upward and to his left.

Decimius Felix is looking down at Guilliman's lap with an odd expression, brow furrowed as if... Confused. Guilliman turns his head to meet the astartes face on.

"It is a baby, Decimius. Are you familiar with the concept?"

The Tetrarch reels backwards as if hurt, his armor plates clicking against each other.

He then gets a bit irritated at his Primarch clearly poking fun at him, his nose wrinkling just a tad. His men are still quite shocked by his sense of humor, a trait Guilliman sometimes enjoys messing with.

"Yes, my primarch. It is just,"

Guilliman is well aware that his relationship with you had shocked his legion. They were unfamiliar with why he would even consider such a thing. His child had been an even greater surprise; Even months later, they are still confused. Many of his captains had vocalized their displeasure with him for bowing to baser things, though this displeasure he preferred over the Eclessiarcy's obsession over his believed holy child.

His chapter's standoffishness has started to fade a bit, but disapproval still lingers within all of his command, apart from Calgar.

He reminds himself to thank the Chapter Master for his personable attitude in spite of everything before Felix speaks up again.

"Will they just keep sleeping?"

Guilliman has to resist the urge to smile. It's such a painfully innocent question. One that he had thought as well, at one point.

"Until they're hungry, yes."

Guilliman can see the shift in Felix's lips, like he has another thing he wants to say, and Guilliman prays that he won't ask what happens then. He would rather throw himself out of the airlock and let the cold vacuum whisk him away into the grand unknown then explain to one of his men why he would need to get you for that process.

Thankfully however he doesn't say anything more, and simply hums, looking at the infant a moment longer. Not that there's much to see; They're swaddled up in the thick blanket to the shoulder, only a pudgy face with a thin wafting of light blonde hair is visible.

You had laughed hysterically the moment the hair started to grow in; They had gotten blessed with Guilliman's bright blonde hair, and around the same time their real eye color had come in; In which they'd inherited yours.

There, lets brush all the hair down just like that. Now you have silly little bangs just like your father- Right Robu?

He glances down at them again and smiles. He's never felt happier, prouder, than he is now. And to think it's because of something so simple.

He wonders if Tarasha and Konor felt the same, when they held him as a child.

"When will they need to eat?"

Guilliman has a gathering of his men scheduled for a bit from now, and he assumes Felix is prodding him due to wondering about a potential conflict of time.

"Soon."

Guilliman's hand drifts to the bottom of the page, eyes on the tip of his pen rather than the vaguely perturbed expression of his Tetrarch.

"...What do they e-"

Guilliman's hand suddenly jolts and the inked pen skids across the parchment, ruining his signature and making a rough scratching noise that surprises even himself. He doesn't need to look in Felix's direction to know he's a bit surprised.

"This conversation is over. Go ask that question to the serfs if you need an answer desperately."

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: you were meant to be just a bargaining chip for the decepticons, someone who could be easily discarded. but soundwave has other plans for you. (consider this snippet as a base for further stories.)

cw: obsessed!soundwave, kidnapping, isolation, stockholm syndrome?? not really but reader does have a soft spot for him, reader's pov, soundwave is fucking terrifying, this is just an excuse to write about soundwave interacting with you lmao

word count: 750

[part 2]

The automatic doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the owner of these small quarters. You lifted your head from the tablet, wanting to confirm that your routine remained unbroken — that you would survive one more day. Seeing the familiar silhouette, you exhaled in relief. The same titan as always had returned. You’d live to see tomorrow.

“Hi,” you greeted, well aware you’d never receive a verbal response. The titan was fiercely silent.

He nodded, and that was the end of your “conversation.”

Your interactions hadn’t always been like this. They weren’t always this warm. Going from trembling in fear at just the sight of him to saying “good morning” of your own free will had taken some time. Not that you had much choice in terms of social interactions, which the reptilian part of your brain still craved. You’d only seen other members of his species once, on the day of your abduction. Accepting that this was now your life, indefinitely, hadn’t been easy, but after many months, you’d adjusted. Humans were made to adapt to new conditions, and you were no exception. The will to live had won.

You returned to reading an e-book on your tablet (a reward for good behavior) but quickly paused, noticing the robot had stopped at the desk, right by the small corner arranged just for you. You looked up—he seemed to be looking straight at you. Even with the screen covering his face, you could feel his optics on you.

