#Velvet Character Study/About

[kingthunder]

I saw a few of those "bg3 characters driving a car" headcanons and decided to do one myself for fun.

Lae'zel: She learned how to drive on the opposite side of the road from everyone else and her instincts are all wrong for her current location, but back home she's an excellent driver with a spotless driving record. She actually follows the service schedule in the car manual. She gets incensed at people who don't maintain their vehicle properly or who disobey road rules. Her car is immaculately clean. She would love to speed a motorcycle down one of those desert highways with no speed limit, but she's never gotten the opportunity and knows it's too reckless besides. But she wants to.

Karlach: She's had a motorcycle for ages and is a skilled if aggressive driver. However, she only recently learned how to drive a car. She is very enthusiastic about it and always volunteers to drive even though she's not very good yet. She's one of those people that do driving "pranks" like swerving back and forth to make people shriek/laugh, or doing "3, 2, 1 BLASTOFF" and gunning it. Could easily be provoked into an impromptu street race. Drives way too far on empty or with the check engine light on.

Shadowheart: Drives stick so that no one else can drive her car. It's a beat up old station wagon with a busted tail light and looks like shit on the outside, but inside she turned it into a goth mobile with like black velvet seat covers and stuff. She named the car but she won't tell you what. She has an air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror that smells like night orchids. She's a perfectly good boring driver with nothing to note about it UNTIL one day a cop tries to pull her over for her busted tail light and she hits the gas and pulls out all these street racing moves that you had no idea she was capable of and shakes the cop. She'll let you pick the music but if she doesn't like it her silent disapproval is so withering that you voluntarily change it to something she does like.

Astarion: Never got a driver's license and isn't about to get one now. Passenger princess who likes to control the radio but his taste in music sucks. He makes funny mean comments about other drivers and pedestrians. He'll complain if you ask him to fill the gas tank but he'll do it; you're paying for it, though. Actually pretty fun to go on a road trip with because he doesn't care about stuff like "making good time" and he's up for stopping anywhere that looks like it might be entertaining.

Gale: Never got a driver's license because he was always too busy with his studies to care and his mom drove him around and/or did all his errands for him anyway. He's real good at maps though and likes to be helpful by being the navigator. He's the smartest man in the world but he's completely stymied by a gas pump; you're better off pumping the gas yourself and sending him into the gas station for snacks. He always manages to conjure a full meal out of convenience food, somehow, and he's really good at feeding you while you drive.

Wyll: He saved up and bought his own fixer-upper car after getting kicked out of the house as a teenager. Good driver in general. People always think he would make a good designated driver, but actually he likes drinking socially and will politely decline requests to be the DD unless there's no one else available. Sometimes when he's having a bad day he blasts music really loud and finds a deserted area to just fuckin tear ass down as fast as he can go (he'll only do this alone and doesn't tell anyone about it). Never lets you pay for gas even if you offer. Will pick up hitchhikers.

Halsin: Has been driving the same car since 1973. Drives that specific car really well. If you gave him a modern car he would have no idea what anything on the dashboard does. Honestly, he prefers to walk or bike anyway.

Jaheira: Has a fuck-off huge SUV full of empty cans and wrappers from her kids. Absolute maniac of a driver who tailgates and speeds with no regard for road signs or lane markings. She is going to GET where she is GOING and gods help you if you get in the way.

Minsc: Failed the driving test three times and just gets rides from Jaheira. This does not bother him in the slightest. He tells you that Boo can drive vehicles you've never even heard of.

Minthara: Has run someone over on purpose.

[hitomisuzuya]

OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY! This is my first time requesting and I wanted to ask for step brother Scaramouche Fluff for readers because they’ve been really stressed recently about school, 😔 (can we tell this is about me😭) I love your writing tysm!

Stepcest, even though it's fluff, DNI if it makes you uncomfortable. Scaramouche x fem!reader. Fluffy fluff fluff. Soft Scara.

Because everyone needs a little comfort and stress relief🥺

Scaramouche was two kinds of annoyed. Annoyed and really annoyed. With him, two modes of annoyance at the same time was possible. He was annoyed because you were sitting too far away from. He was playing video games in the living room, while you were in the kitchen busy with schoolwork. He played better his beloved stepsister was next to him, praising him in some way for playing well. (He also likes to have you by his side).

But, mode really annoyed was because every time he glanced into the kitchen, he noticed the following things snowballing despite your brave face.

Your fingers were starting to shake. Your breathing, though quiet indicated that your heart was racing. Your posture was rigid and stiff, your body coiling with stress.

Scaramouche did not like it when you were stressed. He knew school was demanding (not like he had to study much cause he got good grades effortlessly), but you were piling too much on yourself at once. And eventually it would to one thing.

One thing he couldn't stand.

One thing he started to hear the beginning to stages of: you started to cry.

His eyes snapped away from the TV the moment he heard the first soft sniffle. He froze, not even pressing pause on his game. He didn't even notice nor care that the monsters killed his character.

You were crying.

And he hates it.

"Scara, I don't know what to do," You said shakily, looking up at him as you hastily brushed tears away from eyes that were way too pretty to have tears like that in them, "It just keeps piling up. I dunno how I am going to get this shit done."

Scaramouche was already getting up off the couch to go to you. "Stop that," He said, and it wasn't said in a mean way. He just can't stand to see you cry. He hastily scooped up your books and notebooks, moving them all the way down the table away from you.

"Scara, I am nowhere near being done yet," You protested, reaching across the table for your stuff. Scaramouche hastily pushed it further down the table.

"No you don't. You are finished tonight," He replied firmly, "You have another week to get this done. What are you doing trying to do it all at once?" He raised an eyebrow at you.

"But Scara, I--" You tried to protest. He cut you off by putting a finger on your lips.

"You are coming to the living room with me," He added, taking hold of your wrist. He knew you looked and felt way too tired to protest or struggle anymore. "I am going to teach you how to play the videogame I just got."

"Scara, I'm not going to be any good. It's a first person shooter, I'm not good at those," However, your feeble protest as he pulled you to your feet fell on deaf ears. You looked more nervous, but in a cute way. Not a stressed one, which was important.

You absolutely were afraid of completely playing badly in front of him. How cute.

Before you knew it, Scaramouche seated you on the couch next to him, restarted the mission (with some quiet swearing at bullshit monsters), and handed you the controller.

You stared at the controller, unsure of what to do. The way his heart fluttered when you looked up at him for guidance. It was such a pure hearted, soft look. You looked at him like he was the only person in this world that you wanted and trusted to guide you.

Fucking hell he is so in love with you.

"I've got you," Scaramouche said, moving so that he sat behind you on the couch. He put his hands over yours on the controller, bringing your back to rest against his chest. "This is what you do, aim, and press A to fire."

His voice was like soothing velvet on your ears. You felt warm, and safe in his embrace. The tension was slowly ebbing out of your body. The rhythm of his breathing against your back quieted your heart rate. Scaramouche is the center of your world.

He guided your fingers on the buttons and joy stick for a bit. When he saw you get comfortable with the mechanics, he took his hands off of yours. He was proud you picked up the game mechanics so quickly. And you let out the cutest little laughs every time you hit what you were aiming at.

You are having fun. His mission was accomplished.

"That's my good girl," Scaramouche put a hand on your head, he always gave the best headpets, "Shooting like a pro," He peeked around to see the shy blush on your cheeks.

"Hey, Scara?" You said after awhile, handing him the controller, "Can I just watch you play for awhile?" You sounded sleepy. "I think one of the bigger bosses is coming up, and I don't think I can handle him."

"Scared?" He teased, smirking when he heard your shy squeak.

"No, I just want to watch you play for awhile," You looked away shyly as you moved to rest your head in his lap. It was always relaxing for you to watch Scaramouche play video games. You got to see his experience playing, plus your own experience watching the game.

Pretty good deal, honestly.

For Scaramouche all was right with the world. As right as it could be, anyways. You were by his side, tucked safely in his lap where he could protect you from, well, life.

Before long, you were asleep. Carefully, so as not to wake you, Scaramouche reached for the blanket on the couch and draped it over you. He would wake you up in a few hours to carry you upstairs to your room.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[nanamis-bigtie]

nonsexual acts of intimacy ↬ head scratches

❧ inumaki toge x gn!reader | cw: aged up character, established relationship, domestic fluff ❧

It's surprising now how little is said between the two of you without any words. It's Inumaki who's bound by vows and limitations, there's nothing that forces you to adopt the same habits—and yet, you follow almost religiously. Silence has grown only natural, the sound of your voices scrunches like wet sand in your ears; not quite unpleasant but alien and unexpected. Even your own seems so out of place when you use it within your four walls. As if someone uninvited sneaked into your home and joined the conversation.

Frankly, you don't really need verbalization when everything that's needed could be read from your faces and bodies. Inumaki hasn't made a single sound but a gentle hum to announce himself when he's come back and yet, you already scoot to the side of the sofa, just enough for him to fit and enjoy some of the warmth your body left. He strays only to grab a blanket and a pack of snacks before he finally settles by your side, head in your lap.

"Rough day?" Your fingers ask, brushing strands out of his eyes. They're velvet-soft, slick and skim through your fingertips with ease, like threads of silk. It's almost unfair, for a guy who's dyed his hair since high school, if not earlier, to have it in such excellent condition. 

Inumaki's eyes smile at you through the net of little wrinkles. Out of you all, he's been touched by the passing time the least, but even his youthful appearance couldn't avoid all marks of years. Still, his weight pressed to your thighs, would suit rather a teenager than an adult man at the edge of his thirties. He's so thin…and it always worries you a little.

Again, no word or sign was exchanged, but Inumaki is smiling wider, understanding, when he opens the snack as soon as a grimace runs through your face.

"Don't worry about me," cookies crunch in his mouth. "See? I'm eating."

You indulge yourself and sink fingers deeper into his hair, shamelessly messing it. You don't have to worry about tangling it, it's too slick to tie into knots, so you reach straight for the scalp. Threading through strands, you gently scratch his skin and return his peaceful smile, blooming with appreciation for your care.

"Thank you, love," is said by a low, pleased rumble straight from his chest—the louder the closer you are to one of his favorite spots. He shamelessly presses against your hand to have them reached faster and almost pouts when you tease him and act against.

When you finally give in and curl your fingers to scratch him exactly to his liking, Inumaki visibly melts, all muscles relaxed and eyes closing in pleasure. Right now, he reminds you of a cat, arching its back for the willing hand of a favorite human. He even sounds similar—and the softness of his hair beats any feline fur you've touched so far.

"A kitty," you speak with your own voice this time, unwittingly, and far from a whisper. 

Inumaki lazily opens one eye, studies your surprised expression with a growing smirk.

"Go on," he asks through the dimples showing under the clan seal.

Or so you think at first, through the few seconds before the characteristic tingle of his cursed energy sneaks around your brain.

"You're my good kitty," you continue, embracing the soft encouragement pushing the words out of you. 

a/n: yes, I placed this drabble roughly 10 years past current manga events. dyed hair is just a silly headcanon of mine but I'd not be surprised if it was somewhat canon. don't kick me if it is, details easy escape my mind lmao

[temis-de-leon]

Solomon x gn!reader in trad goth attire

Characters: Solomon, reader

Masterlist

Anon request: Hey again! ☆ can i request Solomon reacting to !gn reader dressing in traditional goth wardrobe for the first time?

Prompt can be changed to you liking and whether it's in the form of a fic, headcanons or shitpost is up to you ♡☆

.

A/N: I based MC's clothes and makeup on 80's trad goth fashion. MC is a lil' black sheep and Solomon (and me) are simping for them. This is set at the start of season 2 in the OG game. Hope you enjoy it!

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Solomon didn’t really think about the way you looked. He’d seen Asmo make infinite assumptions about your appearance and he had to admit he put some input from time to time, but he didn’t really mind. He was content talking to and seeing your adorable miniature bovine body, black wool and all.

And it was that, the wool, what they should’ve taken into consideration when wondering about the real version of you.

There he stood, mere feet away from you, gawking as you talked on the phone; one of the brothers, perhaps? Your figure seemed impossibly tall, clashing against the crowd on your black attire: long leather coat almost touching the floor, a concoction of lace and velvet on your upper body and fishnets making your legs even lengthier.

He couldn’t stop staring; not even when the people around him looked at him in reprimand, surely taking him as a creep.

Then you blocked the phone and his plans of reinserting himself into your life as his usual mysterious self were forgotten. Rushing towards you, still transfixed by what he was seeing, Solomon called your name.

“Over here, MC!”

“Solomon?!”

He relished in your dumbfounded expression, giving himself the freedom to study you from up-close. Your face was as white as a sheet of paper and your eyes were framed by a complicated design of thick black lines. The hair on your head vaguely reminded him of the wool you had as a sheep, wild with no sense of direction, and he couldn’t help but smile at the comparison.

“You’re staring an awful lot and saying little to nothing”

Solomon chuckled, not embarrassed at all, and you smiled. The colour of your lips matched the makeup surrounding your gaze.

“I’m merely admiring you, MC. I never expected you to have this fashion style”

“And? Does my fashion style live to your expectations?”

He checked your lips again and didn’t bother to hide his interest when you bit your bottom one. Its contrast against the white of your teeth and the rest of your face didn’t let him stop staring.

Obsessing.

“I’d say it does more than that”

There was silence for a few seconds, other humans around you going through their lives without knowing what was happening between you two. Did you even know?

You finally laughed and lightly punched his arm, breaking the trance and leaving a certain tension behind. Solomon smiled in return and chose to leave the topic, at least for the time being.

“What are you doing here? It’s been so long!”

He sighed in a dramatic flair.

“Well, you know me… I’ve been occupied”

“And you show up now because…?”

You raised your eyebrows, making him laugh. He couldn’t distract you even if he tried, probably because he himself was distracted.

Your lips were so black.

“I was thinking…”

“You think too much”

“I was thinking. How do you feel about a brief visit to the Devildom?”

He enjoyed your immediate interest, back straightening as you got close to him in delight.

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you miss the brothers, right? And of course they miss you too, so, wouldn’t a quick trip be worth our while?

The mistrust in your eyes was quickly overpowered by your eagerness, the crosses in your earrings and your necklaces calling for his attention when they clanged like a wind chime.

“Perhaps you want to take those off”

“Oh, yeah”

Fingernails were black too, but your jewellery was entirely made of silver and stones, big and small, carefully placed in all your digits, your wrists and everything that allowed to wear something.

It became hypnotizing and he couldn’t avoid blushing in embarrassment when you finally snapped your fingers in his face while laughing in amusement.

Solomon couldn’t help but redirect his vision to your lips one last time.

