#also also an attempt at formatting???? i also. don’t know how to format things

[baileythebean]

OPEN RP :3 (LONG-ASS INTRO, HEAVY BAILEY ANGST, TW: MENTIONS OF MURDER, BLOOD, THROWING UP, SUICIDE, EXTREMELY SAD BAILEY - I’D ALSO LIKE PEBBLE @the-sugar-demonboy TO BE IN THIS ONE IF POSSIBLE, THANKS )

*Bailey had an exact agenda in mind. Scam some lootbag into buying “modern art” at an insane price and then dash. He succeeded, obviously. He’s Bailey. What do you take him for?* *The problem came when he ran into a group of scraps in the alleys who he didn’t know. They were somehow aware of the formation of the sort of alliance that his friends had with Stone, Vinnie and Skipp. After further discussion, it became clear to Bailey that this was a threatening attempt.* “So, what’s it gonna be? You can give us that cash ya got there… or we can turn your little gang against you. How’s that sound?” *The G word alone was enough to make Bailey tense up, but he knew better than to give them a reaction.* ”and how exactly, are you going to accomplish that? You seem like the type of dumb fucks that like to get under people’s skin and never get anything done.” *The same one that had spoken up earlier went on:* “Oh we could uh… I don’t know… inform them of some… plotting you’ve been doing with them pretty weapons of yours. They’re not gon’ feel so safe ‘round you once you’ve been outed as an attempted murderer.” ”But I never-“ ”Oh, we know. That’ll be the fun part.” *He smirked as Bailey’s eyes widened. He was suppressing everything as best as he could, but everything kept coming back up. Like his brain was vomiting up something he was desperately trying to keep down.*

“…Leave me the hell alone.” *He shoved his way past, and hard. He needed to get out of here right now before everything came out.* ”Fine! You seem like the type that’d shoot all of ‘em up anyway if they got on your nerves enough!” (Dammit… I need to get away… fuck, fuck, fuck…) *His mind was clouded and his vision blurred as his eyes welled up with tears. He sprinted away from there as fast as he possibly could. He wouldn’t have been bothered by that petty comment but… he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to your own two hands. He couldn’t help but imagine Sora, Finn, Jasper, Stone, Vinnie, Skipp - Hell, even Flynn as motionless bodies scattered on the floor. He needed to get it out of his brain. He finally found a quiet, empty ditch in an alley.* (fucking disgusting…) *he thought as he slumped against the wall and he finally let his tears spill down his face.* (I’d never- Yes you would.) *his own thoughts cut him off.* (You’ve done it before.) *the last thing he thought before everything came rushing back to him. The images were too vivid. Like he was seeing them in front of him right now. Brain vomit turned into physical vomit and after a few rounds of violent throwing up, he now had dry heaves. Drenching a tissue in water and wiping his face off, he started to forget how to breathe, how to neutralize his feelings. Why did it have to be like this today? He could normally get over this with a few minutes of mourning everyone… but this? He’d only felt this a few other times. He started to scratch at his shoulders as he hugged his knees to his chest and cried.* (What if I joined them…? Met the same fate myself by the same hands…???) (mod: WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT AM I ON TODAY?? I’M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO LOVES BAILEY AND DOESN’T LIKE SEEING HIM DEVASTATED.)

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly 

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail 

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you” 

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

we

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning 

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders 

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?” 

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!” 

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard 

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears 

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply 

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang? 

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind” 

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters” 

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these” 

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

[wonderlandrry]

hi, this is my first ever attempt at writing on tumblr!! the story could be more than one part if you like it (maybe three or four parts). this is also my first time not writing in first person pov so hopefully it doesn’t suck complete ass. (not really edited and idk how to format either so GREAT first impression, friends.)

pov: best friend! harry x you (aka i tried my best lmao)

blurb: you and harry have been best friends your whole life and one night changes everything.

contains: friends to lovers, bad girl x good boy if you squint, smoking green 🍃, smut, cussing, oral (giving and receiving for both characters), praise kink, and size kink if you squint really hard again and read between the lines lmao.

word count: 5k

• NOT RAMADAN FRIENDLY •

just friends

“You sure you don’t want me to come up?” Rylan’s honey eyes flick from your dorm bulging back to yours. The tension from tonight’s argument is fresh in those crinkles next to his eyes that you used to love. Fucking adore.

Parting your lips, you sigh, “See you around.”

“Don’t be like that,” A ringless hand runs through his dark hair. You’re not exactly sure why you’re focusing on that but here we are. “It was a joke, come on.”

Your hand rests on the door handle, silently contemplating on freaking the fuck out again. This isn’t the first time he’s made jokes, very public jokes about your best friend. The very first time you let it slide with a warning because some people don’t understand that you can be just friends with the opposite gender. They can’t wrap their heads around that not every relationship revolves around sex. You understood but tonight? He went too far.

“Saying Harry follows me like a stray dog,” You have to take a deep breath because Rylan doesn’t know what Harry’s been through. That only pisses you off more. “Was too far.”

“He doesn’t have any friends, Lil, just you.”

“Because he’s smart, he doesn’t have friends because he’s fucking brilliant.” It was true, Harry focused more on school and baseball than friendships. He got a full ride to Calloway University reliant on grades and his pure, raw talent. Some would stop there but he took it a step further by studying physics. Now it’s your turn to run a hand through your hair because this is the fourth fight over your best friend. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Do you not see how fucked that is?” He hisses, making your head snap in his direction. “You’re supposed to be dating me, not him.”

You scoff, “So that’s what this is?”

Rylan’s hold tightened on the steering wheel, so tight that his knuckles were almost white. “Look, I don’t care that you’re friends with him but you spend too much time-”

That confirmed everything for you. Your long friendship with Harry wasn’t the problem. Rylan knew how much Harry meant to you and how your friendship was all you had sometimes. He knew yet the fact that he didn’t have your full attention every waking moment of the day was the source of cruel jokes.

“You’re threatened, huh?” His knuckles blanched even more as the words left your mouth. “Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ry. Harry’s been my best friend since I was seven. Nothing has and will never happen between us. I would never sleep with him and ruin our friendship.”

“I see how you guys look at each other.”

Your whole face heats, it’s literally on fire. “You’re seeing things because we’re just friends.”

“You’re in denial.” Fuck. This.

Those three words were enough to push you. Push you to fling open the car door and launch yourself onto the pavement. They were enough to heat your whole body to the point that chilly winter air wasn’t enough to simmer down your anger. You don’t even bother slamming the door shut because that asshole can get out and shut it himself. That’s what he gets for constantly trying to pry a confession out of you. A confession that doesn’t exist but he still won’t accept it. The security guard gives a weary smile as you pass him, an obvious witness of the whole shit show. You look over your shoulder just in time to watch Rylan peel out.

He doesn’t follow you, shocker. Not that you wanted him to but you also didn’t expect him to. He acts like he cares but when push comes to shove, actions don’t match the words constantly flying out of that stupid mouth.

Unlocking and relocking the door with a soft click, your dorm is oddly dark and quiet. It looks like no one has been here all day. This is a possibility since Ellie spends most nights with her boyfriend. You slide off your black vans and place your bag on the hooks by the door. Seniors get a common room and separate bedrooms in student housing and you love the privacy. Honestly? It’s hard as fuck to hook up sharing a room with someone. El never cared who you brought home but felt weird as hell, yano?

From: ball boy (11:35 pm)

you home?

To: ball boy (11:36 pm)

yeah

You loosen your claw clip and honey-blond waves tumble. Walking into your room, you slip out of the cute-ass outfit you spent an hour perfecting and into some random band shirt with no bra and spandex shorts. Such a shame because you looked hot, too bad the night didn’t end with Ry ripping this lacy, black corset off you. Sucks for him.

From: ball boy (11:42 pm)

open the window before Mack catches my ass.

Your eyes snap toward the only windows in your room. The sheer, black curtains were closed but they did a shit job keeping the sunlight out so, honestly, how good were they for privacy? Your heart hammers thinking about Harry seeing you. How he could’ve seen all of you, not just what you choose to show off. The thought made your heart hammer.

From: ball boy (12:46 am)

don’t tell me you’re fucking someone right now

From: ball boy (12:47 am)

fuckin’ sick, lil

Annoyed, you rip open the curtains to find Harry’s cocky expression staring straight at you. It’s too dark to make out his full face but you can tell by the smirk tipping the left side that he’s amused. Making your favorite dimple dent even deeper. In one swift motion, the latch unlocks letting him in. He’s done this a million times, yano? Sneaking in your room for late-night study sessions, movie nights, or sleepovers. You’ve shared a bed countless times but never crossed that line, he’s your best friend. There are rules in place to save your friendship. He means more to you than one night of pleasure. Always has.

“Nice shirt, been looking for that everywhere.” Evergreen eyes bounce across your face, “Thought you had a date.”

You blow out a breath, “Not anymore.”

He smirks, dimple popping, “Obviously.”

“Thought you had plans.” You counter because Harry may not have many friends but that didn’t mean anything when it came to his sex life. He had trouble talking to girls but that didn’t seem to matter because they flocked to him. There was just something about him that drew people in, you included especially you. Maybe it was his ability to make anyone in the room feel special; wanted by having his undivided attention.

His lips purse, “Nah, not tonight.”

“Why?”

He gives you a pointed look giving away that he knows, “You know why.”

Guilt settles into your stomach, that stupid sinking feeling of being caught hit full force. He had the same argument with Grace that you did with Rylan tonight. They seem to argue more though and it kills you seeing him upset. You know he cares about her but he loves you. Maybe not romantically but definitely platonically and that means something to him. Every time they have this conversation, you know you should walk away. It's always your first instinct to protect people you love and you love your best friend. But, you’d rather die than let him go and that’s selfish as fuck but true. You sigh, “Harry-”

“I’m good,” He closes the distance and wraps you into a hug and it feels like home. Your favorite type of hug. “Worried about you.”

You smile against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart hitting your cheek, “Nothing a Star Wars marathon won’t cure, Stud.”

His face lights up, “God, I could kiss you, Lil.”

“Whatever you say, ball boy.” Your heart flutters violently but you ignore the feeling. He always jokes like this in secret and maybe that’s the reason no one believes you’re just friends. But, they’re just jokes, yano.

“Ball boy?” He scoffs, making you tilt your chin to meet his gaze. When your eyes finally focus, Harry’s staring at you with his stupid, dimpled smile. Just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean you’re completely immune. He’s handsome and you’d be dumb to deny that because, well, you have eyes. Currently, he looks even better from this angle. His hair’s tousled as neat as those chestnut curls will allow and dimples seem more prominent. Deep, inviting indents. The black, backwards hat only adds to the contrast of those evergreen eyes. Your favorite shade of green. A sliver of metal trapped between perfect teeth as he cocks his head. He chuckles, squeezing you tighter, “That’s fucked up.”

Pulling back, you shrug, “You’re the one who plays with them all day.”

His tongue clicks, cheeks hollowing, “Baseball, I play baseball.”

You dismiss him with a wave, walking into the common room. “Whatever helps you hit balls with your bat, Ball boy.”

“Better watch that pretty mouth of yours,” He warns in a low tone, so low that everything tingles. Reaching into his hoodie, he pulls out a bag of weed before plopping on the couch, “because I don’t share with bad girls.”

“Watching Star Wars high?” You grin as he nods. “Man of my dreams.”

Harry smirks, all boyish and full dimples, “Don’t tease.”

After pressing play and settling into the couch, you glance over at him just as the credits begin to roll. He’s lighting a joint, brows set in concentration, pink lips puckered around the paper inhaling slowly before passing it to you.

The next forty minutes fly by in the best, blissfully buzzed way. Time doesn’t have an exact science. We’re happy and having a good time. All the anger from earlier dissipated from you and Harry just being together. His nose found its way under your jaw, right next to your pulse point, some time after fifteen or so minutes. He’s always been affectionate when buzzed but holy fuck, was he toning it down before. You don’t know what changed but his hands haven’t left your waist and he keeps hugging closer to your chest with little sighs and hums of contentment. He smells so fucking good like peppermint, fresh laundry, and smoke.

Your breathing is slow and steady. Completely wrapped in him. Fingers twisting the curls at the nape of his neck until your fingertips tingle to touch him elsewhere. You don’t allow them to go lower than his throat, feeling how harsh each swallow was each time you’d get below the hinge of his jaw. He hums against your neck, nuzzling deeper into the column dangerously like he can’t get enough, “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” You breathe as he hugs tighter, not stopping your feather-like movement through his soft curls. “You?”

“Yeah, that feels good.” His words come out sleepy and deep and gravelly. “Your t-touch always feels good.” Warm evergreen holds all your attention as he kisses your cheek, “Thank you for being here with me. You make everything better, always have.”

Your face tilts, noses inches apart, and whisper. “You make everything better for me too.”

Harry’s the type of man that goes from beautiful to devastating with a change of facial expression. Your hazy brain can’t stop taking him in for some reason. It’s involuntary. That beautiful, sculpted face is hidden at nightfall but you allow yourself to appreciate how much time someone put into crafting him. It’s like you spent the last fifteen years with blinders on and can finally see.

Sage burns into evergreen as his lips roll a few times like he’s trying to come up with a safe response. The irrational part of my brain wants to feel his mouth on you again so bad that you almost crave him. Your lips part at the same time waiting for the other to make a move or do something drastic. Three heartbeats of your mouths seconds apart. Three heartbeats in your own hazy, happy world. His nose nudges yours once before dropping back to your throat. His arms wrapped around you tighter and your breathing synced again. Instead of calm and steady, now it’s erratic and fast.

Fuck, you have to be high, right? Best friends don’t look at each other like this. Especially you guys.

He leans closer, left hand planted on your thigh as we just stare at each other. Almost like he feels it too. Your fingertips ache to touch the stubble dusting his jawline so bad they tingle but you can’t seem to move. Completely lost in the hypnotic desire clouding the calm green of his irises.

Not wanting to put pressure on Harry to make the first move, you close the distance. Not sure why you did that but your mouths part at the same time. His in surprise and yours in want, yet in perfect sync. Pressing your lips to his, he immediately kisses back, cupping your jaw. One second everything’s moving slowly and the next, he’s lifting his shirt over your head. Touching every inch of exposed skin like he can’t get enough. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts as yours find his jeans. The kiss breaks as he leans back just enough to look at you. You’re looking at each other in silence but it’s so fucking loud.

“We should-” He swallows harshly, columns of his throat tense, “Don’t wanna finally have you if you’ll regret-”

“Won’t ever regret you, H,” Your voice is hushed yet full of so much want and sincerity. “Don’t stop, we’re okay.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out in relief pressing another kiss to your lips that sends trace currents through your body full force. Finally giving into the sweetest temptation you’ve ever tasted. Forbidden and delicious. This was like an avalanche of feelings and lust in motion, couldn’t stop the cascade if you tried. The aftermath would eventually come but everything would be okay. It had to be.

“Yeah, just friends,” Your lips move with his again but lazier, a slow pace that makes everything come to life. “This doesn’t change anything.”

You lied because this meant everything but you can’t stop.

He blinks like he can see right through your bullshit.

You blink back hoping he doesn’t.

“Just friends.” He repeats only the first half of your lie between kisses, pressing your body further into the couch with his hips.

The words come out breathless.

The words come out easily.

The words come out in cool peppermint.

He starts to drag your shorts off at the same pace the kiss and you lift a little to help. Being this vulnerable, letting the other fully see the other is something you can’t put into words. Your eyes rake his body as his lustful, dark gaze mirrors yours. There aren’t enough fucking words to describe how beautiful he is. Taking in every single detail from his tattoos to his cock pressed between your open thighs. The desperation; everything fucking aches for him. He leans forward, lips parting, eyes darkening by the minute, leaving open-mouth kisses along your jaw until they meet your mouth. The warm metal of his tongue ring claiming every inch of your mouth. He tasted like charged temptation in the best way, like something you didn’t know you craved until now.

Harry whimpers as your legs wrap around his waist. His cock throbs between your thighs and he groans against your lips. The sound vibrating with need; so fucking desperate. Strong hands grip your ass as the kiss deepens. He’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s hungry for air. Almost like he can’t breathe without tasting you. Without having you like this. Staggered, harsh breaths hit the left side of your as his lips descended. Sucking and biting gently at your throat until they reach your chest and wrap around your nipple piercings. Metal clanking salaciously as his tongue swirls, toying with each little bar. His cock throbs again and your head falls back into the throw pillows with a loud moan. The arrogant smirk against your already heated skin only sends fire dancing.

Crackling and humming with each touch. They say fire needs oxygen to grow and Harry was yours. Always has been, he ignites all your fires.

Pulling back slightly, salacious evergreen meets thunderous oceans as he speaks, “So fucking pretty.” His words come out as a rasp, full of raw desperation. “Wanna taste you so fucking bad.” Kisses pepper your face, “Wanna make you feel so good, please? ”

“Y-yes,” You breathe, unable to finish the sentence as his kiss-bruised lips meet yours again and again, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your already open thighs, while yours run through his soft curls. Tangling and twisting as your lips move hungrily, desperately. Your teeth trap his tongue ring gently tasting and the sound that escapes his throat is feral. His body pushes against yours as you devour each other. Urgent, hungry, and like you might run out of time or change your mind. Hot, open-mouth kisses descend from your lips to your jaw then stop at the base of your throat.

“Fuck,” The word’s rushed, nearly a pant, as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. The view of his gorgeous, toned body sends a shiver down your spine. The butterfly on his chest fluttered with each rapid breath. His abs jutting and rippling like it took everything in him not to lose it right then and there. Rough yet gentle hands feather your ribs, gliding effortlessly until they pause at your hips, leaving trace currents branding me with each tortuous touch. The rings on his fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of your hips despite how gentle he’s being. A surprised gasp leaves my lips in a whimper as his grip tightens holding you into place. Your hips tilt, wanting to feel him and he groans, nostrils flaring like he’s in pain, “Want you so bad,” His nose runs against your jaw, “Not gonna last if you keep moving, Lil.”

“Sorry,” You breathe letting your head fall back as it swims with every effortless emotion you feel for him.

“Shh, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect, look at you.” He whispers, the gravelly tone of his voice sending vibrations between your thighs making you ache. A completely desperate ache for him that would be embarrassing if it was anyone but your Harry. Suddenly, he’s kissing you but lazily this time. His lips moved so painfully slow and tender against yours. Kissing like you have all the time in the world. As soon as you match his pace, he breaks the kiss sighing deeply against your parted lips. He studies your face, evergreen locked on blue, as he slowly drifts between your thighs. His hands follow him, traveling down your inked body with ease, until they lock around your upper legs.

“What’re you doing?” You ask breathlessly, trying to keep up with his pace. He ignores you, placing drawn-out kisses trailing from your left hip to inner thigh. Soft moans leave your parted lips each and every time his mouth touches your skin. His kisses are getting closer and closer, nipping and sucking, teasing and torturing. It’s too fucking much. “Harry-”

“Need something, Lil?” He sucks harder on your hip, leaving a purplish bruise on porcelain skin, tilting his head up to meet your gaze with a lazy smirk. So effortlessly sexy.

“Please-” Desperateness clings to the word as your head falls back, unable to handle seeing him between your legs.

“Please what?” Harry smirks against heated skin as your hips move forward, “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want-” The sentence pauses at the tip of your tongue. No one’s ever asked what you wanted before. “I’ve never-” Your brows push together trying to find the right word but he reaches up, fingers smoothing the line between them like he understands.

“It’s okay,” He runs the flat of his tongue against your clit and your knees almost push together from pleasure, the round of his tongue ring hitting perfectly. Like he knows exactly what you need. Burning evergreen disappears into the back of his head as he moans against you, fingernails digging into your skin. “Taste so fucking good, Lil. Knew you would, so fucking sweet.”