He was enormous, terrifying, and the lack of human-like facial features, which you’d noticed on others, only heightened the fear factor. He looked like a xenomorph. But your alien was real. And he wanted something from you.

“What’s up?” you asked, uncertainly.

He moved his hand, slowly, calculatedly, and pointed at the tablet as if he genuinely cared about what you were doing, as if he cared about your existence. By now, you understood perfectly what he meant, having gone through this countless times when he returned to you after a few, sometimes several, hours of absence. This was your little ritual, a remnant of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal.

“I didn’t manage to read much,” you sighed. He tilted his head slightly. It was almost cute. Almost. “I just can’t concentrate today. I’m having kind of a rough day.”

It would certainly be better if you were spending your time at home, with family and friends, rather than as the pet of your captor, but of course, you couldn’t say that to him. Not when you’d worked so hard for the privilege of a tablet and your own little human corner.

“But it’s nothing big,” you continued, fearing he’d decide it was his fault. “Humans sometimes have days like this. Tomorrow should be better.”

He shook his head.

Did he not believe you? That was a terrifying thought, one with unpleasant consequences, and it sparked a flash of fear. Fortunately, that spark faded as quickly as it had appeared when an image popped up on his face — a silly meme of a cat holding a rose with hearts around it. You stared at the absurd sight for a moment, trying— and failing —to understand where, why, or how. Finally, you gave up. Laughter escaped you for the first time in a very, very long time. You knew you shouldn’t be laughing; this creature should never be a source of comfort, shouldn’t make you feel better by doing the bare minimum of showing you a silly meme made by some grandma.

But, unfortunately, he succeeded. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so miserable, so pathetic and dull. You felt human.

“Okay, that was actually funny.”

The cat was replaced by a smiling face. His strange, flat hand moved toward you, but slowly, so as not to scare you. A slender finger stroked your head, gently, with silent affection, then slid down to your chin. It lingered there. The gesture was almost romantic as if performed by a lover rather than a giant, silent robot. The image on his face flickered, showing another picture—a heart.

There were so many things you didn’t know about this being. You didn’t know his motives or intentions, the reasons for his actions. You didn’t know what he was or what else he was capable of. But this intention was unmistakable.

Beneath his tenderness, beneath every gentle gesture, laid feelings for you. And that was more terrifying than unfamiliarity — because now you knew you’d never escape this place. You'd never escape him.

this is what he showed you btw:

[lukazade]

Your honour.... your honour please it's raining... it's raining.. let them have a little romance...... come on your honour please.....

Snippet of the fic you're never going to see (but that this art is based on) below!

It's just a fluff piece, timkon, nothing exciting happens, you lack the context. They're just making up after an argument. Oh also it's a bit cringe. But if you've read any of my writing (it's not often, but it's on the page here and there) you'll know I'm very cringe.. 😔

After he's showered, Tim comes to sit with him on the bed, the air of the van still a bit too quiet. Things got too heated, even the unrelenting downpour couldn't douse them. Tim's hand sets upon Kon's, tentative, and Kon doesn't push him aside. After all, on the way back, they both realised it was a pretty stupid argument. But then again, weren't they always. "Sorry I rushed you." Tim's voice is a sigh, barely audible over the rain against the window. "I'll make it up to you, I'm the reason things went wrong today." Of course he's blaming himself, Kon thinks; that's their favourite couple's activity. He gives Tim a strained smile, fighting the urge to begin another circle of no, it was my fault more, and get them into another argument. They're both too stubborn - it'd help more to do something productive now that they both feel more inclined to listen and apologise. So instead of that, he takes the towel from Tim's shoulders, lifting it to his still-soaked hair, gently rubbing the water from it. He could use TTK, to dry them both immediately, but Tim likes this sort of thing. He acts like he could live without it, but Kon really doesn't think he could. And, just as expected, Tim's shoulders steadily deflate. Kon feels his own do the same, relieved. "I wasn't mad, Tim. I just get overwhelmed sometimes- you know that- and I don't think things through very well once I'm in that zone. I just mean, well, I don't mean to-" "I can't believe you're stealing my lines." Tim cuts him off, with a small, sorry face. "You don't need to overexplain. I really am sorry." "Me, too." He nods. "And I think I was just mad because it's rained for a week straight, actually. No sun makes me cranky." He offers a cheeky grin. "You're annoying, but not that bad." Tim rolls his eyes, and leans just a touch forward. "You're an idiot." Kon doesn't really want to take the bait, but how can he avoid it if Tim adores cliché? "I'm your idiot." Tim brushes a hand up his arm, the room feeling warm and cosy again. "And if it wasn't the sun's fault that you got upset, I-" "Tim." "What?" He snorts. He can never just accept Kon's easy outs, can he? "Fine, fine. I'm--" He stops himself before he says he's sorry again, flushing. Kon tries not to laugh.