How would he look with black lipstick?

Care to stick with him a little longer, MC?

.

.

[agustdakasuga]

The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 4

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

Instead of dealing with all this head on, you avoided it. You put everything aside and went on with life, spending all your time doing work, studying and doing your university projects.

Wonwoo noticed this and decided to invite you for a night out. Just a chill night with some drinks. Usually, you would decline, which is why Wonwoo has never invited you out. But you could use the distraction. Maybe being out of the house was good.

DING DONG

“Coming!” You ran down, fixing your earring. You didn’t really know how to dress for a night out like this so you picked a random dress. It was a dark blue, crushed velvet cocktail dress.

“Come on in.” You opened the door for him. Wonwoo smiled, bowing before removing his shoes to come in.

“This dress isn’t really motorcycle friendly, is it?” You let out an awkward laugh, going into the kitchen to get your phone that you left there to charge.

“I didn’t ride my bike since we might drink. I’ll call a cab.” Wonwoo said. He just stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do since it was the first time he was in your house.

“(y/n)?” Wonwoo suddenly called your name, stopping you in your tracks.

“You look great.” He smiled softly.

“Oh... Thank you.” You felt your cheeks heat up at his sudden compliment. He held out a hand to support you as you wore your shoes. After locking up the house, he escorted you to the cab that was waiting for you. And of course, Wonwoo opened the door for you to get in first, being the gentleman that he is. The car ride was silent.

“C-Can I ask you something?” Wonwoo threaded lightly. You hummed, nodding your head.

“I know you like your privacy and I shouldn’t pry but there were this rumours and pictures floating around about some expensive sports car and handsome guy picking you up. Is he one of them?” He asked nervously.

“If by ‘one of them’, you mean my father’s... employees. Yes, he is... or was. There are 7 of them.” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Are they bothering you?”

“Can we not talk about this anymore? I just don’t want to have to think about it for a few minutes.” That came out a lot harsher and colder than you expected. But Wonwoo didn’t react.

“Sorry. I’m...” You sighed, not really knowing how to piece your words together anymore.

“I understand. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to pry.” Wonwoo smiled comfortingly. Thankfully for you, the cab stopped outside the club. You looked at the long line outside that didn’t seem to be moving,

“Don’t look so worried. My friend put our name on the list so we can just walk in.” Wonwoo laughed. You both got out and he grasped your hand, giving your names to the bouncer. You were so stunned by his action that you just followed him without a word, letting him lead you.

“There’s a table there.” Wonwoo said in your ear on top of the loud music. You were still shocked that he was holding your hand that you just followed him.

“Phew, it’s crowded.” You said, casually pulling your hand away to check if you dropped anything from your bag.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for being here on a Friday night.” He chuckled. You stood at the table while Wonwoo went to get drinks at the bar. The standing table was thankfully at the side of the bar, which meant less people.

“Relax, you’re here to have fun.” You told yourself.

“Here.” Wonwoo got himself a beer and got you a cocktail. It was a nice refreshing drink with flavoured soju as the alcohol.

“Let me know how much everything is tonight and we’ll split the cost.” You told him as you took a sip.

“It’s okay, (y/n). It’s my treat, just enjoy yourself.” Wonwoo smiled. He clinked his glass with yours. Although this wasn’t your exact idea of relaxing, you were glad that the noise and the crowd made the place too loud that you didn’t need to start sharing your feelings. Wonwoo was a good friend but you just weren’t used to sharing so much about yourself with others.

After some drinks, you excused yourself to go to the toilet. But of course, there was a line. About 15 minutes went by without the line moving. You were about to give up when someone grabbed your wrist.

“(y/n) sshi?” You looked at the familiar face.

“Oh... Uh...”

“Yoongi.” He said, letting you go. You nodded your head. Other people in the line now had their attention on you and Yoongi.

“Come.” He nodded over to follow him. You didn’t know why you just went along, not even asking why he wanted you to go with him. You came before a staircase with two guards. But they parted ways upon seeing Yoongi.

“Sir.” They bowed respectfully as Yoongi cooly walked up, hands tucked into his pockets. You quickly bowed your heads back to the guards and caught up to Yoongi.

“You can use this bathroom instead. It’s cleaner and safer.” Yoongi stopped before a door.

“A-Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have went down to fish you out of the crowd. Take all the time you need. This is our own private bathroom so no one else is allowed to use it.” He explained. You nodded, bowing gratefully to him before entering the restroom.

The bathroom was a lot more opulent and grand, with black granite and gold trims. Like Yoongi said, it was very clean, unlike a usual club bathroom. It was definitely a boys bathroom with urinals but you just used one of the stalls.

“Hyung, why can’t I use the bathroom? I really need to go!” You heard voices outside as you were washing your hands.

“Only the 7 of us use it anyway. Unless... Do you have a secret guest in there?!” The person talking to Yoongi gasped as if he just uncovered something scandalous.

“Watch your mouth.” You heard Yoongi threaten.

“Sorry, I’m done.” You opened the door. But you didn’t expect Yoongi to be standing so close that you ended up bumping into his back.

“Oh, no wonder hyung was guarding the bathroom.” The male said. He didn’t mind you and just brushed past to use the bathroom. Yoongi moved you away from the bathroom door, not wanting you to accidentally get hit.

“Thank you. Is it okay if I just stay here for a few more minutes? You can go back to what you were doing before.” You asked timidly. Yoongi took one look at you and nodded. You didn’t need to tell him anything for him to know what you were thinking. The club was getting overwhelming. Yoongi never really liked coming too unless his brothers make him.

“Why did you come if you don’t like it?”

“A friend brought me here as a distraction. Plus, I’ve never really come to a club before.” You replied. Yoongi nodded his head.

“You don’t need to stay and accompany me. I’ll go back down in a bit.” You said.

“It’s okay.” He leaned against the opposite wall. You took your phone out to send Wonwoo a text, assuring him that you were safe and that he could go home first. But you didn’t tell him where you were and who you were with.

“Actually... I wanted to apologise. My brothers told me I shouldn’t have offered you a smoke the other time. I just thought it would help.” Yoongi looked at you.

“It’s fine. I honestly didn’t think too much about it. There were other things to think about.” You shook your head.

“Understandable. I’m sure you have your fair share of confusion and questions that come along with it. This is just the start.” Yoongi said. You didn’t let his straightforward tone faze you, nodding your head glumly.

“Well, I should go. Thanks for letting me hang here.” You straightened up.

“No worries. I’ll walk you down.” Yoongi followed suit. You walked behind him, not sure of the way to the exit. With your insistence, Wonwoo had gone home on his own. You did feel bad for abandoning him when he was the one that invited you out but you also didn’t want him to wait.

“Do you have a ride home?” Yoongi asked.

“I told my friend to go home first so I guess I can get a cab home.” You waved him off, getting your phone out. But Yoongi stopped you, his hand grasping your phone and covering the screen.

“It’s not safe and cheap to get a cab from here at this time. I drank a little so I shouldn’t drive. Hang on.” Yoongi waved over one of the bouncers.

“Use the company car and send her home then report back.” Yoongi ordered.

“Yoongi sshi, it’s really okay.”

“Get the address from her and make sure you see her entering the house before coming back.” Yoongi ignored you. The bouncer nodded and bowed, running off the get the car.

“(y/n) sshi, hyung.” You both turned to see Taehyung jogging over. He had a big, square-ish grin as he waved.

“Jimin said you were here and that Yoongi hyung was with you. Are you driving her home, hyung?” Taehyung tilted his head.

“I drank. So was gonna get one of the workers to drive her back.” Yoongi explained, standing back as he lit a cigarette to smoke. Taehyung nodded his head.

“I’ll drive you home. I didn’t drink since I am the designated driver tonight. Bring my car instead.” Taehyung called out. The worker bowed and ran back into the club. Yoongi decided to go in first after his cigarette was done, not liking being out in the cold. He shot you a nod while you bowed gratefully to him. While waiting, Taehyung put his jacket over your shoulders.

“Did you come alone?” Taehyung asked.

“No... I came with a friend but I abandoned him. Yoongi sshi was kind enough to let me hang out in the quiet area. So I told my friend to go home first.” You said. You didn’t know why you were explaining so much to him.

“This isn’t you scene, is it?” He teased. You pursed your lips and shook your head. The noise and the crowd just wasn’t comfortable.

“Sir.” The car stopped right in front of you. The worker came out, bowing and passing Taehyung’s keys to him.

“Here you go. Watch your head.” Taehyung opened the car door for you to enter. You sat inside, keeping the sides of his jacket close to you so it wouldn’t get caught in the door.

Taehyung confirmed your address before starting to drive. One hand held his head, elbow resting on the door next to him while the other hand was on the steering wheel. During the quiet ride, you fiddled with the hem of the dress, pulling it down every now and then.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“No, I’m good. Thank you.” You replied softly. With your head leaning against the headrest, you looked out the window. The only reason you would be out this late usually was because you were working.

“Thanks for dropping me off again.” You said as Taehyung pulled up outside of your house.

“Any time.” Taehyung smiled. You unbluckled your seatbelt and got out of the car. But before you could walk further, Taehyung rolled down the window.

“Goodnight, (y/n)!”

“G-Goodnight, Taehyung sshi.” A small smile formed on your lips as you bowed your head and entered the house. Like the other day, Taehyung only drove off after he was sure you had entered the house.

Only after you entered the house and you heard Taehyung drive off, that you realised you had forgotten the return him his jacket. You removed it carefully, as if any movement would cause it to tear like tissue. You inspected it, trying to figure out if you should wash it on your own, and risk ruining the expensive material, or just send it for dry cleaning.

“Hi, Wonwoo. Did you make it home safe?”

“Oh, (y/n). Yes, I am home. I went home after you sent me that text. Are you alright? You scared me.”

“Yes, I am alright. I just found a quiet space to chill for a while so I didn’t want you to wait for me. I just got home. Sorry for ruining the night. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” You said, putting your shoes away.

“Don’t say that, (y/n). I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

“I did enjoy myself, Wonwoo. Thank you for bringing me out to feel better.” You laughed. After wishing each other good night, you hung up.

You took a shower and was feeling peckish so you made yourself some ramyeon. There was always ramyeon in the kitchen for when you or your mother needed a late night snack after working.

“I’ll have to drop the jacket off at the dry cleaners tomorrow.” You groaned tiredly, looking at the blazer that rested over the back of the chair.

-

Hoseok was one of the first ones to wake up. After a day of working and a night of drinking, the boys all usually slept in during the weekends. The moment his foot touched the bottom of the stairs, a maid ran over to him, bowing her head in fear.

“What is it?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Your workers are here, sir. They said that it is important for you to see them immediately.” She relayed timidly, afraid of making him angry.

“Send them in. And get my breakfast.” Hoseok shooed her away before shuffling to the dining room. Like any other normal person, he didn’t like having to work on the weekends.

“Good morning, Boss.” The 3 men put the crate that they were carrying down and bowed to Hoseok.

“This better be important for you to be here on a Saturday morning.” Hoseok said, not even looking up at them. He was more focused on the tray of food that the butler had placed down in front of him.

“The shipment is here early. We thought you would want to check it right away.” One of the men informed. Hoseok put his napkin on the table and stood up.

“Show me.” He commanded as he walked over. The men opened the box, revealing the contents inside.

“Very nice...” He picked up one of the items.

“Business on a Saturday morning, Hobah?” Yoongi came in. Hoseok’s workers bowed upon seeing the pale man enter the dining room. But of course, he didn’t even spare them a glance. He sat down in his allocated seat, waiting for the staff to serve him his breakfast. His breakfast was usually an iced coffee then his food 20 minutes later.

“Can’t help it, hyung. You want the best, you’ve got to work when others aren’t.” Hoseok laughed while Yoongi snorted at his comment. He placed the items back into the crate.

“Leave this here. I’ll show the others to see what they think. Good work. We’ll discuss the rest on Monday.” Hoseok said.

“Of course, boss. Have a nice weekend.” The 3 bowed, moving the crate to the side of the room before leaving the mansion. Hoseok took his seat across Yoongi.

“So hyung, I heard you had a little moment with the girl.” Hoseok asked.

“What moment?” Yoongi asked back, no emotion on his face as he sipped the last bit of his coffee.

“Jimin said you loyally guarded the door for her as she used our toilet. Even stayed with her in the hallway after to comfort her.” He explained. Yoongi rolled his eyes, his brothers really needed better things to talk about.

“I saw her the moment she entered, I’m surprised you guys didn’t considering how high our booth is. She needed to use a toilet and the queue was insane so I offered her to use ours. And I wasn’t comforting her, she needed a quiet place and I stayed with her. That’s all.” Yoongi explained.

“Well, that’s a lot more interaction than what the rest have got. Looks like she’ll warm up to you first.” Hoseok said.

“No, she’ll warm up to Taehyung first. He was the one that sent her home.” Yoongi dug into his food on the tray that the butler brought him. Hoseok hummed but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“What’s Hobi laughing about?” Namjoon came in. He had been awake for a while, opting to sit in his room to read the newspaper rather than come downstairs right away.

“No idea.” Yoongi replied, putting a chopstick of rice into his mouth.

“Ah, seriously, Hobi. I thought we established that we are not going to bring work into the dining room?” Namjoon tsked at the crate in the room.

“It’s fine, Namjoon ah. I’ll move it after breakfast. The boys needed me to inspect the goods, that’s all. Even risked bothering me on a Saturday to do it.” Hoseok waved the leader off. Namjoon shook his head with a sigh.

“Bring my breakfast.” He ordered as he took his seat at the head of the table. The butler bowed and left.

“I’m done. Going back to sleep.” Yoongi stood up and shuffled out of the room. The weekend was for Yoongi to catch up on sleep, it was normal to not see him for the entirety of the two days because he was just sleeping or resting in bed. Jin and Taehyung were the last ones that had breakfast. Jungkook and Jimin would sleep in until dinner time.

“Here. Take what is yours and leave the rest. I told you I would get things done.” Jin dropped the stack of files on the table. Namjoon, Hoseok and Taehyung shrugged, going through the pile to retrieve their things.

“So, hyung, did you find out anymore information about (y/n) when you did your stalking?” Taehyung asked.

“Yah, Taehyung! That was supposed to be confidential.” Jin hissed at the younger exposing him to the rest. However, the younger just shrugged.

“You’re running a check on her?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not running a check on her... Well, at least not the background checks I usually do. I just wanted to find out about her to maybe try to connect with her in some way. She is a closed book.” Jin explained.

“So what if she is a closed book, I’m sure you can still find whatever you need on her.” Hosoek laughed.