“Fuck,” The whimper that comes out of you is pathetic as he lifts your leg, draping your right knee over his shoulder, tongue circling with no mercy. Flicking and sucking and teasing as he changes pace. Your head falls back feeling his piercing tease your entrance with each flick of his perfect tongue. Your fingers laced into his wet curls, tugging as he pulled back, eyes meeting yours. Bringing his left middle and ring fingers to your lips, manually parts them until his fingers push past your bottom teeth. The cold metal of his rings hits your warm mouth. Evergreen dances darkly as they glide across your tongue until you gag around them. He exhales roughly, head cocking, “Mmm, suck. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

Your lips wrap around his fingers as your eyes lock. He moves them in and out a few times before withdrawing. Never breaking eye contact, pink lips puckering around my clit as his fingers tease your entrance. He watches you intensely, so fucking intensely as his fingers match the pace of his tongue. Your eyes flutter in pure fucking bliss as your grip on his hair returns. Pulling and tugging, making him groan so deeply, “Lil.”

Your name came out of his mouth with the same electricity that courses through your veins whenever he’s around. Hot, entrancing, unfuckingdeniable, and your undoing. White, hot pleasure hits so hard that you try to close your legs but his hands wrap around your thighs, keeping them open, easing you through it. Your breathing evens out as Harry watches you between your open thighs. His head tilted upward, lips parted in amazement, evergreen bouncing around your face like he’s committing every muscle movement to memory.

“For fucks sake.” He exhales, blinking in complete astonishment.

“Hmm?” The word comes out lazily, so fucking easy like your smile.

He hovers, face inches from yours, hazy eyes blazing with lust. The end of his cross necklace bounces off your bottom lip a few times. “So pretty when you cum, Angel.”

Fuck, in one swift movement, you push his chest backward completely straddling him as his back hits the couch. Long, ring-clad fingers grip your jaw as he presses his lips to yours, kissing slowly, tongues tangling lazily. He tastes like you and it makes your head spin. His fingers tangle into your hair, blond waves fall, as he collects them wrapping the strands around his wrist. Breaking the kiss, your hands glide across his skin, feeling every harsh breath and ridge before settling between his legs. Every flutter of his butterfly as he breathes, how his abs constrict with each breath like he wants you so badly that it’s painful, and the vein resting next to the perfect v-line of his left hip. Taking a deep breath, your head tilts, meeting his hungry, beautiful gaze as your lips wrap around his head.

He lets out a loud moan, abs jutting, as your tongue twirls and teases. His head lolls back, lips parting while the moans come out so fucking feral; desperate. The grip on your hair loosens as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks with each suck. Honey curls fall you around like a curtain as he cups the back of your head, pushing you to take him deeper, never breaking eye contact. You almost wanna shut yours seeing how much adoration and attention and lust swims in his pretty irises. He starts moving his hips slowly, testing, and relaxing your jaw. His jaw tightens with each thrust, moaning so fucking loud, lips puckering around a needy exhale, “I-fuck-I’m not gonna last.”

Flattening your tongue, a hum in appreciation and that makes him break. The soft green of his eyes darkened as control slips with each thrust. “God, look at how pretty you look wrapped around my cock.” He groans even louder and you gag around him. His hips slow, “You can take it, just like that, so fucking good.”

Your cheeks hollow as his movements grow more frantic. More fucking desperate. Twirling your tongue, he pulls out, cupping your jaw again as he cums. Painting your chest in the most filthy way. Head tilted back, eyes shut, pumping his cock as he whimpers. Blush spreads up his throat, neck vein popping in the sexiest way, and perfect lips parted in pure ecstasy; pure bliss. He’s the most devastating man you’ve ever seen. The minute your gazes meet, your breathing halts. So many emotions battle to come to the surface as lush forests meet raging oceans. The push and pull that is us. This is a moment where you just stare at each other in understanding. Letting your eyes say what you’re afraid to admit out loud.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Harry’s voice is gentle and soothing while his fingers trace your jaw before disappearing. You count his footsteps but don’t respond. The weight of what happened crashed into you like a freight train. Your breathing accelerates instead of steading as everything plays out. You don’t want to lose him when this doesn’t work out. The thought comes quickly and like a bucket of ice water. Panic setting in because you can’t lose him. You can’t lose him over one night of weakness. Shit, the uncertainty feels heavy on your chest, heavier than it should because there’s no one you trust more. He’s your best friend.

“Lil?” Hesitantly, your eyes snap to your favorite shade of green. Allowing them to travel his peaceful features, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Everything about him is relaxed and unguarded as he starts cleaning you up with a warm washcloth. The light stubble on his sharp jaw to pink parted lips to the freckles on the bridge of his nose that you wouldn’t see unless you were close enough. Your fingertips ache to trace the path, feel each little freckle and plane of his face, until they’re touching his pink lips. Sometimes, you wish memories worked like photographs or something so you could accurately remember how being in his arms feels. How finally being his feels until unrelenting reality hits. You’re not his, Grace is, and that hurts worse than you thought. His lips tip into a left-sided smile, “There she is.”

“Here I am,” You smile back, cheekbone gently compressed by his long fingers.

Dark curls sticking up in different directions, evergreen eyes following every detail of your face, a red hue dusting across his cheeks, and his once parted lips tugging into a sleepy smirk, “You still with me, Lil?”

“Always.” The word came out fast because you were with him. Maybe too with him. “Gonna get dressed real quick.” A giggle escapes your lips, “Don’t have the money for Ellie’s therapy bill if she walks in.”

“Fuck,” He chuckles, running a hand through long curls, “She’d probably ask to join.”

Your phone buzzes two times and something inside you freezes. You know it’s Rylan, no one else but him and Harry text you this late. The playful expression on Harry’s face slowly drains into something that resembles pain as he hands it to me. The sudden change makes your stomach turn in the worst way.

From: Ry (2:30 am)

Sorry about tonight.

From: Ry (2:31 am)

Can’t lose you over a stupid argument, Lil. I know you and Styles are just friends and you wouldn’t touch him. Sorry for being a jealous prick.

That stomach-sinking guilt comes back full force and causes your mouth to flood with saliva. You pull the Nirvana shirt over your head and turn to explain but he’s already looking at the wall. His jaw tense, so tense that the hinges are bulging, but expression is stoic. He swallows, the columns in his throat tense then relax showing just how hard the salvia was to get down. You linger on his side profile for a second, appreciating the beautiful yet masculine planes of his face, before clearing your throat. He blinks a few times before turning slowly to meet your eyes. The words rush out of your mouth, “Harry-”

Playful evergreen darkened to forest green, “I better go.”

You jump to your feet, following behind him quickly, desperate to explain. His back to you, broad shoulders sagging, as he works to unlatch your window. The glass opens with a thud and you expect him to leave but he doesn’t. Ring-clad fingers grasp the ledge, knuckles blanch, as he just breathes. You count to fifteen waiting for him to look at you but he doesn’t. 240 long, excruciating seconds pass. Exhaling harshly, his voice is hoarse, “We need to tal-“

“Friends?” You blurt, not letting him finish. Needing to know you’re okay, eyes volleying between him and the notification on your phone.

He pauses, hand resting on the windowsill, so much pain in those evergreen eyes you love so much. There he was, always taking care of you. Even if it means hurting him.

“Yeah, Lil.”

Your attention stays on the window as he slips out without giving you a chance to respond. Everything smells like him, a mouthwatering mixture of fresh laundry, peppermint, and something earthy like the wind. Even your skin has traces of him that you don’t think you’d be able to wash off. The memory of tonight permanently embedded into you and there is no denying it. How his mouth felt, his hands on you, the sound of his raspy voice slowly ruining you for anyone else.

What the fuck did you just do?

[kathaynesart]

The call has ended, but the final recording still has a bit further to go.  

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Sorry these past several updates have been such downers.  I promise the next one will have some fun banter.  Can’t wait to get back to the real world with less digital effects and data dump.  I don’t know how Donnie deals with all of it. 

Below the cut I’ve added a little talk about Donnie and the way he handled this heavy conversation, something I fear might come off a little harsh without the proper context clues.  Also, below is a fun little discovery I made about Omega! 

I’ve already had a few people express how Donnie seems mean to his family in this update, which I totally understand how it can come off like that.  A certain amount of nuance is lost in this sort of comic format with neither descriptors, actual voice acting, or even Donnie’s face to give context for the way he is saying certain lines.  It’s an artistic choice I made, but one I still wish to clarify.

I see the sudden hang up as less Donnie being a jerk and more him having to cut the conversation short because he has to keep focus and he’s scared of Leo talking him down from the ledge he’s standing on.  He’s sticking to his guns and it hurts him to see how much it’s hurting his family and so all he can do is distance himself before the strong emotions cause him to make a mistake in the middle of enemy territory (placing legitimate logical concerns over emotional ones).  At the same time he is attempting to remain calm if only to try and let some of that wash onto Leo and April, because he knows if Leo freaks out too much he could risk bleeding out faster, which is why he was pressing for April to care for him first and foremost.  Were he a better liar he might have done so just to keep Leo calm a little longer, but no such luck.   Donnie holds so much love for his family, and I don’t think an apocalypse has changed that, he just has difficulty at times knowing the hierarchy of emotions expected of such a rare and dire situation and instead chooses to focus on the logical issues because at least those are some things he has certain control over. He wants to keep his family safe at all costs and if he has to cut off the last conversation he initiated and desperately wanted with his family to do so then he will.  I hope that clears some things up.  I might make this paragraph into it’s own post tomorrow for those who might have missed this update. 

On another note, I discovered something fun while researching Donnie’s screen UI!  (Extra photos under the cut:) Omega is actually in the movie (kind of)!  Look at the lil’ guy!  All sorts of dead!

Thanks as always for your support and comments, it means a ton!

[coolaboutlucy]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨

pairing: nepo baby!business owner!ellie williams x afab!business owner!reader

tags: smut, fingering (r receiving), pet names/name calling?? (dirty girl, pretty, good girl, baby), slight praise??, god why is tagging so hard, mild language, unethical business practices??, thoughts are green, ellie lowk an asshole, but both reader and ellie are pretty harsh to eachother, maybe that’s it, bare with me if i forget something pls. 😭🙏

a/n: i wrote this directly on tumblr bc i did NAWT feel like pulling up google docs today saur the format might be a lil off. i was watching this show on netflix called ‘locked up’, and like an episode from season two is what inspired this!!! 😜 the show is good honestly it just drags on sometimes!!! ive actually never actually written smut any times before this (believe it or not hehe) anyways, let’s get into it!!!

P.S - DEDICATED TO @sweetysaccharine YAWP YAWP!!!! <333 HOPE U ENJOY POOKIEEEE

P.P.S - don’t look at the typos or i will find you (IM JOKING)

rumors traveled fast, and sometimes it wasn’t always good. for one, they could be infuriating. a company you’d been toe to toe with for.. quite some time had gotten a new ceo. some young girl. articles appeared online about some kinda nepotism scandal. the photo on the top of the article displayed a photo of the previous ceo — joel miller, and the new owner, ellie. they looked happy. but why were they accused of something as harmful as nepotism? long story short, joel turned his brother down for the position (even though he was the better option) so ellie could have it. favoritism of sorts. but god was she infuriating! her stupid, flashy displays of wealth (that probably didn’t even belong to her) made you so mad! and also, her arrogance and her constant need to compete with you was very infuriating aswell. you had influence, she had money. wouldn’t these things be considered as a double kill in some perfect world? yes. would you ever even consider working with someone like her? absolutely not. you couldn’t even stand being in the same vicinity as her whenever you two ended up at the same social events.

imagine that terrible, ugly feeling of anger that coursed hot through your veins once finding out she’d brought possibly one of the biggest clients you could’ve ever had. it was one thing for her to shove it in your face that she was wealthy but this? she’d completely overstepped. storming your way through the companies large building, you find yourself at her offices door knocking like a madwoman. “open the goddamn door, williams!” you yell as you attempt to open the door on your own. she doesn’t say anything, but you’re just almost certain she’s smirking or something. she opens the door with this.. look. it was weird. a perfect mixture of condescending, arrogance, and ‘i know what i did and i don’t regret it’. “are you insane?” “mm.. yeah. i guess so.” you laugh, dumbfounded by her. “how bout you come into my office for a seat and a drink?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “let’s handle this civilly, shall we? knowing you, i have the feeling that this could get real ugly.” she pushed open the door with that same condescending/arrogant smile. of course, reluctantly, you walk inside. maybe this could be resolved civilly.

the sound of some smooth music played. it sounded like micheal buble or something. she walks around her desk to pour you a glass of bourbon. she hands it to and you just hold it. “it’s not poisoned, see?” she says before taking a sip. you take a sip and of it before putting the glass on her desk. “so, i realized that.. i have something you want.” the something being that client. “why else would i be here? that was a really petty move and you know that.” she chuckled. “yknow, i could just.. refer them back to you.” initially, you’re in disbelief. ellie? being generous? no way. she must’ve completely lost it. “but! it comes with a price.” of course it does. nothing was free, not in this economy. you kept your expectations low for this very reason. you raise an eyebrow at her. “we could work together. become business partners.”

she turns her music up a little. she dances her way over to you, circling you a bit. “no chance, ellie. how could i ever work with someone like you?” she chuckled again. “why wouldn’t you work with ‘someone like me’? you have something that i want aswell.” “what?” “power. influence. however you may wanna word it. i admire that.” it had to be some sick joke. why would she wanna work with you? “shouldn’t all your daddys money be more than enough to keep you in a position of power?” you quarry, then crossing your arms. a part of you didn’t believe that she’d been the one asking you for help.

“just think about it. me, giving you money. you, drawing power hungry clients in with that pretty face of yours. we’d work together like yin and yang.” she proposed before taking another sip of the drink in her glass. that was her giving a go at an analogy. was it good? she didn’t know. did she care? not at all. “you bullshitting me, williams?” “not at all. all you gotta do.. is say ‘yes’. cmon.” she offers her hand, those pretty slender fingers and that tattoo that peeking from underneath that black button up shirt were just so.. enticing. you were in your head, just thinking. was this a good idea? could i trust her? she probably has bad intentions. but she was so tempting. this had to be one of the seven deadly sins or something.

she snaps infront of your face. “where’d you go?” she asks. “nowhere.” you respond quickly. “so, you taking the offer or not? or.. will i have to convince you?” she takes a step closer to you. temptation taints your brain.

you’re not in control of your thoughts anymore. ellie was.

her hand seeks solace on your waist. “shouldn’t finding business like this be considered illegal?” you whisper to her. “im not a law abiding woman. and quite frankly, i don’t give two shits.” maybe it wouldn’t be illegal if nobody knew. but all you thought about was her. how she smells. how she’s looking at you. how her hands feel on your body. you can’t stop yourself. your lips crash down onto hers. your fingers tangle in her auburn hair as the both of you kiss passionately. she brings you to her desk, knocking stuff over as she sat you on her desk.

glass shattered, pictures were knocked out of their frames, and her computer mouse was.. somewhere. your back arches into her touch as you let out a soft moan into her mouth. she takes the opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth. in the competition of dominance between your tongues, she reigns supreme. her hands slide up your body and end up on your oxford button up shirt. she doesn’t unbutton it, she rips that shit open. “i’ll get you a new one.” she mumbled as the buttons from the shirt scatter across the room.

“you’d better. or else id have to come back here and get it by force.” “oh please, you’ll be back here for more reasons than a goddamn shirt.” she said as she peppers kisses down to your jawline, then your neck. “don’t leave any marks.” “but why?” “oh, i dunno, cause i don’t want anyone asking me who i had sex with?” “who gives a shit? your workers get paid to look the other way, don’t they?”

well, she makes a good point. and you can’t argue with a point as valid as that. she sinks her teeth into a sweet spot of your neck, making you moan out as she runs her tongue along the new mark. she sticks her tongue out again to run it all the way down to one of your boobs. the sensation makes you shiver. “wore this pretty bra for me, didntcha? you were just expecting this. you must’ve wanted me to touch you like this, didn’t you? dirty girl. must’ve been waiting for me to bend you over this table.” she rambled all while stripping you of your bra, then leaving soft kisses and licks across the valley of your breasts.

she takes her time, making you wait for it. she knew what she was doing to you, and she was going to make you wait. “ellie, you’re going soo slow! you know what i want.” you whine as she leaves kisses and bites all over your exposed skin. “tell me what you want or you’ll get nothing. tell me where you want me.” she whispered. “i want your fingers.” “where?” “you know where.” “tell me or you get nothing.” you hesitate for a moment before saying feebly. “in.. in my pussy..” “that’s a good girl.”

she smiles as she pushes her hands into your slacks. she could feel your wetness. “i got you this worked up, huh? who knew little miss perfect could get this wet over me, a ‘nepo baby’?” she teased with a cocky smile. she slowly slides your slacks and underwear all the way down to your ankles before she applies a delicious amount of pressure to your clit. you gasp, your hand wrapping around her wrist. “oh, you like that do you, huh? you want more? fucking beg for it. cmon.” she applies more pressure to your clit, rubbing small and soft circles as her fingers ghost your sopping entrance. “oh— please ellie, i need more. give me more.” “gonna take more than that, baby.” you whine when she suddenly takes all that pressure away from you.

you let out another whine as you attempt to rut against her hand. her free hand slaps your thigh as she shakes her head in disapproval. “none of that. keep still. you get nothing until you beg like a good girl.” “please, please. ill do anything. just please touch me.” she chuckles at you. she found it cute how you were so desperate to chase that pleasure. “god, you’re so desperate. you need it so.. goddamn bad, don’t you?” she lets out a grunt in the middle of her sentence as she suddenly plunged into your pussy.

as she moves her fingers, she groans at how wet her you were. first she starts with middle finger, then adding her ring finger. her long fingers are hitting that sweet spot in you. she was making you see stars. “listen to yourself. look at ‘er, she’s crying for me.” she coos as she speeds her pace. you moan out. “watch me, baby.” you slowly look down at her fingers plunging in and out of you. sounds of wet squelching fill your ears. you bite your lip and you toss your head back as you let out a moan. you grind yourself down onto her fingers, chasing that wonderful and blissful orgasm.

you felt a pressure building up in your stomach. your eyes were fluttering open and shut. everytime you looked away, she stopped. you made sure to not look away. once that pressure in your stomach felt like it was gonna release, your moans became more broken. “ellie! ellie— oh fuck! ellie! im gonna cum! don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you say between moans as you bring your hand back down to hold her wrist in place.

“oh yeah? gonna cum? let go for me. make a mess on my fingers. cmon. i know you can do it.” she said as she kept her pace at that same one that was making you see stars. she’d been rambling something to you, talking you through it as she watched you cum all over her fingers. she helps you ride out your orgasm, a slight tremble in your legs becoming more apparent.

“what do we say?” “thank you.” she smiled as she pulled her fingers out. the sudden loss makes you whine. she sucks her fingers clean and you watch as her tongue runs across the length of her fingers. “still being a tease, williams?” you ask as you look at her while she does it. “mm.. well no, i dont think so. just savouring how good you taste.” when she was finally satisfied, she drops her hands. “so, you finally ready to stop being so stubborn and take the deal?” “not a chance if it means we get to have sex like this.” you respond with a chuckle. “maybe you need to be fucked again, hm?” she ask with a smile.

needless to say, you’d went another time, and on the third you fucked ellie. eventually you come to some sort of agreement after you’d been laid on her leather sofa, naked and feeling like you were floating. the only question you had now is what the hell had you gotten into. “will this turn into a scandal?” you ask. “.. probably not if we keep this under wraps.” she responds as she puts her head in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to it. “plus, yknow i can just pay the media off right? they won’t say anything. not a peep.” she reassured as she smiled softly.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

*breaks through the window*

Hi I saw asks are open (if I’m late that’s ok feel free to ignore this). I just thought doing an escape room with heartslabyul would be fun. Headcanons or drabble you can choose whichever you’d rather do :).