[revelboo]

Do you mind writing an Optimus Prime part 2? Whenever 😄 inspiration finds you.

Sure! Also, I just accidentally found out that a single post can’t have over 100 links in it by accident with my Masterlist... Guess I get to par that down to the first chapters of everything and add actual previous/next links to the individual posts to navigate within a storyline.

And I’ve had a few people speculating about it and tried to make it a bit clearer now on the masterlist: the IDW stuff is all one big continuity with Lost Light and the random kink snippets clearly separated as alternate takes/AUs now.

Gravity pt 2

Optimus x Reader

• “You’re going to give them a heart attack when they come to if you don’t stop looming like that,” Ratchet mutters and Optimus looks up trying to decide if his old friend is joking. Given the frown, Ratchet’s serious and he’s not sure what to make of that. He’d known humans were fragile, but your heart can just stop? From fear? “They’re a little banged up, but fine,” Ratchet adds as Optimus stretches out a servo to touch your still form and then hesitates. You’re just so tiny, he’s not sure he can touch you without breaking you. “Who are you giving this one to?”

• Like it’s a forgone conclusion he’ll pawn watching over you on someone else. Someone less busy, less weighed down with duty. “It’s my responsibility,” he says, watching your chest rise and fall. You’ve been out since he caught you and so very still. He keeps his optics on you so he doesn’t have to see Ratchet’s expression. Because this is his responsibility and his guilt. He knows it’s not fair to trap you on the Ark, but keeping the surviving Autobots safe is his priority. And the other humans seem fine. Mostly.

• “Bumblebee would take them,” Ratchet offers, a hand touching his arm. “I think he’d be glad of the company.” Shaking his head, Optimus carefully curls his servos around your limp form and lifts you. Hears Ratchet venting tiredly behind him as he walks out and carries you through the halls to his quarters. Trailbreaker and Hound both turning to look when he walks by, curious. Maybe it’s been a mistake to try to keep his people far from humans. Maybe not. Sideswipe probably won’t be the last to abuse his rules, but he’s not ready to trust the humans to not betray them yet. He can’t.

• Your head is ringing, sinuses burning as you stiffly shift and your body complains about it. Why do you feel like one big bruise? There’s a blanket wrapped around you, but whatever you’re laying on isn’t that soft. Something presses so gently between your shoulder blades that it’s a ghost of a touch then slides down your spine. Repeats the stroke. Lifting your head, you squint up at a huge face staring down at you and everything slams back into focus. The Jeep that wasn’t a Jeep. The wreck. Giant, alien robots. One of which is holding you in one hand while it runs a huge finger down your spine again and again. You start shaking. That petting stopping when it notices.

• You’re awake. And not screaming. That has to be good thing, but remembering Ratchet’s warning, he rumbles and presses a servo carefully over your heart. It’s not stopped, but it is racing. A little, warm hand lands on his servo, your eyes wide in fear as you just tremble. And he understands, you have to realize how tiny you are compared to him, how easily you can be hurt. “You’re going to be okay, little one. I have you,” he says, optics snared on that tiny hand on his. And he knows he’ll protect you just like his Autobots. Be sword or shield for you, whatever you need. You’re his to care for now, that trembling fear hurting him to see.

• That rumbly, deep voice sings in your bones where you’re touching him, because that voice erased any doubts. Blue eyes is definitely a he. And as crazy as it is, you believe him despite the fear. There’s an earnestness in that voice that’s almost a promise of safety. Wonder mingles with the fear still thrumming through you as you stare at those pretty glowing eyes and think that they look unbelievably kind. The thought almost immediately followed with the certainty that you probably have a concussion.

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