“That’s the thing... She does not have much of a record except for her birth certificate and basic school details. Everything else either doesn’t exist or has been wiped.” Jin informed.

“Wait, you’re telling me there is actually information that you can’t find?”

“How do you know information has been wiped? She could have just not had that much of an eventful life so far. I doubt she can wipe her own records and she doesn’t seem to have a reason to do that.” Namjoon said. He didn’t know you but you didn’t seem like a skillful hacker that could wipe records.

“I know information has been wiped because I am the one who wiped them...” Jin admitted with his head slightly hung.

“What?”

“Boss wanted me to wipe them. He was paranoid, especially when it came to her. So my task was to regularly wipe her records that were 'not relevant’. Hospital visits, stuff like that...” Jin gulped.

~~

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi

Main masterlist

[the-fiction-witch]

Say You Want Me Too

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - Flirty Word Count - 1311

A storm rages outside the tall stone walls of Dragonstone, the night sky as dark as obsidian, the sky full of heavy clouds lit only by the occasional sparks of lighting that flash across the sky, thunder often rumbling the bowels of the castle. Jacaerys sat in his chambers reading his high valerian study book in bed by candlelight, already dressed for bed often muttering words to himself,

“Se guēse's skoriot… skoriot… nektogon ilagon va se endia… tistālior…” He mutters to himself,

When suddenly a timid knock comes on his door,

"Enter!" the young prince said, expecting the maester or his younger brother perhaps.

Slowly the door creaks open and as he glances up he takes a double take to check he is indeed seeing what he thinks he is, as much to his surprise he sees his betrothal Y/n, in her small blue velvet slippers and sky blue silk nightie with silver embroidery. Her hair in a tight braid that falls around her shoulder, a candlestick in her hand. She closes the door and stands sheepishly, "I pray I am not disturbing you, my lord Velaryon,"

Jacaerys's mind was racing, His heart beat faster as he realised what this situation could entail, What reason could she have for coming here? This late? Is she in search of comfort? and the fact that Y/n was in such a state was causing certain, desires to arise. "No, my Lady, you are not disturbing me. What reason do you have to seek me out? Is something amiss?"

She slowly approached his bed but she stopped before getting too close, she trembled as she held her small candle almost forcing out her words, "Forgive me I do not wish to be any trouble,"

"You do not know the trouble you cause me my lady," he thought, "So, what brings you to my chambers this late at night?"

she blushed slightly her head tips down to the floor before she gathered the strength to meet his eyes once more, even if her eyes do flick down to him in his bed, "I do not mean to be trouble" she blushed, "forgive me, I am still... New to Dragonstone, and we do not get storms such as this back home... I admit, I am frightened." She explained "I know that must seem foolish to yourself my lord Velaryon, you have been here so long and... Ride the back of a dragon, and fight with sword and lance… I know the idea of rain and lightning in being fearful must seem childish,"

Jacaerys smiles as he sees his maiden blush. "No, no, do not you dare say that. There is nothing childish about feeling fear." He reaches his arms out for her. "Come, my lady, there is no need to be frightened when I am here I will protect you from anything, be it lightning or bandits or anything else that you may have to fear. But for now, you can get into my bed, I will not let anything come to hurt you.”

“Are you sure my lord?”

“I am, come on.” He smiled,

she blushed and set down her candle before she moved closer, she took his hands her skin soft in his rougher hands,

Jacaerys smiles and moves to make space to sit with her in his large bed. "Now, my lady, all you need to do is relax and close your eyes, and I promise I will protect you from anything that can harm you. I ask only one thing of you..." He smiled,

"thank you, my lord, you did not have to be so kind to me" she giggled feeling him so close, "what is it you ask my lord?" She asks squeezing his hands in hers,

Jacaerys chuckles, "There is nothing that I can ask of you that you do not already give me...But,” Jacaerys can hardly contain himself, he wants his little betrothal but he must remain composed. "Can I... Have a kiss, my lady?" He asks her, his words breathless as his heart beats harder.

She blushed at her betrothal’s request, her eyes flickering down to the bed a moment before she looked up and nodded moving and pressing her lips to his cheek, her lips soft and smooth her whole self smelled like honey, when she pulled back her face is red and she squeezed his hands, Jacaerys squeezes her hands his heart is pounding so fast he cannot hold still as he stares into her eyes. He can barely control himself,

"My lady..." He whispers to her, his voice shaking with intensity, "May I ask you for one last thing?"

"yes, Jacaerys?" she bats her eyes,

Jacaerys moves his hands to her cheeks, "May I ask... for a kiss… on the mouth?" He is almost trembling now, he cannot control himself. He wants this beauty so badly,

"Are you sure we are not yet married?" she began to tremble,

"We are betrothed my lady, we are to be married..." He said, "A kiss is not enough to ruin that, my lady." he smirked slightly “She is so sweet and innocent,” he thought of taking advantage of her crossed his mind, but he forced it away, "Please? Just one kiss..."

Y/n blushed even harder and squeezed his hands she nodded and shuffled closer she gently pressed her smooth lips to his own, her lips tasted of honey too, her taste and scent almost overwhelmed him as they shared the kiss their lips moved together a few times before a crack of thunder rumbles across the sky and lightning flashes through the chamber which makes her pull away and slightly squeak in fright,

He chuckled at her reaction and moved his hand to the small of her back, drawing her body closer to his enveloping her in his arms, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head keeping her close and safe, "By the gods..." he whispers to her, The thunder crackles louder and louder and she buries herself into his chest. He can feel her small frame pressed against him and his instincts are to hold her even tighter.

“I’m sorry I-”

“It’s alright, you're scared. But no need to fear I am right here my lady,”

“Thank you Jace,” but more thunder cracked which made her burrow into his chest in fear,

“Shhh shhh shh it’s okay, I’m here,” He cooed, after a while of quiet he looked down at her he felt the burning desire for the girl that would soon be his bride, how she cuddled him, how she looked in her sweet state and he knows he can’t hold back any longer, "I could never do without you. I need you, my lady".He growled kissing her head, "Please, say the words that will make me yours. I am ready for you".

"what? What are you talking about Jace?"

"I want you my lady... In more ways than one, more than anyone else could ever imagine." He pauses, his words almost catching in his throat. "I love you... and I want you, it is as simple as that."

"I see. I do love you Jace you have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived and I'm sure we shall have a long and happy marriage" She nodded

"But my lady, you do not understand..." he gasped, "You are all I ever wanted, but I want more than what you are telling me. I do not want to wait for marriage, I want it now, now that I have tasted your sweetness"...

"you want what my prince?"

"I want YOU." He says, with great passion and determination. "You, Y/n. Now. please… I beg you… say you want me too.”

“I… I do,” she blushed, “Very much,”

“Then let me make you forget this storm and make this a night we shall remember for the rest of our days,” He stroked her cheek and she nodded so he bit his lip a moment before he pulled her into a intense kiss. 

[cupidjyu]

red flavor

eric x reader (submission for the cutest tbz summer event💕)

summary: your planned summer getaway doesn’t go as expected and it’s only you and eric, your childhood best friend. but, new feelings may just join you on your little vacation

genre: summer time!! beach house, childhood friends to lovers (my absolute fav btw), fluff, eric pining for years, getting together, cute little memories, feelings realization, juyeons just there for a second, slow dancing, slight hurt/comfort, eric's love language is fixing your hair, author is a big red velvet fan if you couldn't tell, love confession notes: this is more of a character/relationship study so if youre expecting a super simple oneshot with lesser description then im sorry🥲 songs mentioned are from this specific summer album LOL word count: 7.8k

Sometimes, you just liked to observe. A lot of people did anyway for various reasons. Some people, like your friend Juyeon, observed for the sake of reading others’ needs and emotions. He was always the one to notice when you were upset and he would hurry to make horrible puns just to make you laugh. 

Other people, like Eric who’s been your best friend since the age when you two couldn’t even reach the kitchen counter, observed for the sake of learning who a person was as a whole. He was the one who took note of your tendency to shift energies and he would adjust his own to match yours.

You, on the other hand, liked to observe simply because what you saw brought you back to the past. You treasured good memories, so being able to see them again in the future brought a sense of joy to your heart like a flickering lightbulb.

In Eric’s room, there was a lot to observe that brought back the past. The broken science project of the solar system because you two were dancing too much late at night, the cut-out superhero mask that was supposed to be Eric’s last-minute Halloween costume in middle school, and the foolish paper heart that sparked it all in the first place.

Sitting on his bed, you then observed your two closest friends. Juyeon was on his phone whilst drinking from a water bottle—which he comically once tripped on that led to his lunch tray and its contents flying into your clothes. But that was how you became friends anyway. Eric was simply doodling in his sketchbook with a small, content smile. Just like he had done on that same paper heart in elementary school.

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were met with a boy, about your age with a backpack on that was much too big for him. He had a kind smile and bright eyes.

And then he shoved a red, paper heart in your hands. Though, it took you a second to realize if it even was one with the edges so raggedly cut.

Bringing it up to your face, you read the large, shaky letters with your newly obtained skill of reading words.

“Will you marry me?”

Young Eric simply had bad comprehension skills. Apparently, he wasn't proposing. He just wanted to become friends.

“How does ‘marry me’ and ‘be my friend’ sound at all similar?” You muttered to yourself. 

Eric looked up and groaned. “You’re still on that? I was a baby back then. A cute one at that.” 

“An annoying one at that.”

Eric was about to argue back but Juyeon had spoken up with his lovely and calm voice.

“Let’s not fight. We have a trip to look forward to.”

The two of you immediately brightened at his reminder—the Summer Getaway. The three of you called it that because you all sucked at coming up with a better name. It was the trip that you had been planning since the first year of high school. The beach house to rent, the seaside to visit, everything already was laid out. And after so many years of fumbling with life and its many obstacles, it was finally happening.

“Tomorrow!” Eric sat up. “You’re all going to witness my dreamy beach boy actor debut.”

Juyeon looked at him, unimpressed. “And who’s the love interest?”

You snorted, turning your gaze over to Eric, only for him to be looking straight at you. Widening your eyes, you stuttered in confusion.

“No one,” He curtly said, turning away suddenly, his ears slightly red.

It was awkwardly silent. Until Juyeon nervously laughed. “What about clothes? Summer outfits?” He rambled. “We have to take a lot of pictures.”

You nodded, smiling excitedly. “I bought some just for this trip actually.” You frowned. “My paycheck practically disappeared.”

Juyeon laughed. “Was it as expensive as your prom outfit?”

Again, memories rushed back to you. More negative this time. With a frustrated sigh, you grimaced. “Let’s not bring that up. It was so bad, I looked horrible.”

Juyeon shook his head sympathetically. But your ears picked up someone else’s voice.

“I think you looked beautiful,” You heard Eric whisper. But maybe you were imagining things. 

“Too bad my date dumped me the day after,” You continued.

“He was horrible for that,” Juyeon remarked.

“That’s why you should’ve taken me,” Eric piped up. He got up to sit next to you on the bed. And to your surprise, his hand gently came up to your hair to smooth it down. But of course, that's what friends did.

You nodded in agreement. “I should have. You looked handsome that day.”

Eric glanced at you briefly and you could catch the sight of his cheeks turning red. “Of course I did,” He stammered. 

“Then why didn’t you ask anyone out for prom?” You questioned. “You went all alone.”

“Because you—“ Eric sighed, hurt flitting across his expression. “Nevermind.”

Juyeon coughed anxiously. “So!” He blurted. “The trip! Let’s talk about the trip tomorrow.”

—

“Where’s Juyeon?” Eric called out when he noticed you approaching the car. Yes, you prepared so much for the trip that you even had the car inspected and tested the driver—Eric—to make sure he could properly drive without swerving from talking too much. He did talk a lot.

You shrugged, lugging your bag packed with all the things you needed.

“He’s not here yet?” You frowned.

Eric shook his head with a worried look. “Usually he’s the early one.”

You hummed, standing next to him. And then you looked him over. He had dressed differently, his hair swept up nicely and his skin glowed golden in the sun. You wouldn't admit it but he did give off “dreamy beach boy” as corny as it may have sounded.

After a few minutes, you were about to call Juyeon to make sure he didn’t oversleep until you heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, you breathed out a sigh of relief.

“What took you so long?” You complained.

Juyeon furrowed his eyebrows and that was when you realized that he did not have a single piece of luggage with him. 

“I can’t go,” He breathlessly responded.

Eric inhaled sharply. “What?”

“There’s been an emergency,” Juyeon whined. “Involving my cat.”

You pouted knowing very well that Juyeon absolutely adored his cat and would drop anything for the feline, including this trip that you’d all been planning years ago.

“But go without me,” Juyeon rushed to say. “I don’t want to hold you both back.”

The two of you silently stared at him, disappointment and guilt holding grim over your faces. 

“Please.” His eyes softened. “Just make sure to send pictures.”

—

The car ride that was initially meant to be a karaoke session, turned into a quiet silence. It wasn’t awkward, no, it was never awkward between you and Eric. But it was solemn.

“He did say he’d be fine,” Eric spoke, flipping the right turn signal.

You sighed. “But you know him. He always likes to hide his disappointment.”

Eric shook his head. “He would be more disappointed if he knew we weren’t having fun.”

You thought for a moment. And then you nodded because it was true. You often observed that Juyeon would smile whenever you or Eric would smile first. He was like an older brother to you.

“Okay. Then I’m choosing the first song.” A devilish smile appeared on your lips as you queued up the music.

“Go ahead,” Eric laughed.

When you pressed play, he gasped. He glanced at you with acknowledgment accompanied by a slight wince. “Is this…”

“Mhm,” You giggled. “The song we sang together when we got drunk for the first time?”

“The headache I had after,” Eric groaned. “Never again.” You smiled at the fond memory. 

“And you’re such a clingy drunk.”

“I was not.”

“You literally hugged me and kissed my cheek,” You deadpanned. “You even said—“

Eric had his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a warm back hug, so tight that you could feel his hips and chest pressed up against your back. He smelled faintly of cherry wine and from the corner of your eye, you could see his adorably flushed cheeks and the dazed look in his eyes. “Please, don’t ever leave,” He cried, snuggling his face into your neck. “You’re so special to me.” 

But then again, that’s just what friends say, right? 

Your best friend looked at you in confusion. Ah, he must have forgotten. 

“What did I say?”

“Nothing,” You muttered. Choosing to change the topic, you turned up the volume. And soon enough, you were dancing and singing along to the song like you were on cloud nine. Eric chuckled to himself as he watched you with soft eyes, a small smile tugging on his lips.

You glared playfully. “Eyes on the road, sir.”