In an Escape Room with Heartslabyul!

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, some blurring of platonic and romantic stuff, headcanon format

Word Count; 2 K (... I may have gotten carried away; oops)

Author's Note; Thank you for requesting, Haru! I hope you like the direction I took this in!

Do not feed my works into AI. If you want to read more of my writing please see my masterlist!

Riddle Rosehearts

He heard Cater going on about this ‘totes cool’ (his words, not Riddle’s) escape room that Sam was hosting, and it piqued his interest… more so that you seemed interested.

“If you would like… we can go together?” He offered quietly, looking up from the notes he was rewriting for class, measuring your reaction.

You leaned forward into his personal space, “Wait, really?! I didn’t think you’d want to go.” Plus wasn’t there an Unbirthday party to plan for? 

Riddle swallowed the lump in his throat, but took in a breath, offering you a small smile. “Never know if you don’t try… plus you could use my help–”

You gently kicked him under the table, “Rude, but not unwarranted, Riddle. Who knows, there could be a word search involved.” You offered him a playful wink, enjoying that he was slowly turning red.

“Oh hush you,” he huffed. But he was looking forward to the escape room… and possibly being able to showboat his skills a bit if he were being honest with himself.

In the escape room

He is analyzing everything. He’s also taking everything seriously as if this were truly a live or death situation, and not just you two in one of the back rooms of Sam’s shop. “Of course, the key is on the top shelf,” he muttered, grabbing a chair.

You came over, and kept a hand on the chair; the last thing you wanted to happen is Riddle falling. As much as you liked teasing him, you didn’t want him to get hurt.

“How’s the view up there?” Yes, it was a bad attempt at a joke, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Riddle’s eyes were locked on something, and he jumped down, practically running towards the lock. He started dialling the knob, and the next thing you knew, the timer stopped, and the door opened.

He turned to you, offering his hand and a smile, “The view? It proved most helpful… but thank you, this was fun.”

When you took his hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you ignored how red his face was. Today was nice… even if he did most of the work, but you weren’t complaining since he had fun.

Overall; a good partner to have in an escape room, even if he does most of the work (trying to impress you)

. . . . .

Ace Trappola

“I bet I can beat ya at this escape room,” Ace yawned, stretching out on your sofa, looking all too comfortable.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “And what makes you think that, huh? Getting ahead of yourself, don’t cha think?”

Ace straightened himself out and gave you an impish grin. “What are you willing to bet on?” He placed his chin in his hand, thinking, but looking directly at you.

Damn him. “How about I don’t tell Professor Trein about the time you ‘borrowed’ a second year’s exam just so you didn’t have to study?” You mimicked his expression and pose, waiting for an answer.

Ace balked at that, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Alright, alright, no need to be nasty… but is that a yes or a no?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrugged, “how would you be able to get out–” You couldn’t finish your sentence since he threw a pillow at your face. “Don’t you think that’s childi–” You got hit with another pillow.

In the escape room

He was actually taking this pretty seriously since he didn’t know if you were joking about ratting him out. Wait, what did I bet? He forgot what he wanted to bet on if he won, and he mentally groaned at himself.

“Are ya finding anything of use over there?” You looked away from the bookcase, apparently not finding anything.

Ace looked over his shoulder to you, “What? Are you out of your depth, Sherlock?”

You grumbled, “You didn’t answer my question, Watson.” But you walked over to where Ace was trying to pick a lock. “You think that’s actually going to work? And where did you learn that?”

“I did, find something of use,” Ace murmured, focused on picking the lock. “And yes, it was by the safe. And I learned it from my brother. He said it would ‘impress a sweetheart’.” Ace felt his ears heating up; if his brother was here, he would be looking between you two before giving him a thumbs up.

Finally, the safe opened, and in it, was the code to get out. “You were saying?” He gave you a cocky grin, before punching in the pin and waltzing out.

“Thanks, this was fun,” you offered. But your face turned to annoyance, “UGH! I LOST THE BET!”

Overall; he’s decent at them, a bit of a brag, but his quick thinking will get you out pretty fast.

. . . . .

Deuce Spade

You actually brought the idea up to him while you were both walking to your next class together. “Say,” you bumped into his shoulder, catching his attention, “do you want to do an escape room with me?”

Without thinking, he answered. “Sure!” But he was mentally shaking himself. An escape room? He hadn’t done one of those before… plus wasn’t it like some big puzzle? “But wouldn’t Riddle be a better-”

“Nah, I just want to have fun, plus I wanna spend more time with you,” you answered with a bright grin.

Deuce blinked at your answer but offered you his own bright smile. “Okay then! I’ll give it everything I got!”

You clapped him on the shoulder, laughing a bit at his enthusiasm. “Okay, okay, okay! Excited I see! Meet me at Sam’s after your club practice, m’kay?”

“ALRIGHT!” He shouted, before remembering you were both in the hallway, and lowering his voice, lest he be scolded by Professor Crewel.

In the escape room

Deuce was flipping through the books, trying to find something while you were busy with a puzzle of some kind. Finding nothing, he walked over and started helping you put together some of the pieces.

You looked up, and you saw him bite his lip in concentration; it was quite endearing. “You know,” you break the silence, looking back to the puzzle, “I don’t mind if we don’t get out in time, this is supposed to be for fun.”

Deuce turned his eyes to you, “But it’s an escape room. Isn’t the point of it to escape?”

You looked at him again, and placed your chin in your hand, thinking. “Sure, that may be the main point of it, but also… to bond closer with people. To spend time with those we hold dear or want to improve our relationships with… figure out how their minds work.”

Deuce felt his face warming up, and just hoped that it wasn’t showing. “And you?”

“Me?” You smiled at him, as you put the last piece of the puzzle into place; it had a letter code, the code to get out. “I just wanted an excuse to spend some time with my favourite guy.”

Your favourite guy… Deuce helped you type into the pad, and as you both walked out, he was smiling brightly.

Overall; unsure of what he’s doing, but he’ll try his best to help you.

. . . . .

Trey Clover

You were both at Sam’s shop getting some groceries when you bumped into each other. “Buying out the entire store of its flour, huh?” You jested, looking from all of the flour bags to Trey.

Trey eyed your basket, “And you have enough tuna there to feed Grim for a bit.” But he huffed out a laugh, ignoring the main purpose of his trip, since he didn’t always get a chance to spend time with you.

“Ugh, I wish,” you sighed, eyeing all of the tuna cans that would probably last less than a day, knowing your glutton of a furball. “Hmmm, hey, we should do the escape room,” you offered.

Trey raised a brow, “Right now? Seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

You elbowed him, “Eh, common! If you get out before the timer goes off, you apparently get 50% off your purchase! Common Treyyyy.”

He elbowed you back, albeit more gently. “Hm, you drive a hard bargain… are you sure you’re not just Sam in some getup?”

You blew a raspberry at him, “I’ll take that as a yes!”

In the escape room

Trey was carefully looking over the pamphlet that Sam had given him that should have contained clues; should being the key word. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him though.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and put the pamphlet into his back pocket. “Please tell me you’re having better luck than me–” But he didn’t see you anywhere. “Uh, Prefect? Y/N?”

You popped out from under the table, squinting up at him. “While you were busy reading, I was looking for clues.” And you went back under the table.

“And are you finding anything?” He asked, ducking down and crawling in after you. It was a tight squeeze but he managed to get beside you, joining you in your search.

You bumped your head against him by accident and hissed, “Nothing but dust and gross bubblegum.”

Trey sighed and crawled back out, looking at the clock; ten minutes left and still no idea on how to get out. “You really wanted that 50% off, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Crowley doesn’t exactly give me a living wage, you know.” You grumbled. “But I don’t mind… you’re more fun than Ace gives you credit for.”

Trey raised a brow, but shook his head, giving you a smile and a huff of amusement.

Overall; a good partner who keeps cool in the face of a deadline.

. . . . .

Cater Diamond

He was scrolling through his phone, bored at yet another Unbirthday party (which yet again had nothing but sweets), trying to find something that would actually be fun. That’s when he came across Sam’s Magicam account for his shop.

Huh, an escape room? He looked up from his phone, only to see one of the freshmen arguing with Riddle. Yeahhh, I’ll just go now– And he slipped away during the chaos.

And while he was walking, he saw a familiar face, and his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “Hey, hey!”

You turned around and shot Cater a peace sign. “Hey, hey, Cay-kun!” You matched his energy, finding it sort of infectious. “Surprised to see you out and about.”

Cater chuckled, “Me too, but uhhh… you don’t mind if I tag along with ya?”

You looked at him curiously, and shrugged, “Knock your socks off, I guess.” Your eyes widened though; Ace and Deuce were stuck at Heartslabyul, so you were bummed that you couldn’t go to the escape room… but now that Cater was here?

“Feel like escaping to somewhere else?”

In the escape room

Cater was filming — with your permission of course — during the entire time in the escape room. “Did you find anything?” He asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Nothing really useful,” you grumbled, “did find this coupon for spicy ramen though.” You handed it to Cater and winked theatrically at his camera.

Cater took the coupon and gave you a small smile. “Thanks! Do ya need any help?” He kneeled beside you, looking at the clue you were trying to build; yes, build. Sam really makes you work to get out in time, huh?

You poked him in the side, and Cater poked you back. “Expect nothing less, the man knows how to run a business.” You sighed, “But I guess we’re not getting out in time, sorry Cater.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said quietly. “I had fun, that’s what matters most.”

“But not getting out isn’t very Magicama–”

He shut off his camera, “This? It’s just a reminder of a fun time then… just for us.”

Overall; a fun partner to have, who is relaxed and goes with the flow. And no, he doesn’t post the video… that’s just for you and him.

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Tag List; @azulashengrottospiano, @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @savanaclaw1996, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[obsessive-evie]

GF KATE HEADCANONS

go thank @iminlovewithpaigebueckers, i also completely stole the formatting from her. ty twin

gf!kate def overheard you say/like a post that said hey mamas or mama, so she waits until she has you a little cocky to call you mamas just to see what happens it becomes her new addiction, especially lil mamas

gf!kate is a little shit

gf!kate sends you little facebook mom selfies whenever she travels

^^and/or vlogs and recaps when you guys can’t ft

gf!kate will learn your whole skincare routine just in case you need her to do it when you’re drunk

gf!kate appreciates feminine things and girly things: “i like that little sparkle, the white glitter it’s pretty,” while pointing to your inner corner highlight.

“you smell good,” when she catches you in passing or just when you’ve finished getting ready.

will sit on your bed helping you choose outfits… and will also cover her eyes when you get changed, all panicked just in case you don’t wanna be seen. doesn’t matter if you tell her it’s fine (she’s literally seen every inch of your skin) she’s sitting there with her hands over her eyes no peeking (maybe a single peek)

gf!kate will actually respect if you wanna pay or dress more masculine, she gets it. no stereotypes here!!

gf!kate will braid or curl your hair just to show her love and stare at you

^^^ for my textured hair girlies this includes how to do your edges!!! what products she needs to use on you!! how much!!!!

gf!kate is very white. gf kate will not understand certain slang or terms until you explain it to her. gf kate gets excited when she uses said slang correctly

gf!kate would make an attempt to read your favorite book when she’s traveling (i said attempt idk if she’s finish it i don’t know if she’s a reader or not) in my head she is simply bc i read a book a day and i make the rules here

gf!kate will also try your music taste!!

gf!kate loves buying her girl lingerie. she doesn’t give a FUCK abt prices or if you’re nervy. kinda goes with the femininity thing, she’d like to see you in lacey things and pretty colors and such

gf!kate is the biggest hype woman, genuinely thinks you are perfect (BUT IS STILL A WOMAN AND WILL UNDERSTAND HORMONES AND INSECURITIES)

gf!kate is a fan of traditional things: flowers, treating her girl to date nights she plans, she’s always driving, lowkey would ask your parent/parent figure/ important person in your life to marry you, not in a possessive way but in the way that she thinks it’s polite and necessary

gf!kate loves visiting her girls family, and they love her, no matter how crazy they are

gf!kate can fixate on your boobs or thighs or hips and just lay and kiss for forever they’re her fav place to nap, and let’s be real my girls napping a lot

gf!kate likes to hover and stare and just watch you do your thing in your habitat (you call her national geographic for a reason)

NSFW

gf kate lovesssss to give head, she just loves making you feel good and making you squirm, she also loves hearing you get loud, won’t ask you to be loud tho. but she’ll never tell you to not cover your mouth if you try to cover it, she just takes it as you trying to stay comfortable

gf kate will braid your hair before fucking you so she has something to pull 🫣

gf kate tries really hard to stay more controlling when she’s topping but she still gets shy sometimes and is also dying (she’s so turned on she can barely think)

gf kate is kind of afraid to be mean to you, she just feels too bad

gf kate will never proposition sex, she might hint at it or have that look in her eye, but she’d rather sit and be horny than ask you when you don’t want to

gf kate would go so far as to get herself off in the bathroom or shower just so she doesn’t bother you if she knows you’re not in the mood or on your period

gf kate gets worked up fast but tries to take it slower to make her girl feel good

gf kate likes phone calls and guided/mutual masterbation

gf kate takes a whilleeeeee to stop being shy when you top, specifically when you go down on her she’s so nervous and can’t look at you (go check out my fic if you like this one)

gf kate cannot handle it when you kiss her neck, like at all. especially when she’s fucking you if you kiss her neck she’d get all breathy and try to pretend like she doesn’t keep stalling and pausing her thrusts

gf kate also cannot handle it when you bite or kiss her shoulders, arms, and back. like that’s the way to get her to melt

gf kate will eat her girl out to hozier, fuck her girl to hozier, and let her girl fuck her to hozier

gf kate is adorable

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what I meant by my post about the boys not appreciating Yuu enough is about the trauma they inflicted on them and the lack of compensation we get because trauma=not guilty.

We just let them get away scott free without them facing serious consequences and get little to nothing in return. I got inspired by this post https://rose-tea-and-strawberries.tumblr.com/post/720285231576465408/justiceforyuu

So what are your thoughts on this?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmm… 🤔 While I do think the post linked is an interesting read (and OP does make valid points), I think a lot of it goes back to the nature of TWST’s design vs what the individual desires. It’s very easy to self-insert (meaning everyone’s mileage with the characters and plot will vary greatly), and with it being a mobile gacha game, there are definitely some limitations and design philosophies that must be adhered to in order to keep content flowing and thus keep the game profitable.

However, I don’t agree with some of the points suggested (whether by OP or by Anon), particularly that TWST presents “trauma = not guilty” and that Yuu should somehow be “compensated” or given something in return for the troubles they went through. To the former point, I completely agree that the boys’ punishments are far too light for what they’ve done (in OB form). As for their behavior pre-OB (which is, admittedly, still shitty)… I mean, we came into this game knowing the characters are twisted from villains, of all things. We shouldn’t be expecting them to be Super Nice and Empathetic to begin with, no? (So of course Riddle will be insulting Yuu’s background and lineage, Trey’s a bystander, etc.) It doesn’t excuse the behavior of course (it’s still objectively bad), but I thought we came into TWST expecting it??? Like it’s a major part of the draw…

I also believe TWST does a decent job at explaining the OB boys’ trauma while not excusing them because of their trauma; funnily enough, a major theme in book 1 was Riddle being held accountable for his actions for once. (This isn’t limited to just his OB behavior, but rather extends to prior; he was clearly harming his own dorm members well before Yuu got involved with Heartslabyul.) The OB boys were eventually punished for their actions, but because the sentences are relatively light, that’s perhaps where the “trauma = not guilty” perception of the fandom comes from. As I said before though, I think this can easily be attributed to TWST being constrained by the mobile game format (ie it has to be snappy); the light novel is able to expand on the consequences in greater detail.

The game devs likely don’t want to linger on how badly the OB boys truly acted because that could hamper their bottom line (ie endearing the characters to us enough so we sympathize with them and spend money). If they keep demonizing the boys or continuously bring up their literal murder attempts when they were fully lucid and aware of themselves (Leona almost sanding Ruggie, Vil trying to poison Neige), it looks “too” bad on the characters’ part. We also can’t haul the boys off to serious rehabilitation facilities because they need to be physically present to return for the subsequent book—and, of course. You can say “they didn’t get punished severely enough”, sure. But what exactly would that “more severe punishment” being called for entail, especially without disrupting the current story’s flow and not harming the OB boys further in the process? There are practical real world game design and business reasons for this.

To address the Yuu should somehow be “compensated” part, well… I’m not entirely sure if I understand it?? Thinking about it logically, what “compensation” are we looking for? Firstly, no compensation, in my opinion, is worth the anguish that “earned” it in the first place. Compensation will never make up for the mental scars 😔 Secondly, it implies that people are “owed” something for the general bad attitudes they’re given on a daily basis, which is not in any way how real interactions work. Some people will just be assholes to you, and we have to deal with it and move on. In the cases of the OBs and some events (like being kidnapped and basically held hostage in book 4), yes, those are much more serious and should be treated as such. But again, what exactly are we looking for here as “proper” compensation? Is acknowledging one’s faults and mistakes, and saying sorry for it and working toward being “better” not enough? What about the money Vil gives in book 5; is that also not enough? Where do we draw the line? When is it finally “enough” compensation? It’s so poorly defined and there’s no “blanket” compensation that would satisfy everyone and anyone 💦 I would personally be happy just knowing that the other person is aware they’ve done wrong and are taking that vital first step to changing. That’s very difficult to do, especially considering the pride of the average NRC student, so I commend them for at least doing that.

TWST’s story isn’t one that focuses on condemning people for their flaws and errors, but giving them a chance to recognize their wrongs and to grow from them. Its story promotes restorative justice over punitive justice. Overly punishing measures and reparations have proven to not smooth over “bad behavior” in real life; it’s something people need to consciously and actively work toward, so of course it’s going to be a hard process.

The reaction(s) Yuu has to the events going on around them are only as serious as individual fan interpretation makes them out to be. Official depictions thus far (manga, game, light novel) have not strongly indicated that Yuu has had any extremely adverse thoughts or feelings regarding the treatment they’ve experienced at the hands of their peers or any stress related to not being returned home. It’s also not clear (especially in the game) just how much physical involvement Yuu has in battles. Because TWST itself does not frame or portray these events as having super serious impacts on Yuu, that also informs the fans that absorb this content (so they, in turn, will usually also not take the story’s impact on Yuu all that seriously).

The interactive medium of the game (which is the main form people absorb TWST content by) plays such a crucial role in how Yuu is portrayed. Because Yuu is so inherently tied to being the player’s avatar/self-insert, there are limitations to the overt nastiness Yuu takes and their involvement. The manga and the light novel feature new versions of Yuu, yes, but these interpretations are wholly separate from Yuu (the game one). The manga and light novel Yuus can be treated as their own characters and not self insert vehicles, therefore there is a degree of separation between the player and the manga and light novel Yuus. This is why the manga Yuus are more shown to be more active in the story (most notably getting involved in battles). This is why the light novel Yuu is shown receiving more bullying (from mob students) than is depicted in the game. The manga and light novel are NOT interactive mediums, and they don’t have to worry about potentially alienating or offending players who self insert as the game Yuu. Game Yuu is intentionally kept vague for this reason; we aren’t necessarily meant to interpret that game Yuu gets as involved or is treated as harshly as what other mediums depict.

I really don’t think we (the audience) are meant to interpret most of the things (game) Yuu experiences as being deeply traumatic or scarring. In most instances, Yuu is either ignored or they act very nonchalant about what’s happening (groaning or joking about how “oh, not this again!”). The worst injury I can recall Yuu ever getting is when Grim scratches them at the end of book 5. They barely even ever bring up going home or the worry of not being able to get home (not counting very early and very late in the main story when it is plot relevant, or the occasional event story to shoehorn Yuu’s presence in). The game in particular glosses over any potential negative ramifications on Yuu’s part because endearing the boys (who often are Not Nice) to the player is an important component of the gacha model. You can’t have the players despising the characters because that doesn’t encourage spending money to roll for them on banners or to throw money at merch.