Eric rolled his eyes but obliged. For safety, of course. When the song ended, you sat back in your seat and you looked at him. Sometimes you forgot that Eric wasn’t a little boy who played hide and seek with you anymore. He was a man who had grown up to be… fairly attractive. His jawline was sharp now, he was taller, and he had muscles from his endless workouts that you would constantly walk in on him doing. You could see that from the way he had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms, handling the steering wheel with one hand. Taking a gulp, you quickly looked away. What were you thinking?

“Eyes on me?” He lifted an eyebrow, glancing at you teasingly.

You cleared your throat. “No, I— You just look bad today.”

“Mhm,” He hummed smugly. “Sure.”

And for some reason, your cheeks felt unusually warm.

It was a long road trip so naturally, that meant that the evening would come. It was dark out now and the music was long turned off. At some point, you had fallen asleep, the sound of the car engine lulling you easily.

Whilst you were dreaming of a beach house lit naturally by the bright sun, Eric took a glimpse at you. He smiled to himself affectionately, staying quiet. But it faltered when he noticed you shiver from the cool night air. 

Parking to the side for a moment, he reached back to pull out a blanket. Carefully and lovingly, he placed it over you, trying not to wake you up.

But, you always had the tendency to wake up whenever the car was stopped so you felt every single sensation with your eyes still closed. The warmth of his fingertips brushing against your arm, the rhythm of your quickening heartbeat, and… the press of a soft pair of lips on your forehead.

But maybe it was just a dream.

When Eric had started driving, before you dozed off again, you could hear him humming a song. A song that you recognized. A love song.

—

The house was ten times better than what it looked like in the pictures. The exterior of it looked like it came straight out of those real estate magazines. Palm trees decorated the scene and if you had simply turned around, you would be met with the breathtaking sight of the beach with its clear, almost sparkling ocean. Scrambling to explore the inside, you were surprised to see just how big it was. The ceiling was tall and the interior was embellished with various decorations. 

“This is what we deserve after practicing good financial habits for all those years,” You marveled, opening all the doors to reveal gorgeous rooms that were bright simply from the sunlight outside. Just like you had dreamed about. Eric hummed, trailing behind you, taking in the house silently, as opposed to your constant awes.

Finally, the two of you ended up in the master bedroom. 

Turning to him slowly, you put on your best puppy-like impression. “Can I have this one?”

Eric looked at you thoroughly unimpressed. “Is that the best you could do?”

You even pouted this time. He still stared back, completely unabashed. At a loss, you leaned in close, right up to his face. And for some reason, almost immediately, he was backing away with reddening cheeks.

“O-okay,” He stuttered. “Fine. You can have this one.”

Cheering, you flopped down on the bed, and with a sigh, you looked out the window dreamily. “If only my room was this neat all the time. It’s always messy.”

Eric huffed, lying down next to you. You turned your head to him and smiled softly at his serene expression as he looked up to the ceiling. 

“You can always call me if you need someone to clean your room,” He mumbled. “I’m the neatest after all.”

“Ah…” You breathed. “You’re right. Last time when you–”

“Knock, knock.” You could hear Eric’s voice from outside your door. With a slight sniffle, you brought the covers over your face, curling up to yourself. Being hit with a sudden slump that left you unable to do anything except lie in bed defeated wasn’t entirely ideal. 

Your room was an absolute mess and when Eric had called you, he immediately could tell from your voice that you were having a hard time. You heard the door opening and him entering the room. He stood there silently for a moment. But suddenly, you could hear various sounds. Trash being picked up, clothes being folded… peeking your head outside of your blankets, you realized that he was cleaning up for you. 

With tears welling up in your eyes at his kind actions, you sniffled even louder. Eric instantly looked up at the sound and he was right by your side. He pulled you into a hug, whispering sweet, sweet words in your ear as his hand stroked the back of your head soothingly.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” He had whispered, pulling away so that he could brush a strand of hair out of your face gently. Even caressing your cheek, he had let you fall asleep against his chest.

But that’s what friends do, right?

Clearing your throat, you sat up abruptly. Eric followed, staring at you with slight perplexion. Suddenly, you turned to him.

“I never got to say thank you,” You blurted out. “For taking care of me that one time. So… thank you.”

And you had feared he would question what you were talking about. But instead, he nodded with a small smile.

“Of course,” He chuckled casually. “I’ll always care for you, dummy.” 

You smiled at that and then you lunged forward, pulling him into a hug. With your sheer force, he fell back on the bed. And just like that, it was the two of you, giggling and hugging each other, arms wrapped around warmly, in the midst of a beautiful beach house.

–

After unpacking and getting everything in order, you were so exhausted that you had fallen asleep almost immediately. But waking up in the morning was refreshing, with the bright sunshine pouring straight onto your face, warming you up perfectly. With a satisfied yawn and stretch, you walked out of your room, still dressed in your sleepwear.

But you paused abruptly when you saw Eric standing in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist and his sleeves rolled up again. He looked up and he smiled.

“Let’s cook together today.”

You gave him a pained smile and approached him. Before you could even say anything, he was leaning in to brush the messy strands of hair out of your face from just waking up. You’ve always noticed how gentle his hands were on you. When with Juyeon, he was rough and playful. But with you… he treated you like a piece of glass.

“We still suck though,” You complained.

“All the more reason to practice?” He gave you a quirked-up smile. 

Late at night, Eric was sleeping over. But suddenly, he had sprung up, startling you from your dozing off.

“I’m hungry,” He grumbled. “Let’s cook something.” 

And that was how you found yourself, half-asleep in the kitchen, figuring out how to make a simple dish from an old cookbook in one of your drawers. The two of you tried so hard, following each and every direction, only for it to taste like burnt pieces of garbage.

And so, Eric, with a sleepy, raspy voice, had to order takeout. You were silent until your eyes landed on the failed attempt once again. It looked like a blob of black, green, and somehow… pink. And soon enough, you were bent over the counter, laughing so hard over the monstrosity. You had expected Eric to join in on your laughing fit but instead, he had put down his phone and only stared at you fondly.

His eyes were sparkling as they met with yours and he had on the softest tug of his lips. Something in his expression made you stop laughing over how embarrassed you had gotten. Why was he looking at you like that? Almost like he… 

But that’s just how friends look at each other, is it not?

“You look focused,” Eric remarked, brushing past you to flip the pancakes.

“Huh? Oh– yeah,” You breathed out. “I just… remembered something.”

“What’s up?” 

And again, he looked at you like that. Eyes warm and gentle on yours, his smile small yet so, so fond. Your eyes trailed down to where his hand had reached forward, near your waist to steady you from bumping into the sharp corner of the counter. Your cheeks immediately warmed up as you abruptly turned around. 

“N-nothing.”

–

After breakfast and getting ready, you headed out to the nearby outdoor market. It was a beautiful, yet bustling sight. People were in every corner, every stall, buying various things like seashell necklaces and cute jellyfish lamps. Your eyes were practically shimmering and you quickly grabbed hold of Eric’s wrist to pull him along.

At the first stall, a woman was selling beautiful leis. You gasped, picking one up and showing your best friend. He grinned and nodded expectantly.

“What’re you waiting for? Put it on,” He joked. 

You laughed and shook your head. Instead, you stepped forward, looping the pink and purple flower garland around his neck. You could hear the small intake from his lips as he looked down at you, eyes wide. Maybe, you were a bit too close to him. But, you didn’t think much of it as you continued to adjust it and admire the colors that complimented him perfectly.

Well, up until a child had run past, bumping into you and causing you to fall straight into Eric’s arms.

“Oh, I–” You gulped, feeling a warm hand close around your waist, holding you steady. 

“Sorry,” He muttered nervously, his cheeks flushing.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, peering up at him, still pressed against his body. He gazed back and his eyes began to slowly trail down to your… With a cough, you pulled away, refusing to look him in the eye. His hands were always gentle.

Again, you took his wrist to lead him somewhere else. But that was when you felt him pull away. For a second, you thought you might have lost him in the crowd, but he was still right behind you. Instead, his hand closed around yours, his fingers—rough from playing baseball in his free time—intertwining firmly around. You tried to ignore the quickening pace of your heart.

“So you don’t get lost,” He teased.

“You’re the one who gets lost the most,” You retorted, your voice slightly shaky.

At the next stall, there were plushies displayed for sale. Some were badly sewn, like the cat missing a buttoned eye. But some were particularly cute, especially the white bunny keychain, sitting on one of the shelves. 

“Hey,” You mumbled, approaching it. Both ears were intact and upright. “This reminds me of…”

Clutching the bunny plushie with the price tag attached to its ear close to your chest, you looked at Eric with a pleading look. 

“Please,” You complained. “Let me buy it. I promise I’ll pay you back tomorrow. Hm?”

Eric looked at you with narrowed eyes, switching his gaze from you to the plushie. And then he sighed, taking it from your hand. With hopeful eyes, you watched as he walked to the shelf and put it back. And just like that, all your dreams were crushed.

“C’mon.” He urged you away. “That’s dumb.”

“But you know my favorite animals are bunnies,” You whined. But still, you followed him out of the store.

About a week later, he showed up at your door. It was your birthday after all so when your eyes landed on the small present box in your hands, you smiled with delight. He tilted his head with a shy smile.

“Happy birthday,” He whispered, leaning in to pull you into a hug. “I know this isn’t great, but I tried my best.” He smiled at you sheepishly.

When you opened it, sitting inside was a small plushie. Of a bunny. It was so, so badly made, the stitches mangled and the ears practically falling off. But it was so… Eric.

“Is that why you didn’t let me buy the other one?” You questioned, clutching it close to your chest protectively.

He nodded with a completely serious expression. “I didn’t need unnecessary competition.”

And despite rolling your eyes at his comment, you found yourself carefully placing the plushie right at your bedside so it was the first thing you saw when you woke up. 

And to this day, you still have it.

But that’s just what friends do… you think.

Eric had read your mind and quickly, he was grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the stall.

“My sewing skills could be better,” He said with an embarrassed look on his face. You laughed in response. Before you could even say anything else, he was reaching forward to clasp a necklace around your neck. He was so, so close that you could feel his breath across your lips and smell his scent which reminded you a lot like cotton candy. 

“When did you get this?” You whispered, looking down at it. It was a small seashell shaped like a heart.

“Few minutes ago.” He smiled. “But you didn’t notice.”

“I love it.” You grinned. And just like that, you hadn’t reached for his wrist this time, but straight for his hand. With fingers intertwined, the two of you walked down the rest of the market, smiling and laughing all throughout the sunset.

–

Another day had passed and the two of you had mostly stayed inside the beach house, due to the cloudy weather ruining the mood. It was fun nonetheless, watching movies and even playing board games. Which, Eric won all three of them for some reason. You simply call it luck.

Now, laying in your bed, you felt yourself grow drowsy over the ambient noise of the rain pattering on the windows and the occasional rumble of thunder. Sometimes, there would be a flash of light outside–lightning, but you were much too tired to really care.

Just as your eyes were about to shut close, you heard a knock on the door.

“Eric?” You whispered, your voice croaky from sleep.

The door creaked open, and there he was, dressed in a comfy t-shirt. You recognized it. The one that he had once let you borrow because you had spilled coffee all over yourself. It was warm and… well, it smelled just like him.

“What happened?” You frowned, sitting up. He stepped closer and if you looked closely, you could see the tinge of red on his cheeks.

“...you know,” He muttered.

You did know.

Your phone rang, startling you out of your sleep. Despite your initial grumpiness, you picked up when you realized it was your best friend.

“Eric?”

A deep breath from the other line. And then–

“Can you come over?”

You looked at the time. It was two in the morning.

“Why?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m… scared of thunderstorms.” You could even hear his voice tremble. And just like that, you were out the door, umbrella in hand. But the rain was so heavy that it managed to seep into your clothes and hair anyway, leaving you drenched by the time you reached his door.

At the sound of the doorbell, Eric flung the door open. You couldn’t even get a word in because he was pulling you in and he was throwing his arms around you, scrambling to hold you close, his hands grasping onto your shirt tightly. You smiled softly as you hugged him back, even if you were getting his clothes wet too.

“I missed you,” He whispered, tightening his hold. “So much.”

You laughed softly. “I’m right here. You saw me yesterday already, didn’t you?”

“I–” He grumbled, pulling away. His lips were pulled into a tight frown as he searched your eyes with a deeper meaning behind them. “I always miss you.”

That’s not… how friends act, do they?

“Want to sleep here?” You patted the spot next to you, even bringing an extra pillow and adjusting the blankets.

“Gladly,” He grinned. “That’s why I came here in the first place.” In only a matter of seconds, he was climbing into bed with you. The two of you never… slept in the same bed together but it felt so natural with the way your arms wrapped around him and he had snuggled up to your chest.

This is definitely how friends act.

–

The next day was boring. You all had planned it to be the day where each one of you would go off and do whatever separately as a way to individually relax. But, you realized just how much Eric was a part of your life. Wandering the gardens, you found yourself thinking of his stupid puns and his even stupider smile. Truth be told, Eric was always with you. The two of you never went a week without seeing each other. Any much longer than that and Eric was clinging and hugging you for the whole day, saying he needed to “recharge.”

Finally, in the evening, you saw Eric again. He was wearing a comfy, zip-up jacket since the evenings tended to get chilly and his hair was adorably messy. Adorably? Since when did you think that?

“Want to sit with me?” He leaned against the doorway. “My room has a better view.” You nodded brightly and followed him. 

You had never noticed just how beautiful the scenery actually was from his room. Your room mostly pointed towards the various palm trees. But his room, with its wide and tall window that overlooked the whole beach, was different. The two of you sat together on the bed, knees drawn up to your chests, as you observed the constant motion of the ocean water moving back and forth, creating bubbles with it. The night sky was dark, yet it sparkled with twinkling stars dotted across it. 

When you looked over, you saw Eric, looking out the window too. The moonlight shone perfectly on his face, accentuating each of his handsome features. His kind eyes, the slope of his nose, his plush lips that shaped into a soft smile.

He was always handsome. You always knew that. But something about this moment, right now, left your eyes widening, cheeks flushing, and your heart pounding. 

“What do you mean you lost the grocery list?” You whined. “Juyeon wanted this huge Christmas feast. I can’t bear to disappoint him.”

Eric grimaced. “I swear, my dog ate it.”

“You don’t even have a dog.”

The two of you continued to bicker, walking down the numerous aisles of the grocery store, trying to figure out the ingredients to make Juyeon’s favorite food until an elderly couple stopped you in your tracks.

“Aren’t you both an adorable couple?” The woman cooed.

Your jaw dropped and you turned to Eric, only to find that he didn’t share the same shocked expression. He was smiling almost… shyly, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Oh, just look at the way he looks at them,” The man pointed out before turning to his wife. “Just like I had looked at you all those years ago.”

The woman laughed bashfully, batting him away. Then, she turned back to Eric with kind eyes.

“You must love them a lot.” She said with a kind smile.

You were about to jump in and refute, explain everything was all a lie, that you both were just really good friends up until–

“I do,” Eric replied. He looked at you with that same look that he’d been looking at you for ages now. The softening gaze and slight tug of his lips… it was like you were the flame to his wooden match. “I truly do.”

That’s not how friends act.

You swallowed thickly, all words caught in your throat for a moment. That particular moment often flitted past your mind briefly because you thought that he was just playing along. But now that you think about it…

“Did you mean it?” You finally whispered.

He turned to you with a confused smile. “Mean what?”

“That you… love me.” You studied his face for an answer and you had hoped that you wouldn’t find one—that you wouldn’t see the absolutely smitten look on his face that would further complicate your friendship that’s already lasted decades. But you saw it. The smitten look, right there in front of you. It was there and it gave you all the answers that you needed.

He was quiet, watching you with a tender look in his eyes. And then he leaned to the side, bumping his shoulder with yours lightly.

“I meant it,” He replied, smiling to himself shyly. You gazed at him in shock. “But...” He turned to you, his smile faltering slightly. “However you want to interpret that is up to you.”

You bit your lip and tilted your head so that it was resting on his shoulder. It was odd but not that surprising how well it fits in the crook of his neck, almost as if you were always meant to be there. You didn’t say anything right away, instead, choosing to watch the waves roll, over and over. But everything reminded you of the man sitting right beside you. The bright stars in the sky were just like the mischievous twinkle that he would have in his eyes before he would tackle you into a hug and the crystal clear water that flowed in and out on the sand was just like the steady pounding of your heartbeat whenever you caught sight of his pretty smile. 

“As friends or romantically?” You spoke, so quietly that Eric had to lean in even closer to hear you, his hair brushing against your forehead.

He hummed ambiguously. “Whatever you want.” But you could hear the slight tremor in his deep voice.

His words only further answered your question. No matter how hard he would try to make it so that it was all up to you, you could sense everything. The soft tone of his voice, his warm hand covering yours, and his calm breathing. You could sense his feelings. Each and every one of them, like his heart was beating directly through yours.

Slowly, the rustle of the palm trees and the natural sound of his slow breaths gently pulled you into a state of drowsiness. Shuffling so that your whole side was pressed up to his, you leaned closer, nuzzling your cheek into his warm shoulder. And gradually, your eyes closed, sleep overcoming you peacefully.

He smiled down at you, gently bringing you to lie down on the bed. He pulled the blankets over you, tucking you in snugly. And then he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, gazing at you with so much warmth.

“Romantically,” He whispered, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. “It’s always been romantically.”

–

You had woken up to a text from Juyeon. And yes, you have been sending pictures to him, mostly consisting of blurry selfies of you posing perfectly and Eric who wasn’t even looking at the camera, constantly distracted.

Stretching, you realized that you weren’t in your bed. You were in Eric’s bed. And just like that, all the memories came rushing back to you. Romantically or as friends? As friends or romantically? Whichever one was it?

Shaking your head, you opened the text.

Juyeon: did you do the last activity on the itinerary yet?

Juyeon: the beach party

And so there you were, dressed in one of your summer outfits, flowy and perfect for the weather. Eric was beside you, staring in awe at the scene. The two of you had never quite made it to the beach, being so preoccupied with other places to explore. But now that you were here, the sand soft under you and the sun setting in the background, you couldn’t help but smile dearly. You had waited excitedly for this moment really, as Juyeon had claimed that this was a surprise made by him and he had hired someone to set it up.

And set up it was. String lights and lanterns were scattered about, lighting up the scene. There were chairs set up, made to sit together and watch the calm ocean. And on the right, there was a speaker to play music.

“Well isn’t this pretty?” You mumbled, your mouth agape.

Eric smiled, turning to look right at you. “Very pretty.”

Wordlessly, he took your hand in his, leading you toward the lanterns. It wasn’t really a party anymore. You couldn’t help but think that this was actually a beach… a beach date.

You sat down in one of the chairs and you watched as Eric picked up his phone to put on music. Immediately, you recognized the song. 

“You Better Know?” You laughed, remembering all the times you and Eric had belted out Red Velvet songs after failing an exam to cope with the feeling of failure. It never really worked but it was fun either way. 

He shrugged with a charming smile. He began to dance slightly as he walked away to pick up seashells that were scattered across the beach. You watched silently, leaning forward as you let your eyes wander over your best friend. 

Eric truly no longer was the messy boy who scribbled outside the lines on coloring books or the boy who repeatedly tripped on the playground causing his knees to get scraped. He no longer was the boy who experienced constant voice cracks or who struggled in exams because he had overslept with dark circles under his eyes. 

Instead, he was a man with a deeper voice, broader shoulders, and a charming middle part in his hair as opposed to the disorderly, overgrown middle school hairstyle he always had. He was a man who had ditched the dark hoodies in his angsty teenager phase, instead opting for white, flowy button-up shirts that complimented his golden skin perfectly. He even reminded you of Prince Eric–ironically, enough–from The Little Mermaid.

Eric no longer was the boy that you simply were best friends with. He was a man who you have fallen in love with. And you had no idea for how long.

Standing up silently, you approached him. He looked up at you, giving you a soft smile, a beautiful white seashell in his hand.

“Here,” He said, taking your hand in his. He placed the shell in yours, gazing at you with so much affection that you felt a shudder all throughout your spine. “For you.”

You smiled, looking down at it. It was round, embellished with small ridges. It was perfect. The faint sound of the upbeat, song playing in the background as you looked up at him with sparkles in your eyes.

“Eric,” You started. “I have to tell you something.”

And for some reason, he had leaned forward, pressing a finger to your lips to shush you. You let out a muffled sound, gaping at him in bewilderment.

“Eric?”

“Let me speak first,” He whispered. 

You inhaled sharply…

“Romantically.”

…held your breath…

“My answer is romantically.”

… and exhaled shakily, processing his confession, one word at a time. But before you could, Eric was saying more.

“For the longest time, I’ve had the biggest crush on you. Ever since I saw you back in elementary school. And mayhaps, I did mean that stupid ‘will you marry me?’ statement,” He chuckled. He reached forward taking your other hand in his, wrapping his fingers around. “Over time I… I tried to get over you. But, since you’re my best friend I couldn’t distance myself. So I accidentally fell in love.”

You felt your heart pound at his words, all of your memories rushing back in full force. It all had started to make sense. The acts of service when you weren’t feeling well, the soft looks when you were only laughing, the homemade gifts even though he claimed that he hated making things, and the… words. The specific word love.

“Eric, I…”

“Ah, wait,” He laughed. “This song.”

Red Flavor by Red Velvet. The classic, happy summer song. 

And suddenly, he reached forward, pulling you in by the waist. “Can I sing for you?”

You snorted, your cheeks flushing once you registered the warmth of his large hand on the small of your back. “This song?”

“Mhm,” He hummed, grinning. “This song.”

And before you could retort, he actually started singing, Swaying you from left to right, his arms continuously wrapped around you, his deep voice resonated through the cozy summer night, igniting each and every star one by one. He sang the pre-chorus, gazing at you with affection and well, love.

"I like you, it was love at first sight. I keep thinking of you." His lips pulled up into a soft smile as he sang, his voice husky and a great contrast to the higher-pitched voices of the actual song. You were enamored, your heart beating right against his chest as you watched him silently, watching as he sang so, so, gently. Only for you and for you only. “I want to go my own way.”

And then the chorus started with its fun beat and cheerful singing. You giggled, placing your hands on his chest, leaning forward to hide in his neck. 

“This song does not fit the moment right now,” You remarked, smiling against his skin. You could feel the vibration of his deep laugh as he held you closer, his hands stroking your sides gently.

“But at least it got the confession down. So, what’s your answer?”

You laughed, pulling away to look up at him lovingly. He smiled down at you, his eyes wandering over each of your features fondly.

“The very last line,” You replied. He had grown silent at that, listening to each of the lyrics, waiting for the end. And then–

What I like the most is you in the summer.

Eric widened his eyes and he looked down at you hopefully. “Really?”

You nodded, your cheeks flushing. “Not just like. Love.”

“Oh, wow,” He breathed out. And again, just like he had done all those other times, he brushed a piece of hair out of your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with sparks accompanying it. “God, I’m so in love,” He muttered. And just like that, the next song had started—Hear The Sea—playing softly in the background.

You laughed, “Did you just put on a whole Red Velvet playlist?”

“And what about it?” He grinned. “It’s summer.” And slowly, he pulled away, not before looping your hand in his. His hand rested on your waist, holding you close. To the calm singing and beautiful instrumental of the song, the two of you danced. Sometimes, either one of you would trip on the sand, causing an endeared laugh here and there. But mostly, the silence between you was filled with soft smiles and flushed cheeks.

Even though Eric no longer was the boy who ran around when it was summertime, he always would be the boy with the most beautiful smile. 

His eyes were bright on yours, watching you closely as the two of you swayed slowly to the music. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this for?” He whispered.

You shook your head, feeling hot all over. 

“So long,” He continued. “I’ve always longed to dance with you.”

You smiled. “And what else?”

“Hold you.”

You hummed. “You always loved doing that.”

But then his eyes darkened on you for a moment. “And… kiss you. Though I haven’t done that one yet.”

Your breath hitched, your dancing coming to a halt. “Then do it.”

He gazed at you softly. “Are you sure? There’s no rush.”

“Think for yourself.” You giggled. “How long exactly have you waited to kiss me?”

He paused, and both of his hands came down to grasp your waist this time. “Years. I’ve waited for years.” He looked at you shyly, his eyes adorably hopeful and loving.

“Then act.”

And so he did.

Almost aggravatingly slow–as if to make sure he really had your consent–he tilted his head and he softly placed his lips on yours. Shutting your eyes closed, you allowed yourself to get lost in the addictive feeling, the soft pull of your lips and the gentle grasping of your waist as he pulled you so close that your bodies were flush against each other. 

It was like everything was drowned out. In your ears, you could no longer hear the crash of the waves on the shore. Instead, you could only make out the quiet, satisfied hum that escaped Eric’s parted lips. You couldn’t feel the summer breeze blowing against your skin, you could only feel the warmth of the palm of his hand as it came to cup your jaw, tipping your head slightly so he could kiss further.

It was a soft kiss, filled with sparks that would set off fireworks in the very pit of your stomach. Slow movements without fervor, as it was just Eric, kissing you like he must have been dreaming of doing all these years. The hand on your waist fit perfectly around you and so you couldn’t help but melt into his touch, stepping closer. Eric huffed out a quiet laugh as he blindly guided your hand to where his heart was where you could only feel it beat and beat and beat.

And with a tap against his chest, the two of you broke apart, lips red and slightly swollen. You stared at him in silence before bursting out into shy laughter, lunging forward to hide your face in his shoulder. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you once again, but this time with a different feeling. Love, maybe. 

“Who knew that this trip would force me to confess?” He wondered to himself.

“Good.” You scowled. “You took too long.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “But look who finally figured out their feelings on this very trip?”

Your cheeks flushed and you playfully shoved him. “Stop it.”

“Say it.”

You frowned in confusion. “Say what?”

“You know what I mean,” He teased. “I want to hear you.”

You gulped and looked down at the sand. “That I… love you?”

“Mhm,” He hummed. “I love you too.”

And then he pulled something out of his pocket. When he unfolded it, he placed it in your hand which was still clutching onto the seashell. You looked down, only to realize that it was another red, paper heart. Written in neater, more legible handwriting this time, were the words, 

“Will you date me?”

“Ah,” You breathed out. “So you finally get the words right.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is that a yes or no, my beautiful?”

“My,” You laughed. “If you use my, then that means I’m already yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” His eyes sparkled.

“Then my answer is yes,” You whispered before smiling and leaning up to peck his lips once again. He was about to pull you into a full-fledged kiss but you giggled before running away, kicking behind flurries of sand. Eric groaned and he began to chase you down the shoreline.

“You can’t do that after you’ve just kissed me!” He complained. 

“Too bad.” You stuck your tongue out. His frown turned into a fond smile as he laughed and ran after you.

You didn’t know exactly when, but the two of you somehow ended up in the water–clothes that weren’t meant for swimming, thoroughly soaked.

He looked at you with a loving smile as he waded over to you, his hair slightly damp from your splashing. Huffing out a fond laugh, he quickly trapped you into his embrace. And then he turned you, his back to the rest of the ocean so that you wouldn’t be hit by the waves. Smiling at you, he pulled you back in, his lips, wet from the water, pressing onto yours.

“You taste like the ocean.” You grinned after pulling away.

“And you taste delicious.”

“Oh my.” You gasped. “Why are you flirty now? I only know the clumsy, foolish Eric.”

“There’s much more to learn about me,” He whispered, grinning widely as he reached a hand out of the water to brush away a strand that had stuck to your forehead. “Just you wait. I’d even write a whole novel for you. And you know I failed literature class.”

You laughed, clearly remembering the defeated look on his face when he had checked his exam grade. 

“I learned something already,” You quietly said. A particularly harsh wave almost shoved you both off your feet, but Eric was quick to steady you with his hands. Always so gentle and firm.

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re an excellent kisser.”

He laughed adorably before pressing a kiss to your lips again. 

“And I knew something already,” He uttered. "For a while now."

“Hm?” A smile grew on your face.

“That I’m so–” A peck on your cheek. “So…” Another on the tip of your nose. “So in love with you.” And finally, a kiss on your lips. 

The truth is, that neither of you cared if the ocean was trying its best to knock you both over. Your blooming love and soft, adoring smiles in between kisses were steady enough to hold you up.

Because that’s just how friends act. Or more specifically, how two best friends who fell in love with each other act.

–

You sent one thing to Juyeon on the last day of your trip. Attached, was a selfie of the two of you, kissing softly, the ocean and the moon in the background. 

Juyeon immediately opened it. And then the bubbles of his texting appeared and disappeared, for over three minutes. When his message appeared, you laughed loudly at the one word that appeared on the screen.

Juyeon: finally 

[adnauseum11]

Officer in Charge

John recuperates with your help.