I also want to add that many people make Yuusonas to have fun and to escape into a magical world (which is likely reflected in the nonchalance Yuu demonstrates toward going home for most of the story); it’s far more common to see these lighthearted takes because I can’t imagine many people want to self-insert being deeply traumatized by the same magical boys they’re likely big fans of. If you personally want to make or to see a Yuu that becomes traumatized and jaded from what happens during their time in Twisted Wonderland, then yeah! Go for it! All the more power to you. Just remember that this isn’t a universal take.

All of that being said, we come back to something I’ve said time and time again: since Yuu is such a blank slate, you get out of it what you put into it. This means every person’s individual interpretation of the events and how Yuu engages with and reacts to those events may differ wildly. It’s all in good fun, just try to be cognizant of canon vs fanon, as well as others (who may have very different interpretations of the same events and characters).

[ellecdc]

Hey girl I loved cbbh! You’re so relented. Could you do dating head canons similar to the ones you did for regulus but with James? Have a nice day🫶🏻

Thanks so much dolly! Glad you enjoyed - here's your request!!!

A/N: Still figuring out the best formatting for these - each new text block = a headcanon, bullets are subcategories

Dating James Potter Headcanons

This man is an open book: whatever he is thinking, feeling, doing, is written all over his face

Cannot lie to save his life – therefore he is never the lookout for their pranks 

It also means he can never surprise you because he gets too excited – he’s gone xmas shopping/shopping for your bday? You may as well open it the second he gets home; he’ll buy you another one anyway

Opposites attract is the motto James Potter lives by - this man’s soulmate will either be the black cat to his golden retriever, or the shy/quiet to his loud and outgoing, the introvert to his extrovert etc etc

Does not understand the concept of boundaries/personal space – THIS DOES NOT MEAN HE DOESN’T RESPECT BOUNDARIES – but he will be up in your personal space 24/7, sitting nearly on top of you, following you around, walking in on you changing without batting an eye, try feeding you or taking food right off your plate. I don’t know if it’s the only child thing, but he just does not seem to mind being all up in other people’s business

He’s very understanding if you tell him to back off though – will respect your boundaries (you just have to set them)

I actually don’t think James would be super into showering gifts all of the time, like he will absolutely buy you anything you want, but he’s not the kind of boyfriend to show up with gifts and trinkets or purses or new outfits/clothes/jewelry all of the time – at least not at first 

I think this is because he grew up always just having what he wanted/needed so never thinks of it? It’s only when he’ll go out shopping for a specific reason that he accidentally comes home with 293843209473 unnecessary things that made him think of you or that you’d like or that would look pretty on you etc. etc. 

He is 100000000000000% acts of service dude (at least in my mind)

Need the snow shoveled? Done

Need your oil changed? Done 

Need to run to the store for something? His shoes are on

He definitely had to wear you down (as he is the opposite of you…hopeless romantic + the person who thinks they’re unlovable etc, etc) 

In this day an age of consent and harassment etc, I don’t imagine him being the kind of guy who was like super annoying about it (even though you certainly got annoyed) but he was really polite about it

“Hi Y/N! fancy a trip with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“In your dreams Potter.”

“Got it! Have a nice week.”

And then a few weeks later he’d try again 

I think his 24/7 bubbliness freaked you out a bit – no one could ever possibly be that happy all of the time

He finally wore you down when you realized he could take things seriously

You’d gotten a rather painful letter from home and had secluded yourself into an empty classroom to cry in peace (this damn school is so big yet there’s nowhere to get some privacy!?)

“Y/N?” a timid voice from the doorway called to you

You sighed and tried to wipe the tears from your eyes in vain 

“What do you want, Potter?”

He walked into the room and sat down across from you “Are you okay?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes as fresh tears escaped you. “I think it’s pretty clear I’m not.”

He offered you a small smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and looked to the ceiling in an attempt to stop the flow of tears

“Don’t stop crying, not on my account, not if you’re not ready to.”

You looked at him in bewilderment before you realized his face was solemn and sincere

A sob escaped you 

Slowly, James moved from his spot across from you to take a seat beside you and just opened his arms – an invitation 

You considered the fact that there was a chance you would regret it, but you couldn’t deny how inviting his embrace appeared

THIS MAN GIVES THE BEST HUGS I’m sorry there’s no if’s and’s or but’s. even in his platonic relationships – all his friends are like “James is the best hugger and best cuddler”

He never pressed you to talk about what had you so upset that day – just to let you know that you always could talk to him if you needed to 

It’s like you saw him as a real human being for a minute: not a pureblood, not a quidditch player, not a marauder…just James.

It was refreshing 

You agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him that weekend 

It was a little awkward – you could tell he never really planned to get this far 

You asked him questions about himself, and he seemed to loosen up fairly quickly after that

He was so excited to tell you about his friends, his parents, childhood pets, career aspirations

You’d ask follow-up questions and found yourself laughing at different anecdotes or side stories 

Every time he’d answer one of your questions, he’d flip it back onto you

At first you thought he was making fun of you/being condescending when you’d tell a story because he was so, so, so into it. Like almost cartoonish in the way he dialed into your every word

You soon realized he was actually just so unbelievably interested in anything and everything you had to say and so grateful you were sharing with him

That never changed – he hung onto your every word throughout your entire relationship

He wants to be touching – all of the time 

Walking? Holding hands

Sitting beside each other? Shoulders/thighs/knees/ankles are connected 

Lounging on the couch? You’re on his lap

Studying? You’re sitting in the same chair and his chin is hooked over your shoulder

He’s a loud lover – aka, PDA, everyone who knows either of you knows that you’re together. He’s rarely seen in public without you and if you’re not there he’s probably talking about you

I could actually see James getting quite jealous/territorial 

He’d try so hard to play it cool at a party if you were sitting on the couch and some other guy started hitting on you 

He trusted you! He didn’t have to be standing guard at every given moment 

Everyone knew you were together anyway, it was probably harmless

Ain’t nothing harmless about his hand placement what the fuck???

And suddenly he’s sliding in between you and Slime Ball ™ as he’s now dubbed the arse who dared make a move on his perfect angel thank you very much 

Definitely the type to get into a fight if someone shoved you/bumped into you at a party or club

Especially if they didn’t immediately apologize to his sweet angel baby 

Fuckers 

He’d be talking about yours and his shared future home/life/family from nearly the very beginning of your relationship

He’d actually been imagining it for years before that, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud

He’d be the kind of guy to have children’s names picked out – he’d get so excited any time you said something like “awe, Aurelia, that’s a sweet name” and he’d write it down somewhere for future use 

James is absolutely the type of boyfriend where you’d never have to wonder exactly how they felt about you – you would know how treasured you are from the moment you wake up to the second you fall asleep

Sometimes, you’d even feel the depth of his love in your dreams 

[inkpot909]

First Love Headcanons: Pannacotta Fugo x Reader

↳ Gender neutral reader.

A/n: This was so much fun to write! Fugo is such an interesting character to write for that I couldn’t help but fuss over this one for a good while. I hope y’all enjoy it as well. <3

Warning(s): None.

It started out innocently enough, as Fugo is not the type to fall in love overnight.

Curiosity itself is a perfectly normal reaction to have regarding a new member of Bucciarati’s team. Fugo is no exception to this, as he no doubt harbored questions about you when you initially joined.

That said, his approach is different compared to the others on the team. If you join after Mista, Narancia, and Abbacchio, they do just fine on their own intimating you at the very start.

Past the initial meeting, where some lighthearted hazing is likely to occur from everyone, Fugo sees no reason to contribute to any form of poking and prodding outside of missions. You already have to get used to so many strong personalities at once, after all.

He’s been with Bucciarati since the formation of his team, so he’s quite accustomed to getting used to someone new being around. Hell, if he wasn’t so closed off, he would’ve thought to feel bad for you.

Due to the walls he’s long put up, he prefers to remain observant from afar for a good while. Regardless of when you enter the picture, he’s going to keep his distance.

He’s not as good at reading people as someone like Giorno, but he trusts what he can decipher.

This will likely result in Fugo making some assumptions about you prior to the two of you finding equal footing. Whether or not his judgements turn out correct is unknown to you, as he doesn’t care share them with you to begin with.

This does lead to some aspects of your personality to be surprising to him. Nothing bad, just little details about you that he wasn’t expecting.

Your hobbies may be what’s shocking, or perhaps the type of media you prefer to consume. Little aspects of life and personality that unfold because of how much time the team spends together. The discovery of such things is what likely makes him feel more inclined to get to know you better.

Little by little, Fugo will eventually start including you in conversations and vise versa. Especially when Narancia and Mista are involved, he begins to turn to you it in an attempt to keep himself sane:

Mista and Narancia’s relentless chatter is still intimating.

How can you even approach a guy like Mista? He’s more than proven himself to be the type that says anything and everything that pops into his brain. Although he is certainly the relaxed type, his words can be quite vicious if he’s in the mood to tease and you just so happen to be in his line of sight. Sit him next to a full-time enabler like Narancia, and the two can go off on pretty much any topic imaginable.

Their conversations at the dinner table are wild, spontaneous, and still- even after more than a month of knowing them -manage to catch you off guard. Sometimes it’s thought-provoking and other times… not so much.

Which leads to their current conversation, one you sincerely wish wouldn’t take place while you’re trying to eat.

“I’m just saying-“ Mista argues, waving his fork in the air, “If it promotes a soothing and relaxing environment within the human body, I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable that it could also theoretically resonate with your bowels as well.”

“Yeah, maybe-“ Narancia rolls his eyes, “But that doesn’t mean it’s gonna make you crap your freaking pants! That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous; it’s psychology.” Mista retorts, raising a brow. His smug expression does nothing to convince you, or a bewildered Fugo sitting next to you, his knowledge on the subject. But it is enough to grind Narancia’s gears, which ultimately, is probably the key to his actual intent.

Still… you think, staring at your food with a pinched nose. It’s the brown noise. They’re actually trying to prove or disprove the psychological effects of the brown noise. Why on earth… no, how on earth can either of them discuss such a thing with a straight face?

“What kind of messed up psychoglogy-“

“Psychology,” Fugo cuts in with a sigh.

“-Yeah, whatever,” Narancia dismisses with a wave of his hand, “What kind of messed up psycho-logically are you reading up on?”

Grunting in frustration, Fugo drops his forehead onto the table with an exaggerated thud. Mista and Narancia continue to argue amongst the two of them, but you instead direct your attention to the grumbling blonde.

“Umm… Fugo?” you ask, hesitant to even address him.

He raises his head from the table, looking at you with desperation in his dark violet eyes. “Please don’t tell me you think this is worth discussing.”

You raise both your hands in the air. “Are you kidding? I just wanted to eat, but apparently that’s unheard of here.”

Sighing once more, he runs his hand through his hair. His hand stops at his neck and rubs the back of it. “Trust me, I don’t get them either,” he shakes his head, hand finally returning to his lap, “I’m glad you don’t encourage this nonsense, though.”

You let out a chuckle, a little surprised. Sure, you’ve spoken with Fugo before, but hardly ever this casually. The notion brings a tiny smile to your face. “I can’t believe you’d ever think I would,” you reply lightheartedly.

“Well, hanging around these two must be making me lose critical thinking skills… my apologies,” he replies. Despite his words, a smile crawls it’s way onto his face too.

Casual conversations held between the two of you opens the door to the beginning of a genuine friendship.

Unlike Abbacchio, Fugo knows better than to be contrarian to everything you say and do just because you’re new. Considering his intellect, he has always done his best to be objective. And there eventually comes a point where, upon reflection, he figures that you’re alright.

By then, off missions, he started asking you- quite bluntly -questions about yourself.

Although forward, he won’t overwhelm you all at once. From time to time, you might catch him staring at you thoughtfully out the corner of your eye (Do not bring this up to him; he will deny it to his grave). A round of questions often followed his stares.

And it’s when he feels he really knows you on a personal level that he’s able to truly relax around you.

He started greeting you with the same kindness and courtesy he offers the others. He gave you encouragement throughout both your private and work life… a lot of it. Turning to you during conversations comes to be as natural as it is for anyone else on the team.

Fugo’s caring side may be blocked off behind walls he keeps up for the sake of self preservation and the result of an unhappy childhood, but once you’re allowed to peek beyond them, his sweetness really knows no limit.

And it’s through his behavior that developing feelings start to shine through.

Fugo’s not going to at all realize his feelings toward you until the truth is smacking him across the face. But his actions show a certain kind of fondness before he himself recognizes anything.

His expressed love languages are most commonly words of affirmation and acts of service. This is very much so the case in the early stages of him developing feelings.

The words of affirmation were never explicitly affectionate, but always careful and supportive.

Fugo beats himself up over his temper often, so when he can think straight, he’s using his mind to its full extent. In other words, because he’s easily blinded by rage, he chooses his words very carefully whenever he can.

So after a particularly rough mission, he may get upset at one point or another. During the quiet moments after the fact, when adrenaline isn’t flowing any longer, he always gives credit where credit is due. He’ll gently comment on your work throughout the job, expressing he thought you did good with examples to boot.

Or it can be something as simple as offering you a job well done after making yourself a dinner.

From always holding his tongue unless he disagreed with your actions or input, to showering you with praise constantly. It comes to him so naturally he doesn’t even think twice.

And soon, even others in the group start to take notice:

“I don’t wanna do this right now… Fugo’s not even here yet, can’t I just wait?” Narancia whines.

His head is resting on top of an open notebook, his right cheek squished against crumpled paper. Pencil lead is smushed on his cheek, but pointing out he’s likely ruining his work would be a waste of time.

Resting your elbows on the table, you give Narancia a playful smile. “He’s supposed to get here with Abbacchio in thirty minutes. You know you should’ve gotten more done by now…”

Narancia let out an obnoxious groan, rolling his head onto his opposite cheek so he no longer has to look you in the eye.

“Narancia…” you sigh, smile falling. “I’m sorry if it seems harsh, but Fugo asked me to make sure you practiced on his recent lesson. He and Abbacchio are out doing the heavy lifting for the team right now, so it’s the least I can do.”

Narancia replies, but mutters it out so quietly you don’t pick up on his words.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says at a volume you can hear, half bitter and half teasing.

“Narancia-“

“I said,” he lifts his head from the table, “You think like that ‘cause he’s always so nice to you.”

“What?” you blurt, heart skipping a beat.

“He compliments you all the time,” he chuckles. The smugness in his tone only grows, and as he continues, heat rushes to your cheeks. “‘Oh, Y/n, you did such a good job today, Y/n.’ And, ‘Oh, Y/n, you’re so very smart why don’t you help out Narancia?’ And who could forget, ‘Oh, Y/n, you look very beautiful today. Why don’t you kiss me on my big fat mouth?’”

“H-He doesn’t say that!” you exclaim, absentmindedly pulling at your fingertips underneath the safety of the tablecloth.

“You gotta know what I mean, though!” he insists. Pausing in order to read your expression, another laugh escapes him. “What? You haven’t noticed?”

“Umm, well.” Your lips pucker out, unsure if you should feel intrigued or embarrassed. After a short pause, you continue, “Fugo compliments everyone; including you… you know? He believes you can do this. He wouldn’t put care into teaching you if he didn’t. And I’ve seen what you’ve accomplished myself too. I certainly know you can get this.”

“You’re changing the subject,” he points out.

“And that not what you’re trying to do?” you ask, gesturing towards his notebook.

Narancia blinks dumbly, bewildered by your response. For a moment, you become pleased with yourself. Seemingly, you’d backed him into a corner and couldn’t help but be a little proud of yourself for it.

“You really don’t know…” he utters, eyes suddenly brightening.

Wait, what? you think, confidence quickly dwindling.

A fit of laughter erupts from him, kicking his feet in the limited space underneath the table. The movement halts your hands. His chair creaks and squeaks in distress, quickly quieting down when he once again slams both feet back on the floor.

He eagerly hunches over his notebook, eyes wide. Snatching up his pencil, he finally begins scribbling on the paper once more.

You’re left staring at him in awe. “What…? So now… you’re good then? You’re just… you’re just going to continue your work?”

Narancia lets out another laugh. “Ha! Well, the sooner I finish, the sooner I can tell Mista about this. I can’t believe you’re so clueless!”

Narancia is calling you clueless… yikes.

The confusion you may have felt that afternoon is nothing compared to Fugo’s reeling mind when the others started pointing things out and teasing him over his supposed affection.

Fugo doesn’t remember when it started, but they didn’t wait long after noticing his feelings to begin teasing him over them.

He would cross his arms, turning away with an annoyed expression while a pool of denials flood from his mouth. With a reaction like that, Narancia and Mista especially enjoyed pushing his buttons on the subject.

Abbacchio would partake in teasing as well in his own little way. Namely, he began making straight-faced comments and turning smug the moment Fugo’s voice raises. Bucciarati mostly keeps quiet on the matter, but no one could miss the fond grin he wears when the others get on his case.

Once, Giorno called you Fugo’s boyfriend/girlfriend. A bashed remote and a broken plate later, Fugo is shocked to learn Giorno wasn’t picking on him and genuinely thought the two of you were together.

The guy must be either super egotistical or is just not at all used to being wrong about this kind of thing, Fugo distinctly thought.

But of course he’s wrong about this! Everyone’s comments made no sense to him at all! There’s no way he felt that much towards you. That kind of thing… is not for him. He may take note when someone’s attractive, but he’s never really thought too seriously about romantic relationships. Just because you’re attractive, doesn’t mean-

Nope… nope, nope, nope, nope. He’s not touching that one with a ten foot pole. No way.

But by the next time he’s helping you with dishes the concept pops into his brain. When he’s dotting on you after a mission it’s plaguing his mind. And he can’t help but notice how meticulous he is when retrieving your additions to the group’s grocery list.

Shit.

Fugo doesn’t know what to think. He really… does go out of his way for you at times. Well, okay, all the time. Looking back, he finds some of his actions to be a little embarrassing. And the more the notion is stuck in his brain, the more he starts understanding that he really does care about you more than just as a friend.

Which is a whole other problem. Fugo’s going to get completely stuck in his own head.

This is the very first time he’s felt this way about someone, and he’s a mess over his lack of knowledge on the subject.

Because what the hell is he supposed to do? Tell you…? Don’t be ridiculous. That notion is met with a mocking tone, as if the mere idea of doing so is itself far too absurd.

But still… there’s this overwhelming urge telling him he has to do something. According to the others he’s already doing something, apparently. But you’re not saying anything about it. Wouldn’t you say something about it if you noticed? What if you never notice on your own? You won’t know unless he makes some sort of move…. but surely that would cause the sky to fall and mark the beginning of end times.

It’s a real echo chamber of insecurity in his head.

Yet… he feels a weird compulsion to be closer to you despite himself. He gets a weirdly beautiful feeling when he’s around you and it flutters his heart so much he doesn’t want to just let it go. It’s brand new to him, and as much as he stresses, he holds onto his affection tight.

Even though it’s more annoying than not, the others are consistent enough with their jabs that it gives Fugo hope that just maybe…

One of the only times Bucciarati explicitly commented on it himself, he mentioned that he believes Fugo’s frustration with his feelings will eventually pass.

The tone he carried indicated that he must know something that Fugo doesn’t, which only made his mind run wild further. Because if you’re going to tell anyone on the team about your feelings, it would probably be him.

Regardless of how much Fugo begs, Bucciarati doesn’t confirm nor deny that hunch. He’s rather adamant that Fugo should just “Ask Y/n and find out on your own.”

And after months of pushing, the others begin echoing that sentiment.

The likelihood of him making the first move is still slim, he figures, but he does hold onto hope that he’ll get a chance one day. Daydreams and “what if” scenarios are a common occurrence for him.