2.1k words

cw: 18+ for swearing, sex (MDNI)

feedback welcome

I wrote this chapter twice, the first time it was a ridiculous length and parts of it still felt flat. This version has been tightened up (can you guess where? lmao) and reads a bit smoother but MAAAN let me tell you that I like receiving oral sex more than I like writing about it at this point.

this work is part of the SNAFU series, Masterlist is pinned to my blog

Ao3

You can tell John is feeling better when he badgers you about your chopping technique from the corner of the sectional couch. You’ve taken it upon yourself to cook dinner tonight and have relegated him to the living room, but that hasn’t stopped him from chiming in. He’s installed himself where he can see you work, dressed for comfort after a shower in faded grey sweatpants and a pub t-shirt that pulls tight at his biceps. You’re only a little more put together in your bootcut jeans and ratty t-shirt, neither of you dressed to be anywhere other than home.

Despite his interference, (or perhaps because of it, not that you’ll admit it) you’re able to pull off a simple dinner of marinated pork chops and steamed broccoli with roasted potatoes. Over the course of tucking in to the food John floats the idea of going to dinner with his friend and her wife in the next few days. The offer gets your full attention once you realize it’s not someone you already know. You’ve never been invited to meet anyone from John’s work before with the exception of the man who stopped by the night of the break-in, and that was pure coincidence. This would be a first for you, being properly introduced to someone from his world, and curiosity takes hold.

You give your blessing for John to make plans for dinner while you clean up, half your attention on the rise and fall of his voice down the hall. He’s got a self-satisfied look on his face when he returns, catching you finishing up with the pot in the sink.

“We’ve got a reservation for the night before New Year’s Eve at that Chop House that opened recently. Kate and her wife will meet us there.”

“You’ve been talking about that place for weeks. It has the cigar lounge downstairs?”

“Yeah, same one.”

“Fancy, John. We’ll get to dress up.”

You dry your hands and turn to look at the handsome man taking up space at your elbow. He looks like he wants to say something else but hesitates, his lips pressing together as your eyes meet.

“What?”

You prod him, it being out of character for him not to speak his mind. He studies you for a moment before seemingly making a decision and pressing ahead.

“About that- “

“About what?”

“Do you still have the dress you wore to my birthday dinner a few years ago?”

Your eyebrows climb your forehead as John speaks. You would have bet money on John not really paying attention to what you wear, never mind recalling an outfit from years ago.

“What did it look like? Was it velvet?”

You ask for confirmation and John’s eyes light up in recognition, telling you all you need to know. You remember the dress, and you’re pretty sure you still have it in the recesses of the wardrobe. It’s an off the shoulder, dark green floor length velvet dress, with one full length sleeve that ends at your wrist. The cut of the dress is tight, leaving one arm and shoulder exposed, the soft velvet accentuating your curves.

“Yeah, still have it?”

John’s interest in the dress shouldn’t surprise you, it is a slinky number, but for some reason it takes you off guard. You were firm friends when you wore it last, and his birthday dinner had been with a group of people at an upscale restaurant – not an intimate affair.

“Yeah, you remember that?”

“Course I remember that night.”

John sounds affronted at your disbelief, as if you’re calling him old. His brow furrows and his head tilts, his blue eyes clear and keen once again, pinning you in place.

“No, I mean, what I was wearing that night – that was years ago John.”

His face shifts and his eyes heat as he reaches out, wrapping a hand around your wrist to reel you into him.

“You wore the hell out of that dress, darling. It left an impression. I’d love to see it again.”

You let yourself be bundled up in his arms and directed down the hallway, John’s lips running over the base of your neck lightly, his wiry facial hair teasing you. Shivers sweep you from head to toe, your fingernails biting into his forearms as he steers you forward. The male groan of satisfaction when he discovers your nipples have tightened against your shirt sends a flash of desire through you.

“I want you, love.”

John’s deep voice is earnest in your ear, travelling down your spine directly to your core, a low throb rolling through you in response to his admission. You can feel his growing interest pressing against your ass as he directs you into the bedroom, his tongue swirling over your pulse point before the light drag of his teeth make you gasp.

“You’ve been looking after me all day, my turn, yeah?”

The low reverberations of John’s voice in your ear turn your insides molten and you sag against him, pressing yourself back against the hard planes of his chest, letting him take some of your weight. His mouth traces the curve of your neck as his hands find your hips, his body crowding you and pushing you forward. He stops before you topple into the bed and spins you around to face him, the black of his pupils eating up the dark blue of his iris.

“This isn’t going to set back your recovery, is it?”

You ask, clearly more concerned about his wellbeing than he is at the moment.

“Darling, I could be half dead and still want you.”

He works his hands under your t-shirt, tugging it over your head before you can respond, a master of the well-timed distraction. The sweep of air over your exposed skin makes your nipples tighten and you can feel John groan, his warm breath washing over the base of your neck. Your hands rise to press against his chest, using his solid form to steady yourself as he crowds you again, fingertips sweeping up your sides to cup your breasts. Your palms slide up the muscle of his chest, tilting your head to find his lips and kiss him deeply.

The pass of his tongue over yours raises goosebumps on your arms, subconsciously pressing yourself closer to the heat of his body. John corrals you against him, strong hands landing on your ass, urging your hips against his while he takes charge of the kiss. The delicious rasp of his tongue against yours completely distracts you from his hands tracing your waist and undoing the button of your jeans. The brush of his fingers over your lower abdomen as he works your fly down has your stomach swooping with desire. You break away to suck in a shaky breath and John takes the opportunity to back you the last few steps into the bed, sending you tumbling backwards with a surprised yelp.

The jeans hanging off your hips don’t take more than a few tugs from John to disappear, his focus locked on your sprawled body. John’s intense when something has his attention, and unfailingly when he turns that intensity in your direction it stirs you, a prickle of awareness running through you as you look up at his big frame. You reach for him but he catches your wrists and holds your hands down against the bed, his mouth finding yours for another searing kiss, leaving you panting when he pulls away.

A low moan tumbles out of your throat as he presses kisses down your body, raking his teeth over the satin of your bra, catching your nipple in a gentle pinch. The heat of his mouth closing over your nipple through the material sooths the flare of pain and makes your breath catch in your throat. Your hands twitch in his grasp, eager to feel him but his fingers tighten, the unspoken message clear – don’t touch. You’re on the verge of whining at him when he releases you to tug your underwear down your legs and settle himself on his knees at the edge of the bed. Fistfuls of the duvet fill your hands instead of grabbing at him, suddenly not as willing to divert his attention by disobeying. His big hands skim up your hamstrings, encouraging you to drape your legs over his shoulders while he presses kisses over the delicate skin of your inner thighs. The confident swipe of his tongue over your silken folds pulls a groan from your lungs, arching your back off the bed.

The duvet strains against your grip, your heel pressing into the wide muscle of John’s back as the heated drag of his tongue on your clit makes your hips follow mindlessly. His warm palm settles low on your belly, thumb brushing over your pubic hair, holding you down against the mattress as his tongue teases you, alternating between toying with your clit and your increasingly slick entrance. You try to grind your hips against his face, making a sound of frustration when he withholds the pressure you’re growing increasingly desperate for. Your voice wavers when you say his name again, the ‘n’ getting drawn out as his tongue swirls over you tightly. He lifts off you enough to speak, his lips ghosting over your skin, sending bolts of lightning shooting up your spine.

“Tell me what you want, love. Let me hear you.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, diving right back in, his mouth closing over your swollen clit while his finger sinks into you up to his knuckle, ripping a gasp from your lungs.

“Shit, god, make me cum – I want your mouth on me, yes, like that-"

John finally settles in to a steady rhythm, running the tip of his tongue up one side of your clit and down the other, sending your hips chasing the sensation thoughtlessly as much as his hold will allow. He deftly adds another finger, sliding home in your slick heat with a groan against your plush flesh. Each rocking thrust of his fingers is paired with his wicked tongue swirling and sucking your aching clit until your writhing against his face, panting desperately against the bedding. The wet heat of your pussy is clenching around his fingers, trying to draw him deeper, making him moan. Vibrations roll through you, your back arching and your toes curling tightly, your breath catching in your throat as you start to babble, begging for your release.

“Don’t stop, fuck that feels so good, John don’t stop- “

The bedding is tangled in your grip as your entire body throbs, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. Your wanton moan bouncing off the walls is nearly as loud as the thundering of your heart, your body humming with delicious tension. John rides the roll of your hips, an expert in reading you, and crooks his fingers to brush against the sensitive bundle of flesh deep inside as he fucks you with his hand. A broken cry wrenches out of your chest as the combination of John’s beckoning fingers and his relentless tongue shoves you over the edge, your body bucking mindlessly against him as you cum. A matching growl rumbles out of John as an extra wash of your arousal leaks from your spasming walls around his fingers, dripping from his knuckles. Your thighs clamp down on his shoulders, your grinding hips riding out your orgasm as his tongue laps greedily at your tender flesh. John only eases off when your legs sprawl open again, sucking his fingers into his mouth as you pant like you’ve just sprinted a hundred-yard dash. His beard shines wetly in the lights of the room when he leans over your prone body, your hands instinctively raising to tug at his shirt. He kisses you deeply, palms landing on either side of your head, the earthy salty taste of you on his tongue making your pussy throb all over again.

He breaks away to tug his shirt off, your hands dropping to cup the curve of his erection, currently tenting the front of his sweatpants. When John had initiated the shift in your relationship it had taken you a little while to get used to the new level of intimacy, but now you're unable to imagine not having him like this; flushed, hard and wanting. He pauses in taking the rest of his clothing off, his eyes locked on you, your fingers searching out the shape of him through his sweats, forcing a grunt out of his lungs.

“What is it?”

You ask, releasing him to hook your fingers in the band of his sweats, trying to tug them down from your reclined position. He catches your hands, stilling them against the wiry hair of his stomach for a moment.

“I have something for you.”

“Is it a condom?”

“That too.”

His voice is dark, a low gravelly purr, full of promise that makes the base of your spine tingle in anticipation.

Next Chapter

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[norel-ravenclaw]

Into My Web

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Zestial x gn reader, Alastor

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1300

Description: A soul out of time, you arrive in Hell and make friends with Alastor, who introduces you to the oldest Overlord in the Pride ring - Zestial.

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | mentions of murder and brief gore | the plague! no?! yes!! | am I delighted to use my old English knowledge from years of bible study to write for a deeply impure hell show? fuck yes I am -> will used instead of wilt throughout, iykyk |

A walk through the sketchiest part of town means little with the Radio Demon on your arm. Or so you thought, until even he suddenly becomes tense.

A stranger steps into your path, denizens and low ranking overlords fleeing in terror from the glimpse of virulent green flashing beneath his cloak. Tall and slender, a mysterious aura of a sort of passive menace emanating from him.

When he speaks, his low voice and old English pique your curiosity. “Good morrow, Alastor.”

“Ah! Zestial, what a pleasure to see you again.”

The demons incline their heads in a gesture of elegant politeness lost to older eras, stark contrast to the chaos their combined presence is creating on the street.

“Likewise.” Six fathomless eyes emitting a faint neon glow fix on you in a distinctly predatory appraisement. “And who might this creature be who hast gained thine attention?”

Alastor’s smile takes on even more of a strained tint. “Of course.” He introduces you politely, then adding, “And this is Zestial Morde, the most ancient overlord in the Pride ring.”

Having somewhat of an old fashioned personality is what made Alastor choose your company over the other residents of the hotel in the first place, so it’s no difficulty leaning into that here. You dip your head and half bow while still holding Alasor’s arm. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zestial hums low in his throat. “What year didst thou die, sinner?”

“This year, sir.”

Alastor gestures animatedly with his cane. “Why only just recently! They arrived in quite the state, which I was most pleased to have the privilege of witnessing~”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting your cheek at the memory.

Zestial’s eyes narrow in interest. “I am most intrigued. Thou must relay to me the story.”

Alastor glances further up the road. “Alas, I have a meeting in a few minutes on behalf of the princess, but I’m certain my friend would love to entertain you.”

“Excellent.” Moving with quick grace, Zestial moves to your side and captures your arm. “Do convey my well wishes to Carmilla.”

“But of course.” Alastor bows to the both of you with a flourish before leaving you alone with… a demon even he seems wary of.

His presence at your side dwarfs you, hiding you from the meagre light of the hellish sky in his shadow. “Come, I will make thee a drink.”

“If you like.”

You pointedly ignore the scattering demons as he leads you to a warehouse-like building, bowing gallantly for you to enter the elevator first. Once inside, the scenery changes as dramatically as you could imagine.

Heavy stone and sconces mimicking torches line the walls of the opulent space. Dark green velvet curtains, ancient looking Persian rugs, and moth eaten tapestries transform a simple office into a medieval palace.

One of the tapestries catches your eye, your feet stopping as the faded scene captures your attention.

A dark haired man in a green cape holds a long sword in one hand, and a scale overflowing with gold coins in the other. At his feet is a slain dragon in a pool of toxic green blood. The heroic scene is overlaid a classic four square shield-shaped crest, its faint contrast symbols nearly lost to time beneath a layer of deeply ingrained soot, the bottom corner burned away completely as though it was barely rescued from a fire.

Zestial stops with you, making a small sound of surprise. “Ah, my hearaldric portrait… Mm, not even Carmilla has ever asked about these.”

“It sounds as though you are friends with her?”

“Just so. She died in the Spanish old west, a powerful figure already. One of the few to arrive in hell with child.” He trails off in front of another tapestry, this one in an even worse state than the first.

A simple artist’s rendition of a noble family stares somberly from the ancient weave. A young looking woman holds a baby with a tall man behind her. To each side are knights in different regalia.

“…There is something in thy nature that nearly reminds me of her. Though in truth I hardly knew her before the plague arrived.” His monstrous eyes consider you with a melancholic look before he ushers you down the hall. “Forgive mine ramblings, how uncouth,” he half mutters.

“Not at all. If anything, I’d love to hear your stories.” You chuckle wryly. “There’s sure to be more interesting than mine.”

He flicks on the light in the parlour, allowing you a brief glimpse of the smile on his lips. “Well, perhaps I shall accept thine offer. But first, coffee or tea?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

He sets to work at the bar while you settle in a well-worn armchair. This room is decorated with weapons and skulls, clearly where he usually entertains, (see: intimidate).

You watch as he uses his power to heat the teapot, then brings the cups over.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now, pray tell me the tale of thy arrival.” He smirks knowingly.

You laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Ah, well… When I first, er, manifested here, two cannibals immediately attacked me. I still hardly know how I managed to fight them, much less win. I stole their clothes and… took one of their arms as a makeshift weapon. Alastor found me trying to catch my breath after running all the way from there to the hotel.”

Zestial laughs heartily. “Ah, I see why the fiend wast amused. I am impressed by thy strength and reason in the midst of unfathomable new circumstances.”