He procrastinates waits for the perfect opportunity, but it never seems to come. Mista mocks him for it, laughing that “There’s no such thing as a perfect opportunity.” Fugo only grows more defensive in response.

I’m already so nervous about expressing myself to Y/n, Fugo fusses, I don’t know what I’d do if I mess this up. If I can’t sweep them off their feet, how can I even-

“Pannacotta?” you ask, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He blinks a couple of times, focusing his attention back on you.

When Giorno is absent, Fugo’s the best source of first aid on the team. All you had to do was walk up to him, apologetic and sheepish. Without a word, he eagerly jumped at the opportunity to help patch you up after a particularly rough mission. It’s the closest he ever physically gets to you.

He calmly led you into a bathroom, gesturing for you to sit atop the sink. His fingers were light and gentle as he worked with what he has on hand. You gave him reassurance that Giorno will likely return soon, so he has no need to stress.

A smile played on his lips, thankful that you know him well enough to guess his own worry.

But slowing movements and focused eyes told you his mind began wandering elsewhere. The cutely taken aback expression on his face after you spoke up is also more than enough evidence to confirm your suspicion.

“You with me?” you ask, playfully trying to get him to respond.

You’re not used to him being this quiet after you’ve gotten hurt. He either talks you through the pain or feels the need to give a lecture. Even when Giorno’s healing you, he’s right by your side whenever he can. Just the thought of his usual behavior can bring warmth to your heart.

“My apologies, you’re just distracting,” he says, hands immediately snapping from your person. Oh god, oh god, it’s not like him to speak without thinking. He stutters trying to cover up his words and only digs a bigger hole for himself in the process. “I-I mean you’re distracted- I’m distracted.”

You laugh, but it dies out fast as you clutch your side at the sting of pain rippling though your body. Fugo’s hands instinctively fly to your side as well, his fingertips brushing up against your own.

Slowly, he lifts his head only to meet your gaze closer to him than it was mere moments ago. You seem just as surprised as he is, and there’s a brief pause while both of you wait for the other to pull away.

Neither of you do.

He’s so close he can feel your breath fanning his face. Normally his face would burn red and he’d retreat to his bedroom as soon as he could, where he’d proceed to reply the moment in his head for the rest of the night. But your eyes… your breathtaking gaze is locked on his own so intently he can’t bring himself to pull away.

And they give him courage he never knew he has.

With a nervous gulp, he leans forward and plants a single kiss to your lips. His own lips are unimaginably soft and hesitant, yet linger against your own longingly. Even when he pulls away far too soon, his nose nuzzles against yours as he plays with the idea of brushing his lips against yours again.

Just to have felt you… to have the briefest taste of what it’s like being closer to you than anyone else he’s ever known before…

“I-“ he pulls himself away, joy dissolving into self-consciousness. You open your mouth to speak, but in his haste, he cuts you off by accident, “I’m sorry… I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You… didn’t want to?”

Your reply is spoken in a whisper, voice so faint not even someone standing in the doorway could pick up on it. Fugo’s heart thuds against his ribcage at the crestfallen look on your face. Are you… really disappointed? He’s understanding this correctly… right?

There’s no time to think, and once again he lets his mouth move faster than his mind. “Well, I… you deserve better, you know?” he reasons, “I should’ve explained myself first and then asked… not just go for it… you know. This- I-… I’m not doing this right, aren’t I?”

You adjust yourself on the sink top, glancing away from him for only a second. “If you were to have explained yourself… what would you have said?” you gently plead.

“I-…” he shakes his head.

“Please, Pannacotta, I want to know…”

“I-…” he starts again, taking in a deep breath, “I think I would’ve said… that I think you’re very remarkable. That I’ve never met someone like you before… someone who makes me feel this way… someone who makes me-… umm…”

A hopeful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you finish for him, “Makes you… want to kiss me?”

He nods, clearing his throat for a couple moments too long. “Not just that, though… you know? It makes me want to take care of you and look after you if I may. I-I-“ he hesitates, “I’m sorry… I’ve thought about this for so long. What I’d say to you if… if I got the impression that you wanted to hear it.”

“I do want to hear it,” you tell him, still grinning from ear to ear, “Pannacotta… I’ve been wanting to say something too for a while now. But you’ve taken the words right out of my mouth.”

He would think he’s dreaming if it weren’t for your hand reaching out and holding his with a gentle squeeze.

“I like you a lot…” you softly confess, “And I need you to know that. It’s always really cute to see you so shy… but for a moment I got to see you push yourself a little. And I think that was beautiful.”

His head falls, staring down at your interlocked hands. Your words stir something within him, taking a tiny step forward in trying to grasp that burst of confidence he felt when he kissed you. “You’re beautiful…” he mumbles, squeezing your hand.

Just a quick glance your way, a brief view of the bright smile on your face, is the best reassurance he could’ve hoped for. He took the plunge, and not only is chaos not ascending to the world’s surface, but his eyes finally open to the affection you feel for him in return.

He ultimately had a love-hate relationship with the way he feels about you before anything concrete happened between the two of you, but that didn’t stop him for falling for you more and more.

And with hindsight, he’s a little timid over not having told you how he feels sooner. But it doesn’t consume him as it may once have before.

With you now at his side, you his and him yours, his heart can only flutter with joy at the prospect of finding his first love.

[impactedfates]

helloo there! can i request smth?? ^_^ could you do where the reader has crush on xiao but they are usually is very timid and shy/blushy around him.? they run away whenever he pops up! (xiao likes them back!) u can choose the rest tysm! :3 💗💗

★ A/N: Xiao is such a sweetie though, love him. I have him on my NA and he's like my only decently built character. I should really log back into there and take care of my characters.

☆ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Fluff + Mutual Pining

★ Format: Short Fic (W.C: 904)

☆ Warnings: None (I think?)

★ Extra: Reader is the same height as Xiao // Xiao might be OOC // Traveler Lumine // Reader not from Liyue -> Moved there to start a business (You can choose) // Might be a bit messy sorry!

Shy Away - Xiao x GN! Reader

“You called?”

Spoke the adeptus appearing behind you and the blonde traveller. You yelped a bit and was quick to hide yourself behind Lumine who sighed out tiredly. She looked towards Xiao and attempted to move out of the way however you continued to stay behind her. Paimon could only watch in disappointment, looking towards Xiao who was confused.

“OH MY ARCHONS JUST-”

“NO”

And with that, you were quick to rush off, leaving a very flustered Lumine and Paimon and befuddled Xiao (who if you looked closely enough, he seemed almost…hurt?)

How’d it come to this? To you requesting help from Lumine and Paimon to confess your love to Xiao, yet when it came time too. You ended up rushing away from him like always.

Oh right, now you remember.

A few months back, you had met with Lumine when she came by to celebrate the Lantern Rite. You already knew Xiao at the time, it’d be weird if you didn’t. He was one of the adeptus of Liyue of course. It wasn’t until Lumine introduced you two properly that you found out he also knew you.

He’s not only heard of you from Shenhe and Ganyu but also during his patrol around Liyue, he would catch himself staring at you just a bit longer than needed. He’d always brush it off as.

“They moved here to start their business, I’m only keeping watch because they might be dangerous”

As if it hadn’t been a couple of years since you moved here. Zhongli was the first to point it out and the ex-geo archon could only chuckle as he witnessed his adeptus face become redder and redder.

When you two did properly meet, the feeling you two already semi had for each other only grew. When you found out you were falling for Xiao, you just could not bring yourself to tell him right away…leading you to many situations…

~~~~~~~~~~

You hummed to yourself a bit, sweeping the floor. Your eyes caught onto a jade necklace Xiao had gifted you for your birthday, with a small smile. You went over and took hold of it in your free hand.

Unintentionally, you must have whispered his name as the next thing you knew, you heard someone behind you and gently speak out your name. And despite you knowing who it was, perhaps your body acted before your mind as you quickly whipped around and nearly hit Xiao with the broom. He ducked and just looked at you in confusion and concern.

“...Are you okay [Name]? Are you hur-”

“AH, X-XIAO SORRY. BYE”

Was all you could muster before dropping everything and rushing out…of your own home…

~~~~~~~~~~

“[Name]? Are you listening”

A hand waved in front of your face and when your eyes finally focused, your mind stopped the long day dream you had of how your life with Xiao could be like if you two were to date.

Then your eyes finally landed on Xiao who looked at you softly…his face inches away from yours, you fell back with a small yelp banging your head on the wall which Xiao was quick to check on you.

“S-sorry! I um, don’t w-worry about me”

“...You banged your head on the wall [Name]...are you able to answer what I asked you?”

“Oh! Yeah of course…yes I agree”

Xiao sighed softly, bringing a hand around to rub the back of your head to soothe the pain.

“I asked what flower was your favourite…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“[Name] wait!”

He called, as he witnessed you run away again. He didn’t even do anything, nor did you. You just wanted to give him lunch of almond tofu you made yourself.

But the smile he gave you and how gently he took it from your hand, the slight touch as his hands grazed your own softly was perhaps too much for you, and before he could thank you, you had already run off.