You blink in surprise at his easy praise, saluting you with a raised teacup. You smile bashfully and return the gesture. “…Thank you.”

“Tell me, dost thou posses Sinner Powers, by chance?”

The blood drains from your face. Shit… Of all your talents, lying is not one of them.

The air suddenly grows cold as the demon sets down his teacup. You hardly manage to do the same before he is leaning over you threateningly.

You sink back into the chair, not wanting to meet his eye. “…It’s hardly anything that could be exploited.”

A long clawed finger comes to your chin, deceptively gentle as he lifts your face to look at him. “Thou will show me.”

In the quiet room, your panicked heartbeat is the only thing that can be heard. His many green eyes pin you to the spot, his dark face the only place of reprieve in your line of sight as his outstretched arms reveal the full neon display of his inner cloak.

He stares you down patiently, his power and threat made even more intimidating with his silence. The absoluteness of his authority and inevitably of your compliance a certainty in both your minds.

Unable to look away, you raise a hand and show him a small ball of power coalescing on your trembling palm.

He removes his hand from your chin to tease at it with his claws. “Good. Mm, it seems thy power is not strong. But that can be changed. Thou will return here every week to train. In return for my assistance, you will-”

A visceral emotion rips through you, and you push a hand against his chest. “I’m not going to become a soldier for you! I didn’t survive all this just to fight someone else’s battles!”

He reflexively traps your hand against his chest, his narrowed eyes searching you as he keeps you pinned. “Mm, such fire~”

Your heart clenches painfully as he leans closer, terrified of what he will do. Practically holding your breath as his own caresses your neck… soon followed by his claws.

“Thou will choose to stand by me, in the end. Mark mine words. Thy fire shall be in my hands.” You gasp as his hand trails down your collarbone over your chest. “And so shall thy heart.”

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles. “Already thou hast willingly walked into mine web, my dear~ Do not look at me with such fear. Mine is precisely the poison you crave, is it not?”

Thank you for reading! I am motivated by interaction, so if you want more content from me, please let me know! I’ll probably post the Angel Dust fic tomorrow. Stay tuned in a few minutes for a poll!

[disappearingmuse]

Magilou and Rokurou: a character study and an underrated parallel

So. Magilou and Rokurou. Two characters lacking in the emotion department who covertly struggle with their self-esteem because of this lacking and because of their pasts. Who both tell us in their own ways that they don’t care, and they don’t care that they don’t. However, as we learn throughout the game, there is a lot more nuance to the way they experience the world than they would have us believe. Their internal experience is left somewhat up to interpretation, and what we do know about their mindsets isn’t spoon-fed to us. The player has to pick up context clues and slowly piece them together to see the whole picture, which I think is pretty dang cool. Today I’m getting out the corkboard and the red string.    

What is the deal with Magilou’s broken heart?

When Magilou refers to herself as having a “broken heart,” aka her feelings disappearing, it’s both symbolic and literal.

The literal: During her one-on-one fight with Melchior on Hexen Isle, she says that she has rebuilt her heart about 107 or 108 times. However, she was Melchior’s “failed experiment” whose heart never broke completely- which I interpret to mean that some of her capacity for emotion is still intact. The apathy she feels is very real, but it’s not the total eclipse of the heart (sorry, guys, I couldn’t resist) that she wants everyone to believe it is.

The symbolic: Magilou’s past is the quintessential tragedy epic. She was abandoned by her parents, then taken in by a circus troupe who made a freak show spectacle out of her, then the troupe perished in an accident set up by Melchior, then she was taken in by Melchior, then he abandoned her. She was stuck in a cycle: the people who were supposed to be her caretakers, guardians, and mentors all mistreated and left her.

Until Bienfu brought her to Grimoirh, who broke the cycle and saw her for who she was.

As Grimoirh says to Magilou, “It wasn’t failing to hold up against Melchior’s arte that broke your spirit, was it? It was when you realized that he no longer considered you his daughter.”

Emotional blunting is a common response to repeated trauma, so Magilou’s current disposition isn’t solely a result of a physically broken heart but also an emotionally broken one. Melchior’s betrayal was the final straw that led to the Magilou we see in-game, a woman who is rarely authentic in her interactions. Her cheery façade and exaggerated theatrics are the opposite of the apathy she feels inside. Magilou says, “I don’t care about anything, and I don’t care that I don’t.” That’s what she wants the people around her to believe. It’s a lie twofold: one, that she doesn’t care at all, and two, that she doesn’t care that she doesn’t care.

If Magilou didn’t care, she wouldn’t be telling Melchior how lovely it is that her traveling companions are driven by their emotions. She wouldn’t be asking Velvet what it feels like to hate. For her, it’s easier not to feel, sure; but in the same breath, she seems envious of others’ capacity for emotion. Her self-aggrandizing comments are a mask for the lack of self-esteem that shows itself in rare moments, most likely a product of both the repeated abandonment in her past and the blunted emotion that separates her from everyone else. “I hope you learn to like yourself,” Velvet tells her, having finally seen through the mask.

But Magilou gets more out of traveling with Velvet and crew than just having a host of people to compare herself to. Perhaps observing them is what allows Magilou to awaken a bit more from her slumber of apathy. As she tells Velvet before the final dungeon, “I finally found something to care about.”

What is the deal with Rokurou’s emotions?

Rokurou, being a daemon, also presents with a limited range of emotion. But what does that mean? What is his internal experience like?

Rokurou advertises himself as a heartless daemon who only cares about defeating his brother. He invites a simple interpretation of himself.

But I think the core of Rokurou’s being is, in fact, very human: a push and pull between two diametrically opposite sides of himself. The Rokurou who gets so caught up in the heat of battle that he will turn on even Laphicet before someone snaps him out of it versus the Rokurou who has only kind, encouraging words for Laphicet and goes out of his way to help the other party members. The Rokurou who upholds the principles of the Rangetsu clan versus the Rokurou who turned against those principles to challenge Shigure for the first time. The confident, even-tempered Rokurou and his vulnerable moments that reveal the doubt beneath the exterior.

This push and pull has been going on since he was a human. The scene that shines the brightest light into his psyche, I think, is the skit that is triggered by sleeping at the Meirchio inn. Velvet walks in on Rokurou’s sword training. She says he looks peaceful, but he counters that it’s actually the opposite- “It brings out my negative thoughts…my hatred, my doubts, my ego, my anger.” He says he used to try to practice to get rid of his negative thoughts, or so he told himself, but now he realizes that can’t be done. We can infer that these are the emotions and feelings that drove him to become a daemon and the ones that remain with him strongly since his transformation. He has given up on trying to fight them, and they are now his driving force. Unlike Magilou, I don’t interpret him as apathetic but as a very, very skewed scale when it comes to emotion.

Rokurou often mentions how little he cares about his loss of humanity or what others think of him. It’s his version of “I don’t care about anything, and I don’t care that I don’t.” This is also a lie twofold.

I point to the scene in which Velvet comes upon Rokurou sitting outside drinking while Kurogane forges himself into a sword, having a minor crisis about what allowing his friend to do such a thing says about him. He tells Velvet, “You hate because you love, and feel as much hurt as you do anger. That’s human.” He says of Shigure, “He has the very human strength to take the good with the bad and just keep pushing ahead. A strength that I, as a daemon, can never match.” His insecurity about his state of being and the inferiority he feels towards Shigure are on full display.

As in Magilou’s case, the narrative doesn’t disprove the emotional blunting that Rokurou describes, but it does contradict that it goes as far as he says it does. We see genuine emotion from Rokurou multiple times. In a skit where Eleanor decries the lack of empathy in daemons, Laphicet thinks to himself, “But Velvet and Rokurou have empathy.” During the sidequest “Rokurou’s Blade,” he mentions how good it felt to hear his mother praise him for the first time (say hello to another very likely source of Rokurou’s self-esteem issues.) In the scene where he strikes down Shigure, watch the sadness on his face when Shigure tells him that Rokurou’s first attempt on his life was for naught- Shigure was going to leave the clan anyway.

Finally, Shigure comments on Rokurou’s vicious smile: “If only Artorius’ stony face could smile like that, he’d be a lot happier.” Despite the negativity driving Rokurou, Shigure points out the truth: it’s not an empty, joyless existence.

In very professional conclusion, the end I friggin love Berseria and I love Magilou and Rokurou byeeee

[yanderecrazysie]

Bad End Night (Yandere Males) PROLOGUE

Since the poll was overwhelmingly for me posting my original story here, I thought I would start now.

Summary: When your car breaks down, you find yourself staying overnight in a mysterious mansion. However, the inhabitants of the manor are clearly hiding dark secrets from you. There’s only so many ways this night can go. Can you find the happy end or are you heading for a bad end night?

This story is based on the song “Bad ∞ End ∞ Night” by Hitoshizuku-P and Yama△, while the characters are based on a cover of the song on 高生紳士 YouTube channel. You don’t have to know anything about the song to enjoy this, but I totally recommend it as a song in general.

This story will contain graphic violence, swearing, bisexual men, and your general yandere themes. If any of those is a deal breaker, please leave instead of hating.

I have finished the entire story (except for the endings) at this point in time, so no real worries about me failing to finish this.

This reader was fun to write. Also, I picked each character’s name for a reason.

Next Part: Chapter One

—----------------------------------------------------

“She’ll be arriving soon,” a handsome man with messy dark blue hair streaked with white laid on a velvet sofa, hands behind his head as he smiled lazily at his husband.

His husband, a shorter man with straight red hair, smiled back at him, “Yes, she will. We should take our places.”

“We still have some time, Shiro,” the man replied, waving his concerns away with a flick of the wrist.

The other man, Shiro, walked to the doorway and peered down the hallway where an old grandfather clock stood against the plain red wallpaper. The long hand ticked forward to mark 7:50 as he studied it, and he smiled again.

“We have six minutes,” he called back to the living room, “We should hurry now.”

“That late, huh?” His husband drawled, “I’m looking forward to seeing her. Gather the others, then.”

Shiro nodded, “I will do so. But, Oni, make sure to not be late this time.”

Oni appeared in the doorway, grinning widely, “I wouldn’t miss her for the world.”

“You said that last time, then fell asleep on the couch,” Shiro laughed.

The man ran his long fingers through his messy blue-and-white hair, “I need to freshen up. I have to look my best for her.”

“Hurry,” Shiro said sternly. He headed towards the spiral staircase and took a step up before calling, “And you look good enough now, you know.”

“Of course I do,” Oni said, flashing a cocky grin before disappearing through the doorway once more.

Rolling his eyes, Shiro traversed the spiral staircase, arriving at the second floor quickly. The wooden floor creaked under the red soles of his shoes as he walked briskly down the hallway. He stopped at the first door to the left, admiring the way the carvings of butterflies flew along the arch of the door. Gazing softly at it, he turned around and knocked on the door across from the carved one. This door was rectangular and devoid of any decorations- plain and ordinary.

It flew open almost immediately, a young man with long wild gray hair revealed through the opening. He white shirt with a black vest and pants to match. His gaze was dull, but a certain excitement gleamed in his eyes.

“Is it time to take our places, Master Shiro?” He asked, voice almost too soft to hear.

“Yes, Tsumi. Please get the dolls ready,” Shiro replied, “I will fetch my son.”

The maid, Tsumi, nodded and hurried past his employer and down the hallway. Shiro followed her, stopped at the next door, a rectangular one with a bird carving in the middle, and knocked on it. Like the maid, the owner of the room opened the door immediately. 

The boy inside had his father’s red hair and eyes, although no one would know looking at him, considering they were covered by pink dye and contact lenses. He looked disdainfully at his father, leaning against the doorway uninterestedly. 

“She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Shiro said simply.

The boy’s eyes lit up and he shoved past his father, racing down the hallway and stomping down the spiral staircase. Shiro shook his head in exasperation, muttering, “He doesn’t act 22 whenever it comes to her.”

Shiro hurried down the spiral staircase. He sighed in relief when she saw the butler was already in place, standing prim and proper in front of the door. His son rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet in the living room, hands held behind his back. 

A moment after Shiro stepped off of the bottom stair, the maid came rushing down the staircase, followed by two boys, both dressed in old fashioned black-and-white clothing. They walked stiffly to their spots in the dining room. 

“Less than one minute!” Shiro yelled. Her husband, Oni, appeared in the doorway and, smiling brightly, took his husband’s hand. They walked back up the staircase and to their bedroom.

The butler stared expectantly at the door, preparing a pleasant smile. The clock’s long hand moved to 56.

Knock knock.

[annawayne]

Annaaaaaaaaaaaaaa T^T I hope you're doing alright today! Did you bake anything new recently!

For the writer's ask btw: 1, 4, 5, 8, 12, 14, 15, 23, 27 :3

Do it, tell me all about it! And I hope you have a great week :3 Thank you for blessing us with all your beautiful art and love T^T

Moon, hello (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Thank you a lot for asking, and OH MY, that's a lot, but don't get me wrong, I appreciate your interest a lot T^T

Let me first tell you about baking: I baked only the plum pie recently, and it's already gone... But I plan to bake pumpkin muffins with orange cream soon :3

As for the questions:

1 - the last sentence you wrote

I've already answered this one a bit earlier here, but as I got around to answer your question, here's another sentences that I actually wrote the last one:

"I wonder, why can’t we notice… until we’ve lost it already?"

👀

4 - a story idea you haven’t written yet

Oh, I have this one story idea in my mind, based on this one art...

Can't say much without spoilering , but this story has some angsty development. Like, very angsty.

Other than this, it's also a story about how AruAni met and fell in love, so some kind of strangers to lovers, with a lot of immediate attraction and interest, all set in Switzerland, 1911.

The caption in the original post - "It was the love at first sight" - is a leitmotif of this whole story.

I've been thinking about it while working on this drawing, and I didn't consider writing it, but the more time passes - the more I think that, eventually, I'll write it...

5 - first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

Uhm... Well, I think, the chapter 10 of MYLYSW counts for now, yes? If yes, so here we are:

"How to breathe without feeling the burden of the mission to be fulfilled; how to sleep without all the images of the world through the eyes of others; how to say a word without feeling obliged to remember a promise to come back; how to look at the sun and see in it the beauty of another day borning out of the velvet darkness of the night into the golden sunrise, and not to cross out another twenty-four hours out of one hundred and thirteen thousand nine hundred fifty-five hours of defined expiration of her."

Me and my damn love for the long sentences...