He looked down on the ground, not wanting to possibly bother you. Zhongli came and stood beside him.

~~~~~~~~~~

This isn’t even talking about all the times you nearly embarrassed yourself in front of him or the amount of times you ran off thinking that’s the best thing you can do.

You’ve talked to Lumine and Paimon about it and eventually they had convinced you to confess to him. You’d call his name so he’d appear and Lumine and Paimon will be there to support you in the confession, so that’s what happened!

Which brings you back to now…hiding from him once again. You sat under a tree as you tried to cool down your face which was increasingly heating up…until a hand felt your forehead.

“...You’re heating up a lot”

Came an all too familiar voice. Your eyes met with Xiaos as he looked at you. You weren’t able to run away anymore. Your back was met with a tree and Xiao was in front of you. And you couldn’t just leave him without another explanation again could you?

“Sorry”

“For what?”

“Running off”

“It’s okay”

Silence filled the air as you two didn’t know what to say, before Xiao cleared his throat.

“...Lumine…she uh…”

“D-did she tell you?”

“She did…she said she was tired of you shying away…”

You silently cursed Lumine under your breath, but at the same time you knew if she didn’t say then you’d never be able to confess properly.

“...S-so?”

“I love you too”

Been working on this ever since I got it, decided to work on the smaller requests as well on the side fsrght

I hope this is okay! I might've missed some mistakes though...

[bsxcrxts]

out of the woods yet // Steve Harrington x librarian!reader

chapter five

Summary: Steve and reader fool around in the library after he catches reader with a trashy romance novel. 

Content Warning: this is explicit!!! DNI if you are not 18+! more specifically this fic contains: thigh-riding, groping, teasing, fingering, a hand job, dirty talk, etc. no spoilers for s4! it takes place between s3 and s4.

Word Count: 3.2k !!!!

A/N: Well shit y’all I didn’t finish it before the premiere, but I’m only three hours late! The romance novel in question that Steve reads passages from is inspired by a real book, though technically that irl novel was written after this fic takes place lol. Also, I have changed the quotes to be cringier but the inspiration is there, so credit where credit is due. *cites smut in MLA format*

BTW: you don’t have to read the other parts first to understand this, but it’d be cool if you did! Here they are:

Series Masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve asks, mischievously grabbing the book that you’d just thrust quickly onto the book cart sitting by the front desk. Something about the way you practically threw the book out of your hands when you caught a glance of him approaching has his interest piqued. Steve knows he’s accidentally startled you a few times since he started coming into Hawkins Public Library after his morning shifts end at Family Video, where he had semi-successfully secured a job working with Robin after some clever conniving on her part, but he’s never seen you react like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar before.

Accidentally interrupting you with his presence while you’re off in your own world is nothing new for Steve. Before the two of you started hanging out regularly, and then dating, he’d see you close your sketchbook, journal, magazines and various novels once you spotted him entering the library, often with a bit of absent-minded urgency, as if you’re nervous that if you don’t stop and pay attention to Steve, he’ll disappear. After the two of you got closer, you’d sometimes show Steve what you were reading, writing, or drawing, and he’d sit and listen to your impassioned rambles about whatever was important to you the most at the moment, even when he didn’t quite get it, which was around half the time.

In fact, Steve has learned a lot about you. He’s learned your family moved to Hawkins at the end of May because of your parent’s jobs, one year before your brother was set to graduate from high school, and that you actually went to a university halfway across the country for two semesters before dropping out (you haven’t told him why yet; he doesn’t know if you ever will, and seeing as how college is a sore spot for both of you, he doesn’t press the issue). You played volleyball in middle school, you hate licorice candy, and you prefer The Beach Boys to The Beatles. Your family only has one car and you really hate driving it. In contrast, you seem to really love making out with him in his car when he takes you on dates after your shift. You got the job at the library because you prefer how quiet the environment is, and it’s Steve’s belief that you also were hired because you read faster than should be humanly possible, but he’s not sure if that’s just his opinion because he’s never been a quick study at school work. You’ve been attempting to convince him that reading can just be for fun, but Steve’s not so sure yet.

Or at least, he wasn’t sure before.

When he looks at the novel you’d scrambled to place on the book cart and he looks at the cover, Steve has to resist the urge to laugh. Not because he wants to make fun of you, but because the art on this book has got to be one of the cheesiest things he’s ever seen. There’s no way this thing has any academic merit. A scantily clad, muscular man with long, flowing locks clings onto the legs of a woman who is perched on a bed, her head thrown back in pleasure, her dress slipping off her shoulders, her breasts almost spilling out of her corset. The title is scrawled out in loopy, mock-elegant typeface in a bright, gaudy pink, and the tagline proclaims something about conquest and surrendering to love. He’d recognize one of these anywhere; a trashy romance novel, something grandmothers and aunts everywhere yank away from prying eyes and hide in their bedroom dressers.

Steve looks up, raises his eyebrows and smirks at you. “Scandalous,” he starts, unable to even get another word out before you start fumbling for an excuse.

“Someone just returned it,” you offer, folding your arms in front of you.

“Really?” Steve laughs.

“Mhm,” you affirm.

“Because I’m pretty sure I just saw you reading this.”

“I was not,” you say, mock offended.

“Then you won’t mind if I read some of it,” Steve taunts, “and see what all the fuss is about?” He starts to walk backwards, putting distance between himself and the front desk where you sat. He begins flipping through the novel, looking for any specific passages that might be more likely to make you blush.

You brace yourself and lean forward on the desk, obviously watching his every move. Good, Steve thinks, exactly how he likes it.

“Come back here with that,” you instruct, “I have to catalog it.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Steve jokes.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Come get it then,” Steve calls, already halfway across the room, “if you want it so bad.” He’s not sure he’s still talking about the book as he runs off deeper into the library. He’s fairly certain there’s no one else in the library anyway, because it’s near minutes to closing time, and the only sounds he’s heard are the banter between you and him; still he chooses to duck into one of the more secluded aisles. Steve waits a beat or two before he starts scanning the book more seriously, not ready to give up the game yet, identifying and turning to a dog-eared page that he hoped wouldn’t lead him astray just as you rounded the corner.

“What took you so long?” he asks playfully.

“I locked the door,” you answer matter-of-factly. Steve’s heartbeat kicks up, knowing that’s as good as your unofficial blessing to continue his shenanigans. “Are you gonna give it back now?” you ask. 

“Nope. Good that you locked the door though,” Steve continues. “Wouldn’t want anyone else hearing what you were reading in this naughty little book, I guess.”

“Steve–”

“Let’s see, here’s a good part. ‘He tore off the rest of his clothing, his gaze on his wife all the while–’” Steve starts. You lunge at him and swipe at the book, but Steve dodges and turns his body away, too fast for you. He watches the flush on your face grow even when you laugh as you miss your chance to snatch the book from his hands.

“Or how about this paragraph?” Steve teases, turning the page. “‘He thrust into her over and over, mindless now to everything but finding his peak. The bed rocked with his powerful thrusts.’”

You practically pin Steve to the shelf behind him with your body, pressing against him and grabbing at the wrist of his hand that held the book, though he easily breaks free. Steve’s already worked up at the idea of his girlfriend reading explicit romance novels, but with your body is firmly up against his own, and the way you’ve almost turned the tables on him, he’s halfway to hard as he wonders who’s actually in charge of the situation at hand. You’re still reaching for the romance novel that he’s now holding above his head to avoid letting you grab it. He glances up at the pages and keeps reading.

‘She knew she was falling apart in his embrace. She didn’t care. She called his name as ache after ache of pleasure washed over h–’ ohh” Steve cuts himself off with a moan. You’ve unexpectedly started kissing him, sucking a hickey into the junction of his jawline and neck, gently biting at the skin there. Between the friction of your body against his, and the feeling of your mouth on him, Steve’s brain short circuits, and he practically forgets instantly he’s trying to keep anything away from you at all. You stop kissing him when Steve relaxes, bringing his hands down to run along your arms. Steve is blindsided when you gently grab the book from him and stop your motions.

“There’s more than one way to get what you want,” you smugly murmur against his ear, tapping him on the chest with your newly-won prize. 

“That’s not fair,” Steve insists.

“Oh? You want me to stop?” you ask.

“Absolutely not,” Steve mutters against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss, hands grasping at your ass as you press even further into him, rolling your hips against his hardness, before you begin sliding a hand in between your two bodies, surprising him as you lightly squeeze the hard outline of his cock through his jeans.

“You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” Steve says to mask a whine, doubling down on tormenting you. “Reading a book so dirty at your job.” His jeans are so tight that he’s actually uncomfortably trapped in them, and he feels his cock twitch against your hand.

“I’m filthy?” you laugh, “You’re the one getting off on the thought of me reading those novels. That’s so perverted, baby.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting off to the thought of me, getting off on you,” Steve says, even though it hardly makes sense, even to him. He’s struggling to maintain conversation with you, and he quickly maneuvers the two of you to sit down at one of the tables next to the shelf so that he can get a second to breathe. You straddle his lap, perched on one of his legs. Once you’re settled, you kiss him passionately and rock on his thigh a little bit. Steve groans, feeling your warmth and wetness even through your clothing and his jeans.

“Condom?” you ask as Steve divulges you of your sweater, running his hands up your shirt and under your bra. He’s so distracted with touching your tits that he barely registers the question. When he does, he kicks himself for not thinking of bringing something like that with him at all times anymore. He blames his stupid dry spell internally, then shakes his head.

“Oh well,” you say, running a hand along his still-clothed erection, “you’re so big, anyways. Don’t know if I could even take it all unless you played with me first.”

It goes straight to his cock. You’re serious even though your tone has a teasing lilt, and Steve moans, partly out of surprise, but also because you’re really, really turning him on. His cock twitches embarrassingly violent in your cupped hand, and you unzip his jeans, rubbing him over his boxers as you grind your pussy into this thigh.

“You liked that, didn’t you? Wanna hear about how I daydream about your cock? So big, Stevie. I can tell.”

Steve’s had enough. He has to take charge of this situation before he creams his pants, and he’s rapidly approaching the reality of that being a possibility. 

“You daydream about a lot, apparently,” Steve snarks, batting your hand away from his dick. “I can feel how wet you are, did the book get you like this, princess?” He’s fishing for compliments now and he knows it, a tiny seed of doubt in his mind that maybe you’re not as into him as he thinks if you’re wasting your time on horny novels.

You shake your head. It’s not enough. He wants to hear it.

“Who makes you this wet?” he pushes you to answer as he grabs a hold of your hips and roughly guides you, forcing your clit to rub hard against his thigh. 

“You do,” you gasp. The admission makes Steve go crazy. He needs more, more, more, wants to hear every little dirty secret you have and then some. He never thought about the possibility you read cheesy, trashy romance novels, and now he wonders what else he’s never thought of that you’re into.

“So why don’t you sit there and grind on my thigh and prove it?” he smirks, leaning back into the chair and taking you with him. He pushes his boxers down, pulling out his cock with one hand and stroking it slowly, making a show of touching himself in front of you. His other hand wanders back and forth between touching your tits and guiding your hips. You lean forward to touch him, looking positively feral, your eyes blown and mouth open, but as tempting as you are, Steve doesn’t want you to touch him yet. He thinks he’ll spill in seconds if you do. 

Your body moves in sinuous rolls as you drag yourself along Steve’s thigh. He can’t see it, but he can feel that his jeans are ruined, you’ve soaked through your panties and are basically dripping on his thigh. He has no clue how he’s going to leave the building like this, but he isn’t thinking about that now.

“Better than your book?”

“Yes, fuck,” you swear. “Steve, please. I-I can’t– ”

Steve takes a moment to tease you. “What’s wrong? Can’t come like this? You need me, princess?”

“Fuck!” you cry out, grinding your cunt against him especially hard. Steve is playing with you, but you’re rapidly approaching the point of no return. “More, please, I need you.”

Steve finds that’s exactly what he needed to hear. He abandons his throbbing cock and uses both of his hands to assist your grinding motions, moaning as he watches your face screw up with pleasure.

Steve’s own heart is pounding in his ears, but he knows you have to be closer than him. Just to see what would happen, he bounces his thigh a little bit, leaning into you and sucking kisses into your skin.

“Jesus,” you choke out.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Steve echoes your words from earlier.

You’re too far gone to quip back. Instead, you delve into more whimpers and moans as Steve speeds up, bouncing his leg at rate that’s almost causing vibrations through your body. Steve watches as you get increasingly more desperate.

“Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop, oh, oh, oh!” you almost shout, and Steve can feel you clench around nothing as your climax hits you and you finish all over his thigh. It makes his cock leak, and he bites his lip to keep from coming himself. He lets you ride your orgasm out, falling forward into his arms, but then he can’t stop himself before he’s picking you up and laying you down on the tabletop. 

Steve leans over, kissing down your neck, before he strips your skirt and panties off completely. You’re still blissed out, clinging to him and sighing at every bit of stimulation he gives you. Steve can’t help but admire you, pushing your shirt and bra up as he runs his hands down your body and gropes at you. He thinks you’re maybe the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen like this, relaxed, but still needy, as you grab at him to pull him in for a kiss.

The way you lick into his mouth has him groaning. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve says against your mouth when he takes a moment to breathe. He has to tell you. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. You pull him in for another kiss, this time much sweeter than the last, and Steve knows you’re thanking him for his words.

“Think you can give me one more?” he asks when you pull away, already running a finger through your sopping folds.

“Mph! Yes!” you gasp, the stimulation sending shocks throughout your body.

“God,” Steve almost whimpers, “you’re being so loud. Can you imagine what would happen if someone walked in right now?”

He knows, logically, that can’t happen, since you locked the door. But the idea thrills him, and his cock is throbbing where it rests against your stomach, leaking pre and he’s maybe the hardest he’s ever been. The eroticism of the fact that the two of you have basically made it to third base at your workplace does not escape him as he pushes a finger inside of you and begins slowly thrusting. Your previous orgasm has you open and dripping on his hand, and he adds another finger almost right away.

“You wanna share me?” you ask, tentatively.

No, no Steve does not. He wants you all to himself, but he doesn’t think the idea of others catching a glimpse of you strung out on his fingers is too bad, especially if the point is to prove to everyone how much you’re into him. He shakes his head.

"Just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he growls.

“That’s hot,” you whine.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

He speeds up his thrusts. The sound of your pussy around his fingers is pure debauchery, and you clench around him as his mouth comes down to kiss and suckle at your breasts. Steve is lost to giving you pleasure; he doesn’t know how he’s managed to ignore how painful his dick is becoming as he’s denied himself in favor of chasing your orgasm, but the only thing on his mind is the urge to see you coming around his fingers.

He re-positions his hand to allow himself to rub at your clit and you tense up and bear down on his hand, grinding on him as he gives one, two, three swipes across your sensitive spot. This time he feels you fluttering around his fingers, imagining how you’d feel around his cock. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you finish, and the slight, stinging pain and marks he knows you’ll leave behind push him impossibly closer to the edge.

The moment you recover, he can’t help but begin to beg.

“Touch me, please,” Steve vocalizes his need, “I’m so, I-I need you to touch me.”

Steve nearly goes cross-eyed watching as you spit in your hand (he can hardly imagine you need to, he’s been practically dripping for a half hour, but it’s really fucking hot) and reach down to touch him. He’s leaning over you now as you lay on the table, stroking his hard cock above you and looking up at him adoringly.

“Been so good to me,” you coo, “I really wanna see you come on me, baby.”

That’s all it takes. Steve gasps and lets his eyes roll back, his cock twitching in your hand as he finishes across your stomach and chest, narrowly missing your blouse and bra. He’s not sure he’s ever come this hard as he practically sees stars; you keep touching him until he taps your hand away, signalling he’s had enough. He lets the aftershocks take over his body, almost collapsing on top of you before realizing he should let himself down beside you to avoid getting his own spend all over his shirt. A few moments later he notices you slowly sit up and cast your gaze towards him.

When the two of you make eye contact, he notices you stifling a giggle. 

“What’s funny?” he asks, smiling gently.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you laugh.

“Hey, you’re the one who started it by reading the dirty novel,” Steve winks at you.

“Mmm no,” you say playfully as Steve positions himself next to you, “I hadn’t even gotten to the explicit part yet. That is all you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course it is,” you say, leaning in and kissing him softly. Steve throws an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

“Speaking of,” Steve mutters. “Where did the book even go?”

The two of you glance back at the romance novel, lying not even a foot away on the table, its cover torn, and a suspicious wet spot painting half the pages.

“Shit,” Steve says.

You both burst into laughter.

[carakook]

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Although his tone isn’t accusing, you know what he’s really asking: ‘who the fuck is that?’”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘5. The Change in Seasons

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: Six months later, Y/N is trying to cope and move on from ending things with Jungkook, and she feels she has come a long way… or maybe she’s just in denial.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 10k+

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of mild sleeping pill abuse (no overdosing, more so using sleeping pills when you’re sleeping just fine.), heavy grief, mentions of infidelity, mentions of awful coping mechanism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, descriptions of nightmares, mentions of anxiety, mentions of mental health, metaphors involving religion (this story has no religious aspects just metaphors lol), let me know if I miss anything!

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: Bad news: chapter 5 ended up being 21k words long after I rewrote it and I could not fit it into one post. Good news: you get chapter 6 early for this reason! I’m sorry it has taken so long to get this out, and please forgive me for any grammar mistakes, but I really wanted both of these to go out asap and around the same time. Chaper 6 is being released sometime today, it’s finished, just needs to be formatted (I need to take a break for a bit lol.) Chapter 5 now consists of basically describing how coping with the aftermath of shit went for Y/N after everything was said and done, and how her life is going now. Chapter 6 is where it gets juicy, and you will see how Jungkook attempted to cope. I really hope you enjoy this, and I appreciate how lovely you’ve all been while waiting. Also forgive me for the lack of songs listed in each chapter… again I’m sort of just wanting to get these both out asap! Love you! 💜

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Hate You - Jungkook

♪Space Song - Beach House

♪Jealous - Eyedress

♪Go With the Flow - Queens of the Stone Age

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

Six months later.

"Y/N, I really do love you." "Suuure you do." "No, baby, I do, I always have. Wish you would stop questioning me like that." You shake your head at him, running your fingers through his hair as you do so. You know that he loves you, you stopped fighting it a while ago... but you still like to fuck with him. You like how he always is so damn persistent in letting you know that he fucking adores you. You cup his face as he remains hovered over you, both of you sweaty and smelling strongly of sex. You made love again, and it was just as beautiful as the first time. "I know, Koo, I know." You place the softest kiss on his lips, which causes his eyes to crinkle up adorably, his nose scrunching along with it. God, you really do love this man. Your flower. Your Bearded Iris. Your literal soulmate. Suddenly, you have cotton mouth, so you reach over to grab the bottle of water resting on the nightstand as he affectionately nuzzles into your bare breasts, the sheets pooling over the both of you like a satin dream. The dim lighting in your bedroom makes him glow, your golden boy. You could stare at him forever. Things are just so... peaceful. No anxious noises of the city, dark out, quiet inside other than the sounds of both of you breathing and speaking softly to each other. This is heaven, you think. Nothing gets better than this. Pure euphoria and bliss, except the bliss is no longer accompanied by guilt and the ugly green weeds made up of jealousy.

Comfortable and arm hues of red and orange fill the room thanks to the city lights filtering in and your arm bedroom lighting, much like the changing season outside. Autumn always was your favorite season, until you developed a taste for vibrant spring flowers. As you take a greedy sip of the water, you notice the potted plant on your nightstand... you don't know how you didn't notice it before. You lean up, causing him to whine and maneuver himself down, kissing your tummy sweetly. A bearded Iris, purple and white at full bloom resides in the plain white ceramic pot. You furrow your brows, reach over to touch the leafs of the flower. You can't recall how the hell it got here. "Woah... this is gorgeous, did you get it?" You question Jungkook as he continues peppering your body with kisses. "Mhm." That's it? Just 'mhm'? When did he get this? Why don't you remember it? One of your fingers grazes one of the bigger petals as the cogs in your brain start working way too hard. For some reason, the fact that you don't recall this beautiful flower really bothers you. "When? You didn't even say anything about it." He grunts at you, reaches up, grasps your wrist, and yanks it away from the flower. You flinch, because... What the fuck? "Don't touch it. Don't even look at it, Y/N. It isn't yours." His kisses turn into bites and he goes lower, once he reaches your pelvis he doesn't even warn you before he starts suckling on your clit. Something doesn't feel quite right. You put a hand in his hair, your confusion and anxiety is written all over your face. You yank his head up, and he glares at you, as if he isn't the one who just snapped at you over a damn flower. "Jungkook, what the fuck? What do you mean it isn't mine? What's your problem?" His eyes are blank as he stares at you, and his gaze slowly moves over to the flower. He clicks his tongue but stays in position as he speaks. "Look what you fucking did, I told you not to touch it." he nearly growls as he nods towards the flower. Zap. You look back at the flower, pulling the sheets up to your chest because you suddenly feel too vulnerable, out of place. Your blood runs cold when you see it. The petals start turning brown and dry, falling off of the stem of the flower. Wilting right in front of your eyes, quickly, as if your touch was fucking poison. It was so vibrant and pretty moments ago, and now it looks morbid. Zap. "Why the hell is it doing that?" "I told you not to touch, it isn't yours." Your gaze finds him again, you fight the urge to try and pick up the pieces of the pretty flower and try to siphon your light into it, to try and save it. None of what's happening makes sense. The lights in your apartment change from warm red and orange hues to dark and icy, blue and black like winter, and when your eyes find Jungkook and really look at him, you nearly gag.

Petals adorn his face, but he's cold. His honey skin is turning pale, and the petals are turning brown just like the Bearded Iris next to you. His face is still blank, not a single emotion behind his eyes. It looks like he's fucking dying, every time a petal falls off of his skin he gets paler and paler. What the fuck is happening? Zap, zap, zap. "Jungkook- I- what-" "If I loved you, wouldn't I still be here? I would've left her. I wouldn't have left you. You shouldn't have touched that flower, Y/N, it wasn't yours. Now look what you've done to me." You blink back tears because you don't understand what he means. You don't understand why he's being so cold suddenly... he doesn't look like him. He looks like a clone, maybe a shell, maybe even a fucking demon. You have no fucking idea what he's talking about. You reach up to swipe at your eyes, try to will the tears away because they are blurring your vision and making things too murky. When you do get clarity again, he's... gone. In between your legs, all that resides are brown leafs and petals, as if he was never here. You start frantically calling for him, grabbing at the sheets as if you may find him hiding underneath. Full on sobbing now, because he isn't here, and he just withered away right in front of you after saying such cruel things.

Zap, zap, zap, zap, zap.

You flinch awake, automatically start feeling around your empty sheets, trying to pick up those withered petals of the man you once loved so much… only to realize it was a dream. Another fucking nightmare.

Your very own personal hell created after you lost your flower.

To this day you get the zaps that you did the first day without him. And to this day it shakes you to your damn core.

After he left that last time, it was a mix of melancholy, relief, and a new kind of guilt. Relief because you no longer felt the guilt, it had been as if a weight was completely lifted off of your shoulders, rocks were taken away from your garden that sat on the soil and made your roots much too constricted to grow any more. But with the relief came a completely different kind of guilt.