8 - if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

Oh, good question! I don't really have a lot of fics, but I think I would love to write for Neverland of (Our) Desires, the Fort Salta oneshot-sequel, where AruAni are caught in feelings and have an awkward-silly conversation about their boat *adventure*, with all these emotions and feelings of having the life ahead of them and not knowing what to do with it... Oh well, oh well, such a potential 🤌

12 - a trope you’re really into right now

Hm... Honestly, I've been into Forbidden Love or Star-crossed Lovers tropes recently...

It's quite canonical AruAni, to be honest, and I just love to think about it in different AUs and canon-compliant too, so yes, I would say these ones! And here a remark, that Forbidden Love/Star-crossed Lovers don't mean that it's a tragic ending - more like obstacles and a lot of angst, which challenge the characters and their love, and how it all develops within the plot.

14 - where do you get your inspiration?

You know, I thought I had a proper answer for it, but when I started typing it, I realized, that, in fact, I don't.

If I'm totally honest - I don't think I even have something special as "inspiration". I have ideas that pop up in my mind on their own, and then, I turn them into story or a moment in the fic, but I never particularly searched for it. I suppose, it's also a consequence of my constant art and literature involving, where I read/observe/study something, so I have this almost never-stopping source of new experience and knowledge, which leads to ideas and inspiration to create my own stories/drawings.

So, I think that my inspiration is constant studying and sources of knowledge.

15 - favorite weather for writing

Answered here :3

23 - pick three keywords that describe your writing

Moon, what a question *sigh*... Let's say:

evocative, raw and poetic

I thought of what to answer you on this particular question because it's a bit difficult for me to evaluate my own writing style, but I also remembered the words I received about it (including your wonderful feedback), and I guess, it helped me to pick these particular keywords.

27 - your favorite part of the writing process

Answered here, too :3

Thank you a lot for your interest and support, Moon, I wish you all the best and take care🖤

[mielianomalia]

my dear friend wrote a homura character study called An Iron Hand In a Velvet Glove and i think everyone should read it!!!! it's a deeply sad and poetic story about homura dealing with madoka being, well, gone as it takes place post-series but pre-rebellion. and there is madohomu in there too. tragic yuri moments.

this has been my sales pitch!!

[mitsuyeaah]

more than art.

— geto suguru x f! reader

cw: art gallery owner!geto, art gallery employee!reader, just pure fluff-ish!!! geto trying to flirt :)

a/n: my first time writing a (short) fic for jjk & geto!! apologies in advance since i haven’t really grasped geto’s character that well! i got inspiration hehehehehe

as you made your way to the office, you caught a glimpse of a tall figure slipping into one of the restricted access areas of the art gallery. you furrowed your brows as the male confidently walked inside and past the stanchions held together by a red velvet rope. the loud clicking of your heels reverberated through the quiet gallery as you made your way to the area the mystery man went, annoyance bubbling in the pit of your stomach, ready to tell him off.

“excuse me sir.. you’re not supposed to be in here.”

the man, genuinely shocked, whipped his body around to face you. he was dressed in a white button down, tucked into a black dress pants—the sleeves of his top rolled up to expose his veiny forearms. his onyx hair was securely wrapped into a bun, some stray hair cascading down his handsome face.

he raised his arms up in defence, giving you a sheepish smile, “oh! i’m sorry.. i was just looking at how this place was coming together.” you opened your mouth to say something in retort but abruptly stopped when you noticed how familiar the man in front of you looked.

those slender eyes and black earrings..

oh. oh. suguru geto

shit. he was the owner of this art gallery; a wealthy man. old money. you should have known, you’ve seen him close deals with several artists who’s art works don this massive gallery. your heart dropped as you quickly placed your palm to cover your lips in shock.

“o-oh my goodness! i’m so sorry, mr. geto! my bad, please, take a look for as long as you want!” you could feel heat spreading throughout your body as you profusely apologised, embarrassment engulfing you.

geto let out a small chuckle, his tone was full of velvet and honey. “no, no, it’s okay! you were just doing your job, i like that.” he wandered further down the vast room, analysing each framed work with such keenness in his eyes.

“hmm, this one’s quite the photograph, isn’t it?” he turned to look at you, finger pointing at the framed photograph behind him. you found yourself taking quick hasty steps to get closer to the man. “y-yes, indeed! i am actually very fond of this artist. the way they make such use of natural lighting.. it brings so much colour and emotions into the photograph. almost like you’re inside it.”

your eyes scanned the art before you, tracing every curve and bend of it as you allowed yourself to get lost within it’s artistic uniqueness. geto, on the other hand, studied the way you looked at the photograph with such passion. your eyes glimmering under the light like it held stars within them.

he thought you were cute.

“hmm, i like how you describe it.. kind of like reading between the lines, but in terms of art. most people don’t really appreciate the feelings behind every piece of art work.”

warmth crept up your cheeks as he complimented you. suddenly, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. your hand mindlessly reached up to your nape to scratch at it as you felt warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“ah.. thank you, mr. geto.” “oh, drop the formalities. just, suguru, please.” you hesitated for a bit but nodded, “yes.. suguru.” you didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips turned at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

the two of you mindlessly walked around the room, being cautious of the art in the room that were yet to be displayed. you’ve never really spoken to suguru up until now but there was just something between the two of you. your personalities clicked with one another. both of you meeting in the middle.

there were times where you rambled on about the photograph in front and he’d finish your sentence like he was reading your mind. and the both of you would just look at each other in awe, laughing at how bizarre it was.

you also didn’t miss the way he stole glances at you from the corner of your eye while you admired the art work ahead. your skin burned under his onyx gaze but you pretended not to see it, like it didn’t affect you at all.

“this one is truly beautiful.” you gaped at the photograph.

it was a photograph of the vast ocean. endless hues of cerulean engulfed the entirety of the photo—hints of sparkles of white here and there from the reflection of the sun. your eyes traced the curves of the gentle waves that creased the vast blueness. it was very detailed. to some, it was only a photograph of the water but to you, it showed how truly vast the ocean was. the unexplored depths of it, and the beauty of its azure body.

“mmm, beautiful indeed.” suguru muttered from beside you, his tone was a little off. almost like a dreamy sigh.

this time, you slowly turned your head to him. you were once again met with his intense onyx gaze, it was fixated on you.

you weren’t going to lie, it made your breath hitch. “..the art work..” you didn’t even make sense but you nervously chuckled, meekly pointing a finger at the photograph on the wall but suguru just shrugged, a small smile forming upon his lips. “oh, i am looking at a piece of art.”

your heart pounded against your chest as he said that without faltering. shit, was he flirting with you?

before you could say anything, he spoke up once again, “you know.. i’d love to talk about things more than art.. if you’re interested.”

© mitsuyeaah

[simplydannie]

Fanfic about Poppy, Viva, and Velvet?

Great minds think alike! I had another friend request a little something between Poppy, Viva, and Velvet! @fairytypingg

Poppy and Viva friends with Velvet seems kinda out place, especially with Velvet's character being the way it is. But I think the little happiness that Poppy and Viva bring might be just the thing to help her.

We Got You

"IM FINE! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE VENEER!" Velvet marched into her suit, and shut the door. "Vels!" Her brother attempted to run in after her, but the door was locked. He jiggled the knob, "Vels, please, talk to me."....Silence. She had been on edge recently, well, not recently, more like when they got out of prison...actually...when they were in prison. Veneer had made every attempt to talk to her, to have her open up to him about things that were going, about their next steps together....but she's completely shut him out. With a heavy sigh, Veneer retreated.

"The twins were set to call Vacay Island their home for the next couple of months. Bruce and Brandy have allowed them to work and live in one of the suits. Veneer enjoyed it, he felt like he was finally doing something right, something good. Velvet felt different. So many emotions were building inside of her, so many questions that needed answers. What would happen to them when they were done with their community service? Where would they live? The Trolls didn't really care for them. She hated how Veneer was always after them, always seeking their approval. They were always judging them she knew, but they didn't know it, they didn't know anything.... Velvet noticed...It was the first thing she noticed: Veneer was sick again. "Hey Vellie!" Velvet rolled her eyes at the sound of an annoying little Troll...Poppy. She just ignored her, just like she always would. She continued to clean he tables at the resort. "You know I'm going to get you to hang out with me and Viva! We're always looking to add another sister." The little Troll chimed. "I don't want a sister." Velvet said coldly. Another annoying voice piped up next to Poppy. "Uh, of course you do! Who wouldn't want a sister!" Viva exclaimed. "I have a brother. I'm good. Now can you PLEASE leave me alone." Velvet's tone was flat. Poppy tilted her head as she took a good look at the Rageon....Sadness, worry, fatigue...That's what Poppy saw. Velvet was trying to hold everything together, Poppy knew there was something beneath the service that was really troubling her. She opened her mouth to say something... "Hey guys!" Veneer came in holding a tray. He sported a dark blue vest with a black rolled up sleeve button up underneath. Black skinny pants were worn beneath his torso. "Guess whose the new waiter around here?" He did a full turn to show off his new look. "Meow! Vels doesn't your brother look so handsome!" Viva chimed. "Ugh." The Rageon rolled her eyes as she moved on to the next table. Veneer followed her hesitantly. "You know, we get off at the same time. Oh! Let's go snorkling before it gets dark!" A smile spread across his face. Poppy looked at Velvet to study her response. The Rageon's expression was left unchanged. "Seriously, you're asking again? " She replied without turning to look at him. "Go get the drinks to serve! Or you're fired." With a defeated look, Veneer retreated into the kitchen. Velvet could feel the eyes of the two small Trolls piercing her from behind.

"Why don't you ever want to hang out with him? Us, I guess I understand. But he's your brother. I'd give every chance to always be with Poppy." Viva explained. Velvet remained silent. Viva turned to her sister, hoping for some support.

"Velvet, is something else going on? I don't mean to always pry, but I always hear Veneer trying to open up to you...You just seem to...always shut him out. You know you....you can talk to me...You can talk to Viva! Girl to girl." Poppy tried her best to express her feelings of concern for the Rageon. One thing she learned about being queen, was how to read people, how to know when someone was sad, afraid, holding back.

"What goes on with me is none of your business. I just want to do my time and get out of here..."

CRASH!

The three girls turned their heads towards the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen. Velvet was the first to run in: Veneer was on the floor, struggling to get up, broken glass all around him.

"Vennie!" Viva attempted to go to his aid.

"Stay away!" Velvet was the first to his side.

"My bad!" He attempted a smile. "I-I slipped." Liar, Velvet mused. She could see the weakness in his arms and legs, how they went limp, how he struggled to find his strength to stand.

"Don't lie to me, Ven." She demanded. Her brother fell silent as she struggled to help him to his feet...his legs continuing to give out.

"How can we help you? Vellie, please tell us what to do." Poppy begged.

"YOU CAN LEAVE US ALONE!" Velvet screamed. She latched one of Veneer's arm over her should, struggling, she began to lead him away towards their suit.

"Vels!" Viva called out after her. But the Rageon ignored any kindness and any help that was thrown her way. A feeling fell at the pit of Viva's stomach as she watched the twins march off. "Poppy, I can't help but feel that something is wrong...Something is terribly wrong."

"I know Viv....me too." Poppy stretched and reached for Viva's hand.

Poppy and Viva continued to replay that moment in the kitchen throughout the rest of the day. They couldn't think right, couldn't eat. Velvet was always tough in the surface, but something told them, deep down, there was a little girl crying for help, crying for an answer to all their problems.

How would they know? Because they were that little girl at one point. Viva leading the group of surviving Trolls after the Bergen attack, living 20 years thinking she had lost her family. And Poppy...She made it seem like being queen was all cupcakes and rainbows, but she learned that it wasn't, but she knew her kingdom couldn't see her weak...she had to always be strong no matter what she felt. They wanted to tell Velvet that it was okay to be vulnerable sometimes...but how could they? She'd always close them off.

Poppy was headed off to the rooms of the resort that were specifically for Trolls. She had a warm tea in hand to help her calm her nerves and thoughts. That's when Viva came running down the hall.

"Poppy! Hurry come here!"

Without a second thought, Poppy dropped her tea and followed her sister.

Viva lead her outside the door of a suit. Inside, they could hear the sobs, the small little cries. Poppy held her hand over her mouth as her heart broke.

"Who is it?" She asked.

"I....I saw Vellie walk out of her suit. I followed her hoping she'd want to talk. She walked in here...That's when I heard the cries." Viva responded with saddened eyes. The Troll sisters took a moment before making up their mind. Nodding to each other, they pushed open the door that was luckily left slightly open.

The cries grow louder as they walked inside the suit. All lights were off, the only thing illuminating the room was the moonlight shining through the window. The girls followed the sound....That's when they found Velvet hunched in a corner.

She held her knees tight, her face buried in them. Her shoulders shuddered with every cry she made...

"Vels." Poppy whispered as she made her way to the Rageon.

"Go away..." Velvet said in between her cries.

"No! That's enough of you trying to push us away!" Viva said sternly. She made her way up to Velvet's knees, placing a small hand on her fingers. "Talk to us. Please."

"We want to be your friend Velvet. We've wanted to be your friend since you guys arrived to us." Poppy explained.

"I don't want friends."

"Maybe you think so now....but you DO need people who care for you. You have your brother, and we want to be there for you too." Viva said.

Upon the mention of Veneer, Velvet's cries grew severe. Poppy and Viva enclosed around her, laying their hands on her, embracing her as much as they could.

"Velvet....please." Poppy pleaded once more as she embrace the Rageon in her small arms. They allowed silence to pass between them, they allowed Velvet to just be vulnerable....to cry. This was something she had held in for so long...

"He's sick." Velvet finally spoke. "Veneer is sick again....and I don't have the money to help him." The Trolls looked at each other, a horrified expression in their eyes...This is what she had been hiding for so long.

"...I wish you had said something sooner." Viva exclaimed as she continued to hug her.

"Why? There's nothing you can do."

"How do you know? Vellie, you only know your little world, the world inside Rageous. You have no idea how big the world is....and you have no idea how many options there can be to help your brother." Poppy joined Viva on Velvet's knees, together they lifted the Rageons head so she could look at them. "We care for Vennie as much as you do....We want to help you."

"Please, Vellie. We know how it feels like. We know how it feel's to try and have it together! You don't have to go through this alone. Let us be there for you. We got you." Viva added.

Through teary eyes, Velvet glanced back and forth between the two sisters...There was no lie in their voices. She could see they were looking at her not with pity, but with genuine concern. Velvet really never allowed for anyone to see her vulnerable...especially her brother. She always wanted to be the tough one, the strong one...but maybe with these girls she could be. Velvet hugged her knees tighter...

"....okay...." She said softly. No more words were exchanged, no more words needed to be exchanged. Viva and Poppy drew closer to Velvet, this time hugging her face, hoping that she could feel their love and care for her.

They had her.