Guilt that you felt relief at all, because if you love someone, why would you feel any relief at them being gone? You watched your flower be taken away by gardeners who didn’t know how to nourish him. That’s how it felt, anyway, when in reality he walked out on his own, respecting your wishes to end this. So feeling relief made you feel like scum at the same time. You loved this man and he loved you, he loved you so goddamn much. But he was weighing you down, and both of you became well aware that you would never flourish fully with the weight of him being married on your chest.

What you were doing was wrong. Ending it was right… right?

You grieved him heavily. It felt as if he died. As if even if you wanted to, you couldn’t reach out to him anymore. You couldn’t stare at his pretty petals colored in shades of you and him, you couldn’t touch them and water them and feed them. You couldn’t talk to him and hope your words fed him like food and encouragement to grow like you always did.

Although technically, you could. If you truly wanted to, you could have texted him or called him. Every night for the first two weeks, you would stay up and type long paragraphs to him declaring how much you regret ending it, how much you miss him, and how much you love him. Because you didn’t block his number at first. You couldn’t do it, it felt wrong. It felt like if you did that, you were severing the final tie that you would have to him. You didn’t have him on social media, so texting was really your only way of contact. Blocking him felt like it would be what really made this all real.

You felt like if you blocked him, surely he would keel over and die of a broken heart once he realized and finally tried to reach out again, because you knew damn well this man would reach out again at some point.

Which is ironic, because on the fourth week, an exact month later, he did reach out. You suspect maybe it was on accident, because he sent a long ass paragraph confessing how much he regretted it, how much he loves you, how much he misses you, and how much he hates his wife… but following the paragraph, he promptly apologized. Said it was an accident.

Before he deemed it as an ‘accident’, you were ready. You started typing back an acceptance, asking to see him again, borderline begging to see him again. But him admitting he didn’t mean to actually send it made you pause.

Made you realize how dangerous this man really was.

This was the night that you blocked his number.

And holy fuck, that made grieving ten times worse. Because now there was no string tethering you together. The very last root that kept you both twined together was ripped apart. He was like a ghost now, just a memory. Nothing in your life tied you to him other than the mementos he left behind.

The mementos which you obsessively held onto each day. You looked at the pictures he left every single day several times a day, you would literally just stare and cry. The chain he left remained on your neck like a god damn collar, you refused to take it off as if it was branded into your skin. You showered with it on, slept with it on, never took it off. The clothing he left you wore frequently, and you refused to wash them. But overtime, his scent faded. It faded into your own scent which made you question your sanity, because the less you smelt him on his jacket, hoodie, and shirt, the more you questioned was he ever even real?

Or was this all some fucked up delusion you made up out of loneliness and desperation to feel loved by someone? To love someone?

The dreams made it worse. Every single goddamn night you had dreams about him. It started out as good dreams, the kind of dreams that were reliving memories or making fantasies of forever come alive. Both of your flowers were immortal and at full bloom in these dreams, and it was the only moments of happiness you had. The only thing you could do to feel better was sleep, and so you did.

You slept as much as you could. On your days off of work, you would take sleeping pills that you didn’t need, and you would sleep 14 hours at a time, just to have these dreams and feel close to him again. Dreams of making love over and over, gardening together, cooking together, living together, getting married, having little babies that looked just like him, a complete fantasy world that you made in these dreams that provided solace.

But when you woke up, it was like the grieving process never progressed. It never got better. It only got worse. And in the back of your mind you knew how unhealthy it was to be sleeping so long, you knew that you were technically abusing sleeping medication, you knew that you were putting your job at risk by waking up late every single damn day and being late to work too, and you knew that your mental health was degrading.

You were fucking torturing yourself but you didn’t know how to stop.

After you blocked him though, it’s like the dreams morphed. They changed completely, turned morbid and disturbing. You have no idea why, maybe because in some way, you still were holding onto those rose colored glasses and refused to acknowledge the bad parts of the relationship you had with him. But severing that last point of contact seemed to have bring light onto the guilt you felt while you were with him, the jealousy, the misplaced possessiveness that he never even knew about.

Much like the dream you had tonight, the dreams were weird and distorted. They always started out sickly sweet but ended on a bitter note. Ended with him disintegrating into a pile of petals after proclaiming he was never yours and never would be.

This is when you stopped sleeping all together. Instead of taking sleeping pills that you really didn’t need and sleeping for way too long, you quit those pills cold turkey and started to develop insomnia. Quitting sleeping pills after taking them for an entire month should have been done slowly, because your body becomes dependent on them. If you quit them cold turkey, it prevents your body from producing the chemicals it needs to sleep, often leading to temporary or even a permanent case of insomnia. So you just started staying up. It was so easy, too. So easy to be tired rather than have those fucking nightmares.

If you did sleep, it was 2-3 hours at a time because your body couldn’t take being awake any longer. But you never allowed yourself to sleep for long, you simply couldn’t sleep peacefully. The moment the nightmares would begin, you would force yourself to wake up. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, and then you’d cry for fucking hours. You’d feel guilty and jealous over shit you should’ve gotten over by now.

Sometimes, on really bad days, his wife would appear in these dreams too. And it fucked you up. A faceless woman would catch you in bed with Jungkook, and she would scream and cry and yell, blame you for ruining her marriage and her future, and then Jungkook would become faceless too. As if you never really knew him.

Things became bad, to say the least. Three months into grieving, heartbreak, fucking hell on earth, you were very unwell. And it became noticeable to those around you.

Which was arguably the worst part, because no one knew what was wrong or what was going on. Obviously you never told anyone about Jungkook, why the fuck would you? Sleeping with a married man and falling in love with him isn’t something to brag about. As much as he was your most treasured memory, he was also your most dirty secret. You doubted if you did tell anyone, they would feel any sympathy for you. Especially considering you continued to sleep with him after finding out he was married. You did this to yourself, really. No one feels sympathy for a fucking home wrecker.

That’s what you felt you were. A home wrecker, a mistress, the other woman. This wasn’t some case of you being fucked over by some sleazy guy who hid his marriage from you, you were both at fault, you both did wrong, and you felt like you deserved to suffer in silence. So you did.

You didn’t go out with your little group of friends anymore, you constantly made excuses and told those around you that you were fine, just a little depressed. You hid it well… until you didn’t. It became fucking impossible to hide when you felt like you were dying on the inside.

You work at a little art studio/store downtown, it isn’t much but it pays the bills and you’re happy doing it. You were, anyway. You were designated to instruct the themed classes that are hosted every night. You aren’t a professional by any means, you just love to paint, you love art, and you used to love seeing the lovers and families come in to have fun and learn how to paint silly little pictures with you.

But during the grieving process, you became noticeably bad at your job. You would show up late to the morning classes, you weren’t selling as much art supplies as you used to, and the night classes are what really started fucking you up. The night classes were normally full of couples who were on dates… dates you never got to indulge in with he-who-shall-not-be-fucking-named.

You would become bitter during these classes. Previously you were peppy, a bit funny, and very encouraging to those who wanted to learn. But you became dull. Of course you didn’t take out your feelings on these innocent customers, but the classes just weren’t as fun for the people paying for them.

Your coworkers noticed heavily. Your boss isn’t a bad guy, but he knew something was very off with you. The girls you worked with also noticed, more specifically Sohee who had continuously asked you if you were ok and tried to get you to confess what the fuck was causing you to become a lifeless zombie who had nothing but guilt and bitterness behind her eyes.

Your performance and constant attendance issues should have gotten you fired, really. You were almost betting that your boss would fire you at some point. But he didn’t, instead he awkwardly begged Sohee to get to the bottom of what was going on because even if you were sort of shit at your job at the moment, he was mostly worried. Everyone was worried, and you never even realized it.

Never realized how fucking obvious it was that this was heartbreak caused by love.

Of course you didn’t tell Sohee outright. You refused to. You were going to take this shit to your grave, you swore it. God and satan and Jeon Jungkook would be the only ones who knew that this shit ever happened.

Until she took you out for drinks, and you got shit faced drunk and spilled your dirty soil all over the place for her to see.

All it took was three bottles of soju and seeing a couple making out in the booth across from you to make you confess it all. Sohee listened, and you were sure she was going to chastise you and call you a dirty home wrecking whore after you were done.

But she never did. She only listened and consoled you.

She didn’t make you feel guilty and she didn’t undermine your feelings. She rubbed your back and wiped your tears like the Angel she is, and she told you it was ok. She told you that sometimes mistakes are the best things that can happen to us, even if they’re supposed to be mistakes. She held your hand and coaxed you out of the dirt, wanted you to see that your feelings were valid and you didn’t have to feel guilty for them.

On the other hand, she was also brutally honest. She asked curious questions, and when she found out you had been ‘grieving’ for nearly three months now, she scolded you. Not because what you did was wrong, but because you weren’t taking care of yourself. You were fucking torturing yourself and it wasn’t ok.

Everyone grieves after breaking up. That’s normal. Although this technically wasn’t a breakup, it somehow felt much worse because of that very fucking reason. It wasn’t a breakup, but felt like one.

What isn’t normal is never making progress in grieving. Instead of getting better and moving on, you stayed stagnant. Everything around you was changing, spring turning into summer and then turning into autumn, leaf’s changing from vibrant to warm and muted, people and places moving on about their days all while you stayed stuck in the same exact spot in your own head. A self made prison.

She explained how it wasn’t normal, how you probably needed to get help. How it’s ok to feel this way, but it isn’t ok to neglect and torture yourself. You needed help, and you knew it, you weren’t coping properly. But you were also stubborn.

Because despite being fucking sick with grief for Jungkook, you were also worried. You swore in your head that he wasn’t ok. Fuck, what if he’s actually dead? What if he’s being dumb? Is he even taking care of himself? How badly is her hurting? What if he’s lonely?

The main reason you couldn’t move on is because, again, guilt. It fucking plagued you still, but it was different. You convinced yourself that he was just as unwell as you, he fucking must be. Which made you feel as if you weren’t allowed to move on and try to be happy, or even ok. You tortured yourself for both selfless and selfish reasons. You didn’t know how to stop.

That same night, you stayed at Sohee’s place. She was determined to knock some damn sense into you. You weren’t super close prior to this, but she genuinely could not stand seeing you so dead inside. She felt awful for you, and she was a good friend. Sometimes good friends have to be a bit harsh to get through.

So as you were on her couch sulking, watching TV, she asked questions about Jungkook. You didn’t think anything of it. You rambled on and on about Jungkook, assuming she was just letting you get it all out. You didn’t think anything of it when she asked for his full name and birthday, or when she asked you to describe what he looked like, or when she asked what his occupation was.

But boy, the moment she shoved her phone in your face while you were rambling on and on about how he reminded you of a flower, you suddenly regretted telling her anything.

“You need to get your shit together, because he’s doing just fine.” She told you, and at first you refused to look. Because you didn’t want to know what was on her phone screen.

What would be the damning evidence that you’d been torturing yourself while he was actually moving on, rather than suffering with you.

But she was just as stubborn as you were, and she made you look. You did. And you swear a part of you healed and broke all at once.

You have no idea how the fuck this crazy bitch did it, but she found his wife’s Instagram. Finding his account is one thing, but hers? The faceless woman who was haunting your nightmares and accusing you of ruining her life? The faceless woman who now has a face and a name and an entire fucking life for you to see?

A life with your flower, your lover, your ultimate fucking demise. All right in front of you.

You were silent as you scrolled. So many curiosities that you held in the past were now answered. Such as how she looked… and she was gorgeous. She had wavy honey blond hair which was clearly dyed but looked so perfect on her, most of her pictures she had blue contacts in that hid her pretty brown eyes but still somehow made her look ethereal, she was fit with the perfect body, her makeup was natural but flawless… she was flawless in every way.

You gathered that she is a journalist that specializes in fashion. She’s often traveling just as Jungkook used to claim when he was with you. She goes to fancy fashion shows and takes pictures and writes articles. So professional and put together in every way.

Nothing like you. And at first, you caught yourself comparing yourself to her harshly. Wondering what she had that you didn’t…

Until you scrolled to her most recent posts.

And your lover stared at you through the screen mockingly.

First you saw a picture of them kissing. Jungkook was smiling onto her lips. The caption reads ‘He flew us to LA just so I could see Coachella’. This was posted two months ago.

Two months ago… not long after you ended things.

Two months ago when you were crying so hard that you couldn’t breathe or see, calling out for him to come back to you… while he was at fucking Coachella with his wife.

Was he ever even grieving? Did he ever even care?

You silently scrolled on, and one more post is all you fucking needed.

Posted today, another picture of them kissing, on a yacht at night. ‘Throwback to our honeymoon, can’t believe it was 3 years ago, he’s taking me to Japan for our anniversary to recreate it!’

He went on a fucking vacation while you were on your coworkers couch babbling about how much you love and miss him and how he’s prettier than a flower.

How fucking shitty does that feel?

The emotions happened quickly. You felt resentment, jealousy, anger, maybe even hatred towards them both. You had been suffering for months while he was at Coachella after you fucking blocked him. You had been worried this entire time when he had been doing just fine all along.

It felt like he did you wrong in a way… but those feelings went away just as quickly as they came.

Because this is what you wanted. As much as it fucking stings, you literally told him ‘love your wife more’. You meant it. Not just for his wife’s sake, but for his. He didn’t want to leave her, so he should at least try to love her again. Fuck, all you wanted was for him to be happy.

No matter how jealous or bitter you felt at actually seeing him happy, it brought you a sense of peace knowing that maybe he wasn’t suffering like you assumed. Maybe he was happy. Maybe he was ok. Maybe his wife did love him and was nurturing him back to health without even knowing it.

It didn’t make it hurt any less, but it really did give you a bit of clarity.

Of course you cried about it. Fuck, you cried and cried and cried, enough to water an entire bush of flowers at that point. The only difference was this time, you weren’t alone. Sohee was with you, consoling you through it, letting you vent your feelings and frustrations. Letting you grieve.

But this time, you want to grieve proper. If he’s happy, you deserve to be happy too…

You are so thankful for Sohee because without her, you’re sure you may have withered away completely.

Shortly after this new sense of clarity, Sohee started helping you slowly pick up pieces of yourself. Petals and leafs and vines and roots, all scattered amongst the dirt, all slowly started gathering together.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to put these pieces back together. You can’t nurture a flower back to health once it’s died, after all… but you can start fresh.

You and Sohee became good friends, she helped you find healthier coping mechanisms, let you cry when you need to, let you vent when you can’t keep it in anymore, and most importantly she let you share the good memories you had with Jungkook. She never made you feel guilty, she just listened. And you are so fucking thankful for that.

And as time went on, you did get better slowly. After seeing what you saw, it was much easier to feel ok with trying to be happy. The guilt was mostly gone at this point, and all you wanted was to focus on yourself. Your sleep slowly got better, the nightmares slowly went away, and although you aren’t the same, you aren’t as dull either.

You start painting again, painting has always been one of your favorite things. You used to paint all the time, mostly portraits of those you loved… portraits of him after you first met became your favorite thing to paint. All of those are tucked away in a closet now though, along with the many pictures you have of him, because you don’t need any reminders of him of you can help it. Which is kind of a contradiction considering your favorite thing to paint now is flowers… but we don’t have to talk about that.

It takes time to heal and grieve after you cut the chord with someone who you swore you’d live and die with. It takes extra time when you never really started to move on to begin with. But you do start healing. Maybe you aren’t as social as you once were, maybe you’re lonelier now, maybe you’re starting to realize you still don’t know yourself quite as much as you thought you did.

But you’re making progress… slowly. No longer a flower that’s at full bloom, but also no longer a flower that’s wilting. Just a seed, your own seed that you water and care for rather than relying on someone else to do it for you.

And although you are now the one taking care of your own flower, Sohee is helping. Rather than relying on someone to water and feed your plant, you’re doing it together. You water, she feeds. Vice versa. Teamwork. Progress. You aren’t codependent, you’re just accepting help from a friend that you swear is an Angel sent from above. You are so thankful for her.

She pushes you, too. After she sees you started to paint and do ok at work again, she pushed some more. She constantly tried to get you to go out, meet new people, meet new guys specifically. Something that made you feel sick to think about, but also you slowly started missing having someone to love on. Someone to share affection and laughter with that wasn’t just a friend. You knew she was right, even if you didn’t actually date someone, it would be great progress if you actually put yourself out there and were open to the idea of letting someone in romantically, even just a little bit.

Someone who’s actually available for more than secret trysts.

Which is why you let Sohee set you up on a date. You’ve grown to trust Sohee heavily, maybe a bit too much. But fuck, no one can blame you for that when she is the one who dug up your dirty secrets and instead of judging you, helped you through it. She comforted you when you didn’t know how to comfort yourself. So you trust her judgment heavily, and if she thinks you should try to date, you think she’s right.

And Sohee has great taste in men, you’ve seen it first hand. She’s shared various stories with you about her hookups and exes, and the girl has similar taste as you, maybe just a bit more adventurous. A blind date with a man of Sohee’s choice doesn’t sound so bad.

You really didn’t expect the date to turn into anything, or even be enjoyable. You mostly did it because it was a step in the right direction of fully moving on. You were planning on trying to put yourself out there, sure, but you never planned to actually like the guy.

You didn’t expect Sohee to set you up with a man who looked like he could be a fucking model. You didn’t expect him to be your exact type. And you didn’t expect him to be so goddamn sweet and put together.

The moment you saw this man you knew you were in trouble. The moment he opened his mouth, you also knew you were in trouble. You were fucking terrified at the prospect of actually liking someone other than Jungkook. Even just being attracted to someone else felt wrong…

Shit, most days looking at your dildo felt wrong. You couldn’t even fucking use it.

So you were a bit of a nervous wreck when this man picked you up to wine and dine you. You weren’t nervous before you saw his face or heard his voice. But you were once you came face to face with him, it was as if he had a sign on his head that said ‘MOVE ON Y/N’, bright and neon, mocking you the entire night.

But as the night went on, you found this man wasn’t quite as intimidating as he seemed. He asked questions, wanted to get to know you, seemed genuinely interested in you as a person. He was nice to look at. Was pretty to listen to. He didn’t act bored either when you didn’t ask him questions, in fact, he answered the silent questions in your head without you even asking.

He could tell you were nervous, and although he didn’t know the true reason behind it, he thought it was adorable. Thought to himself, thank fuck for Sohee and her pretty friends. Because he was genuinely enamored with you.

He didn’t see the wilted flower that Jungkook did, or the dead flower mocking you every time you looked into the mirror. He saw a pretty little wildflower that he wanted to pick and take home with him.

You learned quite a bit about him that night despite never really asking. He worked in marketing for a fashion design company, fairly close to where you work, a 9-5 that gave him weekends off and paid vacation, full benefits too. He had a dog named Simba who he loved like a child. He didn’t have many hobbies but he did enjoy bar hopping and hanging out with his group of friends who he talked fondly of. He takes good care of himself, cares about his appearance and fashion choices, takes pride in being handsome, even has a fucking skincare routine that he talked about for nearly five minutes… but he’s still humble somehow. Doesn’t seem narcissistic or conceited, just sure of himself. Confident. He knows his worth, but also knows his place.

You really liked that, considering you haven’t been quite so confident lately.

He has a friend who he called Tae that he speaks highly of, you can tell he loves his friends dearly. He described him as a big teddy-bear-man-child, which makes him seem very loveable. Apparently they don’t exactly share the same friend group but they come together often.

His relationship history… he was kind of vague. He said he has had a few serious relationships, but they never last because the woman loses interest in him, and he hasn’t actually dated in nearly two years, but has had casual flings…

This could be seen as a red flag. Or… maybe he was hurt, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. You know damn well how that feels, in fact, he asked you about your dating history, and you were incredibly vague.

What were you supposed to say? ‘Ah, well, every relationship I have had so far failed, but I was with one guy who I loved more than anything in the world, but it didn’t work out because he was married. Oops!’

Yeah, no, fuck that. It was hard enough being honest with Sohee, she had to get you drunk for you to even confess. There’s was no damn way you were going to tell him.

You didn’t lie. You just said you were in a bit of a situationship with someone you grew feelings for, and when it ended it hurt very badly. Vague, but true. He doesn’t need to know details.

He never even asked for details, which surprised you. In fact, he said “It’s ok, we don’t have to rush into anything, I get it. But try to be open with me, yeah? I really like you so far.”

Too good to be true. Or maybe, just maybe, Sohee sent you an Angel in disguise, one she met while she became an Angel herself. Maybe he really is a good guy, and you got lucky for once. Maybe your karma for the things you did with Jungkook was your suffering in the beginning of grieving, and now you have a chance to redeem yourself.

You were tempted to cast him out after this night together. Because you were afraid. What was the catch? What was he hiding? Is he a serial killer? Is he even real? Are you making up these men in your head or something?

You had a decision to make: you could make the decision to take more time for yourself, count this as you putting yourself out there… or you could give him a chance. See where it goes.

You chose the latter.

You explained to him as he walked you to your door that you weren’t ready for something serious, but you enjoyed spending time with him too. And he was ok with that. He said he’d like to take you out again anyway, and you agreed.

An easy routine began after this. The dates following the first one were tame and relaxed but always so nice. It was sort of healing in a way, honestly. He was so kind and always went at your pace, let you control everything. He’d be the one taking you out, but you got to set the pace. He never tried to kiss or touch either, never pressured you to move things faster. Eventually you started spending every weekend together, and often weekdays too. He’d bring you lunch or dinner at work and eat with you, he’d visit your apartment, sometimes you’d even go to his. You started spending the night together, he left his toothbrush at your apartment and you left yours at his.

This all happened within the span of the last few months, so maybe it was a bit fast, but you just did things as they felt right.

And yes, eventually you kissed. Eventually you touched. Eventually you fucked. And you were surprised that you didn’t feel guilty after. You felt… fine. The sex wasn’t out of this world, it was fairly vanilla, but you actually managed to finish and feel good about it afterward.

You think a lot of that had to do with the fact that you were touch starved, hadn’t been with anyone since that last night with Jungkook. Ironically, also like an addict quitting cold turkey. You went from getting touched and fuck at least three times a week, to nothing at all. Could barely even touch yourself properly. But also… he was good in bed. He was fine. It wasn’t too much or too little and he paid close attention to the way your body reacted, he didn’t just act like a wild animal chasing release like most men do.

The day you slept with him was the day you stopped thinking about Jungkook so much. It was like as time went on and you broke these little boundaries for yourself, little petals you held onto flew away with the wind. The petals weighed barely anything, but felt like they weighed the same as bricks.

Did you forget about him? Fuck no. You never could. You still think of him daily. You wonder how he’s doing, if he’s ok, if he’s happy… if he thinks of you too. But it isn’t compulsive like it once was, he doesn’t consume you. He’s just a memory you go back to.

Or maybe you’re in denial.

Because even then… you still wear his chain, you still sleep in his shirt, you still wear his hoodie around the house, and as the months grow colder, your jacket remains the cozy Calvin Klein denim that he gifted you.

You still look at the pictures, maybe not every night, but often. Relive the memories. Wonder if he does the same.

You still stalk his wife’s Instagram. Not obsessively, but every now and then you’ll check to see if she has posted more pictures of them. And most times, she hasn’t. But there are a few new ones… pictures of him smiling that scrunched up smile you’ve always loved, pictures of them together, and pictures of her alone. A reminder to yourself that you have no place in his life… that’s the reason for doing it you chalk it up to, anyway.

And every damn time Seojoon brings you a bouquet of flowers, which is weekly, you can’t fucking help but think of your Jeon Jungkook.

So… maybe you are in denial. But also, you’re coping, you’re moving on. You haven’t fully let him go yet, you’re not sure if you can, but you have been doing fine. You’ve been closer to happy than you have been ever since that last night with him.

He isn’t consuming your thoughts and feelings like he was in the beginning, but he is still very much there in your heart. Despite his petals floating away, some of his roots remain underneath the soil. He’s there… but not.

Which is why tonight’s dream has you so fucking shaken up.

You haven’t dreamed of him in months now. Ever since you started coping more healthily, the dreams faded along with the hurt and resentment. No nightmares. No dreams. Nothing. Just peaceful sleep.

You lay there panting, trying to calm your heart rate down by thinking of things that aren’t him. You look at the clock and realize it’s only 8pm, you barely even remember falling asleep so early. Seojoon agreed to come over after work tonight, but had to stay late at the office to finish some project or something. You must’ve dozed off waiting for him.

You don’t want to start the cycle again, but fuck, you sure as hell won’t be going to sleep again either. Not until Seojoon gets here, anyway.

Things with Seojoon remain smooth, uncomplicated. You’ve been seeing each other for a good three months now, and although there is no title to what you are, you’re basically dating at this point. You wouldn’t call him your boyfriend necessarily, but also you’re exclusive to him.

You like how things are. It’s nice. It’s not stressful, and you don’t have to hide. So when you have the sudden impulse to push him away and tell him you need space, you keep repeating in your head that you can’t let one nightmare fuck it all up. It was just a nightmare.

That’s all.

Instead of isolating like you normally would, and texting Seojoon to tell him not to come, you get out of bed and take off the oversized CK T-shirt and put on your dedicated painting T-shirt which is stained in various colors of paint, far too vibrant for the mood you’re currently in.

You set up the corner of your room as you always do, break out your easel and canvas and various paints, put on your painting playlist on Spotify, and you tell yourself that this is coping. This is a healthy way to cope. No, it’s not dwelling, it’s coping.

It’s coping, you’re sure.

You’re totally not freaking out about the fact that your flower became faceless in this dream, or that he was incredibly angry and cold towards you, or that he ended up disintegrating right in front of your fucking eyes again.

You’re totally not worried that you forgot what he looked like. Not at all. This is just coping.

And so you paint. You don’t really know where you’re going with it, and try to ignore the fact that you are trying to paint a portrait of someone who is now a ghost to you from memory alone. You don’t think of anything, really, you just let your hands move on their own accord.

You have no idea how much time passes before you’re standing before the painting you’ve created, questioning it. Pretending that you can’t quite remember how the eyes or mouth are supposed to look.

You know. You know well. You haven’t forgotten his face, the nose you’ve painted onto the faceless man is proof alone that you have not forgotten. Such a unique nose, a bit big, pointy, perfect in the most imperfect way. How could you forget such a beautiful piece of art carved by god himself?

It’s quite the opposite, really. You stare at the painting for a long time hoping it starts to distort. Hoping that you won’t recognize the single feature you’ve managed to capture. Hoping that somehow, someway, you’ll remember a different set of eyes and lips and beauty marks that don’t belong to the nose staring at you right now.

You start to feel a bit crazy, honestly. This faceless man with only a nose and petals falling off of his skin seems almost too real. Too close. It’s been over half a year now that you’ve seen him, yet here he is fucking haunting you after you swore you were over him.

You are, you still swear. You have to be.

You take your paint brush and glob a streak of bright red paint on it, you’re ready to destroy the canvas because for some fucking reason it won’t distort. You can’t stand looking at it anymore. So you huff, bring your paintbrush to the canvas and—

“That’s gorgeous.”

Fuck.

You slowly turn your head to see Seojoon standing against your bedroom door frame. Suddenly, you sort of regret giving him your spare key, because if he hadn’t spoken up sooner, he would’ve just witnessed you defiling the goddamn painting as if it killed your family. He would’ve thought you were psychotic.

“Ah, thanks. I was just messing around with some ideas I had…”

He arches a brow at you, and even his eyes find the painting again. You nearly feel yourself break a sweat, because what if he asks questions? What if he realizes this wasn’t just you messing around like some quirky art girlie, but this is an actual person you’ve painted?

The same person you vaguely told him about. The man that was never yours, but somehow is still managing to fuck with your head. If he caught on, he may ask questions, and you can’t explain. You’d have to lie.

That’s how you feel, anyway. And you can’t have that.

He lets out an intrigued sigh as he pushes off of the door frame and takes his blazer off, makes his way towards you. He stands right behind you, encircling your waist in his arms and resting his chin on the top of your head, just like Jung—

“That’s very intricate for just messing around babe. What’s it mean?”

He doesn’t sound accusing when he asks, just curious. Seojoon is always curious to know what goes on in your head, especially when it comes to the way you express yourself. And he has no fucking idea who is in this painting, if it’s anyone at all, but he knows he gets an odd feeling in his stomach when he looks at it.

You merely shrug in response as you put your paintbrush down and lean into his touch. This is the question you didn’t want to answer. Although his tone isn’t accusing, you know what he’s really asking: ‘who the fuck is that?’

You’re torn between being vague and lying outright. Lying is never good in a relationship… although you aren’t technically in a relationship to begin with. But again, this is something you will not discuss with him. You don’t want to. And you know in the back of your mind that lying and sneaking around is the very thing that fucked with your head to begin with, but…

Sometimes white lies are necessary… right?

“Doesn’t really mean anything, I was just going with the flow. Not sure who it is, can’t quite figure out the eyes or mouth.” You gesture lazily with one of your hands, placing your free hand on top of his on your tummy.

No need to tell him you know exactly who the fuck this is and you haven’t added the eyes or the mouth because you think you might have a psychotic break if you see his face again.

Seojoon isn’t stupid though. He can tell you’re lying. But he won’t call you out on it. He can tell maybe this is sensitive to you, maybe whoever this is hurt you… and also, he is no stranger to little white lies.

Nothing is ever as pretty as it seems, is it?

He nods, kisses the top of your head. But he can’t quite hear his eyes away from the painting because… it looks so familiar. He can’t place it, maybe he’s just reading into it too much but he swears he knows that nose.

“Huh. Looks kinda familiar. Don’t know why though.”

Immediately you feel alarm bells going off in your head. Why the fuck would it look familiar? It’s a nose on a face that’s otherwise faceless… it’s also kind of morbid looking.

You get this feeling in your gut that you don’t like, but immediately choose to ignore. Because you convince yourself this is anxiety being mixed up with intuition. You often question yourself these days, because you’re paranoid karma is coming for you. But you have to remind yourself that your feelings are valid, you suffered enough, no need to let the lingering guilt you feel over the past affect mundane moments like this.

It’s just anxiety, surely. It’s such a basic nose, it could belong to anyone. It’s a faceless fucking painting, he can’t possibly know who that nose belongs to.

Bullshit.

“Looks familiar because it’s not finished. Who knows, maybe it’s you.”

You tease him, nudging your ass into him which earns you a little grunt. You let out a half hearted giggle and shake your head… when in reality the mere idea of him being in the painting makes you feel sick. It’s not that you don’t want to paint Seojoon, or that you don’t think he’s pretty…

It’s because you know that nose belongs to someone else, the entire concept of this painting is based upon someone else. It could never be Seojoon.

Time to change the subject.

You remove his arms from around your waist and decide you’re done with painting for the night. Seojoon is here now, no need to dwell on the faceless flower man who haunts your dreams like a goddamn ghost.

You walk over to your dresser and take a makeup wipe to start wiping the little specs of paint from your face and arms as you ask, “How was work? You were super late tonight.”

Again, not accusatory. Just curious, because he doesn’t often stay this late for work. Maybe a few hours at a time but never this late into the night.

You’re too focused on getting the paint off of your skin to notice the way he avoids looking at you.

He begins unbuttoning his shirt as he speaks casually, “Ah, was fine. Nothing new. Some idiot fucked up the powerpoint presentation for one of our projects and I had to stay to clean up their mess, you know how it is.”

You really don’t know how it is, but you nod along anyway, you aren’t really paying attention. Just wanna hear about his day.

Maybe you should pay attention.

Before you can speak up, he continues, “Oh, that reminds me, Taehyung invited me to a little potluck type deal tomorrow night with some friends. Was gonna see if you’d wanna come, would be a great chance for you to meet some of my buddies.”

For some reason you get a bit of anxiety at the thought of meeting his friends. You’re not sure why, but again, that feeling in your gut persists. You chalk it up to the fact you’re on edge and paranoid because Seojoon walked in on something you feel he should not have. That damn cursed painting.

Anxiety over intuition. Surely.

You’ve yet to meet his friends, so it is kind of overdue. There’s no real reason as to why, it just hasn’t come up yet. He’s met plenty of your friends, sharing Sohee as a friend means you share other friends too. But you’ve still yet to meet his best friend or even his friend group.

You’ve heard a lot about them, Tae specifically, and he seems lovely. You want to meet him, meet all of them… so you aren’t sure why you have anxiety about it.

Get a grip, Y/N, one nightmare doesn’t mean it’s the end of the fucking world and everything bad is about to happen.

But even then, you ask hesitantly as you throw your makeup wipe away, “You sure? I don’t wanna be the annoying ‘girlfriend’ who wasn’t invited.”

He snorts at that, and shakes his head as he flops onto your bed with his shirt now open and loose with his belt undone. He places his hands behind behind his head as he stares at you, “Can’t be the annoying girlfriend when you aren’t my girlfriend babe.”

He arches a brow, sticks his tongue out playfully. He isn’t scolding you or pressuring you, not that you’re aware of, but is definitely hinting to the fact that you’ve both sort of avoided the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing up to this point.

You’ve avoided it because… well, you don’t know really. You just haven’t felt the need to label it, and if you’re being honest, you’re not sure if you’re ready for the label. On one hand, it’s just a label. So it isn’t that serious. Nothing would change really because you’re already exclusive to each other… that’s what you assume, anyway.

On another hand, it feels more permanent. For some reason it makes you feel pressured into admitting things you don’t quite want to admit. If he were to ask curious questions that he has yet to ask, you wouldn’t be able to lie about them under the guise of it being too private and personal.

You just might have to be honest about the flower who made you bloom and wilt all at once. The flower that was never really yours, but is the entire reason you’re hesitant to commit, despite never committing to that very flower.

He hasn’t made a move to make it official either though, although that’s purely out of respect. Little do you know, all of his friends know you as his girlfriend. His coworkers too. He’s already added that label. But out of ‘respect’ to you, he hasn’t told you that and hasn’t pressured you to add the label yourself. He did say he would go at your pace, after all…

That’s what he allows you to think, anyway. Seojoon is only a man…

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” You retort as you grab a little hair clip and toss it at him, and then go back to your dresser with a huff, start undressing and finding something comfy to wear for bed. Not the CK T-shirt this time. You don’t feel right wearing it in bed with Seojoon.

He shamelessly stares at you as you undress, his eyes becoming a bit heavy lidded as he speaks, “I know I know, but they want you there. They all wanna meet you, I talk about you a lot on our nights out. You could impress them by making something yummy. Please?" He playfully pouts at you and you roll your eyes. You don't miss how his eyes remain glued to your ass even as he pouts, which in most cases is flattering... but tonight you aren't really in the mood. For very unobvious reasons to him, but painfully obvious reasons to you.

You know that he’s right though, you need to meet his friends. It’s not as serious as it feels. It’s only fair to him. You make your way over to the bed, crawl on, and snuggle up to him as you say, “I guess I’m just nervous… but I’ll go.”

He instinctively lifts his arm up so that you can nuzzle into him, his hand trails down your back, then to your ass where he squeezes, “Don’t be nervous, they’re just my friends, and they already love you from what I’ve told them about you. Some of the guys will even have their wives or girlfriends there so you can have girl time or whatever,”

You don’t wanna be pessimistic… but being with his friends and their spouses adds a bit more pressure… especially considering you aren’t technically his girlfriend.

He leans in, whispers in your ear as he squeezes your ass again, “Who knows, maybe they’ll even be jealous I’ve got such a pretty not-girlfriend.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head, makes no move to escalate things beyond squeezing your ass. He definitely wants to, but he won’t. Your pace and all that.

It’s true though, he’s excited for you to meet his friends. Even more excited at the prospect of them being jealous. He nearly brags about you on nights out with them because you are so unlike any girl he has been with before.

Seojoon is hot shit and he knows it. He’s one of those men that woman see on the street and think ‘damn I want him.’ He’s used to woman being willing to drop to their knees just for a chance with him. He’s used to woman going at his pace…

But you, you’re different. Because even though he was handsome, even though you were clearly into him from the start, you made him work for it. It’s different because woman are usually willing to do whatever he wants. But you, you had boundaries. You still have boundaries. You’re skittish like a stray cat, one wrong move and you may kick him to the damn curb. He has to earn you and your trust… he has to chase you.

And oh, he loves that. As much as he itches to put a label on it, he’s more than willing to be the one doing whatever you want at your pace. It’s kind of like wanting something he can’t have… it’s the thrill of it. And he’s proud of the fact that you have stayed this long, you’ve yet to push him away.

Maybe it’s not official, but it’s exclusive. That’s what you both think it’s supposed to be, anyway. Although his friends already know you as his girlfriend, and so do his coworkers. In his head, you are his girl. You don’t have to admit it, but you are. The label won’t change things as him and his friends see it, considering it was already there.

His little wildflower that he picked on the side of the rode, out of place on the side of a street full of cars. He put you in a little vase and slowly waters you with security and gives you freedom in the form of sunlight.

Even though you’re unaware that you sit stagnant in a vase on his kitchen counter… just like you’re unaware that you’re his girlfriend.

Some things you just don’t need to know. It’ll happen anyway, he’s sure of it. You’ll agree to be his soon.

But if you did know… if you knew that he was currently comparing you to any sort of flower, especially a fucking wild flower, while simultaneously considering you his girl when you never agreed… you just night have called it all off.

Flower comparisons are reserved for a man who’s faceless painting is staring at you right now. For you and him only. Not Seojoon… no matter what he is to you.

Bur you don’t know. You haven’t a damn clue. So he’s in the clear for now.

You roll your eyes at him, find the little hair clip that you threw at him sitting on the pillow. You pick it up, put it in his hair as you mutter, “Whateverrr. I doubt it.” And then promptly nuzzle into him again.

You do, in your head you don’t think there’s anything to be jealous of. But him? He thinks you’re the perfect arm candy. Every one of his friends will be surprised when they get to know you themselves considering you’re unlike his usual type, sort of an enigma. And then he’ll get to tell stories about your time together and exaggerate them to make them even better.

He’s excited. Much more excited than you are.

You both fall asleep soon after that, keeping up the idle chatter until you drift off. Thankfully, no more nightmares or dreams of your faceless flower man. Although it isn’t a peaceful sleep, it’s quiet. Always is better when sleeping next to someone.

Makes it easy to ignore that tiny bit of loneliness that you can’t quite ignore when no one else is around. The loneliness that you swore was gone until tonight. You can only hope that tomorrow these feelings will be gone, and the faceless man watching you sleep through a painting crafted by your hands will disappear from your thoughts when you wake up.

[pianokantzart]

The Super Mario Bros. Redux (Pt. 6)

What would happen if, in The Super Mario Bros. Movie, after Mario and Luigi are separated, Mario was the one who ended up in the clutches of Luigi’s eventual arch nemesis, while Luigi teamed up with some of his own close allies to go rescue him? (This part of the story is in one shot format. Most other parts are written in bullet points.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 ________

A short summary of the things Luigi had done in the past twenty four hours that he had never expected to do in his entire life:

Fall into an interdimensional wormhole. Fight a warrior princess in a crowded arena. Become a royally acclaimed ghost hunter. Enlist in an army assembled to ambush the territory ruled by The King of Ghosts in order to rescue hostages and bring balance to the afterlife. Adopt a dog.

... Though it was more accurate to say the dog adopted him. Normally Luigi had trouble with animals– he could never read their body language, and his clumsiness made for bad first impressions. The few animals he got along with in the past were old and quiet, wanting nothing more than a warm lap on which to lay their head. Polterpup was different; playful and energetic, mischievous yet patient. Luigi couldn’t help but wonder what was the reason behind the attachment– if he himself resembled an old master or friend from the dog’s past life before it became a ghost. It still wore a collar, though the little golden loop on the front had no tag. The collar was bright red, almost a perfect match to Mario’s favorite color. "Heh, you’re just as good at getting into trouble as Mario, too,” Luigi added with a somber smile, kneeling down to oblige the ghost dog’s less-than-subtle plea for belly rubs until it disappeared again, as was its habit. Polterpup tended to suddenly poof in and out of thin air with little warning, and though it seemed to be at random at first, Luigi began to realize the dog mostly came to him when he was feeling alone, which was more often than not as of late. Every new experience, every strange encounter, every unexpected victory made Luigi wish more and more that his brother was around to take part. Hardly a second passed without him wondering what he was doing at that moment, and if he was okay.

Unfortunately, his occupied mind made him a less-than-helpful assistant to E. Gadd. The professor had warned earlier that he had always preferred working alone. The result was a very low tolerance level for “tomfoolery,” as he described it, and it wasn’t long before Luigi’s shaky attempts to help attach upgrades to The Poltergust caused the scientist to lose his patience. One shoddy wire-soldering job later, Luigi found himself being forcibly pushed toward the exit by the surprisingly strong old man. “Go. Shoo. Distract yourself with something else.”

“Like what?” Luigi asked, digging his heels. “What do I do? Where do I go?”

“How about you see the princess?”

“Princess Daisy?”

Luigi lingered in the doorway. The professor adjusted his glasses, and pointed down one of the castle hallways. “Yep! She’s in the greenhouse. I’m sure she could use the company. You two seem to get along well enough.”

“We do?” Luigi placed his hand against his cheek, thinking over their last interactions. They had exchanged blows, but worked together in the end to defeat Boolossus. She had held his hand up as the victor, but she had also toyed with him in a way that made it clear that she knew how weak he truly was. He liked her, that much he knew, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything more to do with him, and furthermore she had a power and confidence to her that intimidated him beyond her status as the daughter of four kings. “I don’t know. I mean, we did make a pretty good team, but she’s royalty! I don’t know anything about how to approach royalty. Do I bow? Or–”

“You’ll be fine,” The Professor assured, only half paying attention as he returned to his work, burying himself back into the open hatch of a large machine.

In the end, Luigi did as he was told. The greenhouse was easy enough to find. As large as the Birabuto Palace was, its corridors were open and easy to navigate, and the guards were surprisingly helpful in giving directions despite their shaky first-encounters.

Finding the large doors to the greenhouse, marked by limestone imitations of crawling vines carved into the archway, Luigi gathered his determination and pushed them open. The first thing that struck him was a wall of glacial cold– a shocking surprise, and the opposite of what he expected from a greenhouse, but this discomfort was immediately undercut by the beauty of the surrounding foliage. The flowers, sparkling with a brilliant, incandescent blue, sprouted from planter boxes and large pots all around in blooms and buds. He thought for a moment that surely they were beautifully-crafted plastic or silicon, but pinching a large leaf between the fingers of his gloves he found they felt as real as any common dandelion. The second thing that struck him was the night sky, clearly visible through the glass walls and ceiling. He had never in his life seen so many stars, and for all his love of science and space he could not recognize a single constellation, which served as an unsettling, but ultimately breathtaking reminder of how far from home truly he was.

“Oh! Hey!”

Luigi jumped and let out a surprised squeak when Daisy emerged from behind a stack of pots to greet him. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the cold, and in her right arm she held a large sack of powdery-white fertilizer that she was distributing between the plants. She laughed at his reaction, but it carried no hint of condescension, just friendly amusement. “I was hoping I’d see you again before we invaded Evershade Valley!” she called, waving him over. “Luigi, was it?”

Luigi approached while holding his hat to his chest, shuddering a bit as the chill bit at the edges of his ears. “Yes, Your Highness.” Daisy once more laughed her friendly, good-natured laugh. “None of that. Just Daisy. No ‘Miss’ or ‘Ma’am’ either. If you’ve gotta be formal, call me Princess Daisy.” Luigi, feeling a little more at ease, put his hat back on his head. “Yes, Princess Daisy.” She gave a nod of approval, then went back to work fertilizing the long rows of plants. “So,” she asked, “What can I help you with, big guy?” “I, er…” Luigi suddenly realized he had failed to come up with a proper reason before arriving here. He couldn’t very well say the professor kicked him out of the lab for being inept, but before he could think of an excuse his attention was re-seized by the plants. Curiosity overcame him to the point that he forgot his worries, and he once more brushed his hand against the leaf of the nearest flower. “Are these where your ice powers came from? In The Battle Stadium?” “Of course! I’m pretty good with a powerup, huh?” Daisy said proudly, “Normally I favor the elephant fruit, but today I decided to switch things up.” “Elephant fruit? There’s other magical plants?” The princess stiffened. Luigi was worried for a moment that he had accidentally said something offensive, but she retained her genuine smile as she set the sack of fertilizer down and placed her hands on her hips. “Wow, you’re really not from around here, are you.” Before Luigi could answer, she walked up and wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Suppose I should’ve known. Humans aren’t native to this world. The professor is one of, like, two other humans I know. Do you know E. Gadd? Is he your uncle or something?” “I– uh, no. We just met yesterday.” “Let me guess: you're lost." "Well... yes..." "And he said he'd only get you home if you help him.” “What!?” “He’s the kind of guy to pull a stunt like that if he thinks it’s for the greater good.” Daisy explained, holding Luigi a bit closer in a show of sympathy. “You don’t have to do this, you know, you could go home anytime you like. I’ll vouch for you!” Despite the friendly intention behind these words, Luigi felt a lump form in his throat. He slipped out from under The Princess’ side-hug, and stared up at her with a troubled look. “Do you… want me to leave?” Daisy bristled. Her cheeks reddened as she shook her head and waved her hands in dismay. “No! No no no of course not! I think you’re great! It’s just…” She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck.

Luigi, surprised by this rare show of nervousness, patiently waited with bated breath for her to gather her thoughts, and after a few seconds she continued, quieter than before. “It’s just that I keep thinking about what you said in the arena. You seemed like a guy who had a lot to lose. You weren’t in it for glory or the fun of the fight, you were just scared and… I don’t know… I felt bad for you. Still do.” At this, Luigi gained a slight smile, shyly burying his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. “Heh, don’t worry. I gotta learn how to not be scared all the time, y'know?” It didn’t take long before he realized what he said– whose words he was echoing. The gravity of the situation quickly crashed back down on him, robbing him of that small moment of comfort. It was evident by the look on Daisy’s face that she had seen the change in his expression, so Luigi went ahead and explained his predicament before she could ask: “It’s my brother, Mario. We both fell through a warp pipe. I ended up in your kingdom but he ended up in Evershade Valley.”

Daisy cocked her head, the gears turning behind her eyes as everything she had witnessed about the plumber's manner up until now came together in her mind. “Oh. I see.”

“It was my fault. I fell into the warp pipe, and he jumped in after me, and– I… I can’t just leave him.” Luigi heard his own voice crack and felt tears beginning to form in his eyes. Despite this he kept going, the pent up emotions of the past twenty four hours running rampant, unable to be reigned in. “It’s not that I don’t trust anyone else to save him, but I gotta make sure he’s okay! We’ve never been apart this long… and I-... I miss him.” Tears began streaming freely, the cold air burning them into long lines down Luigi’s cheeks. He turned away, struggling to wipe his eyes with the back of his glove. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.”

Luigi saw a glimmer of white fabric in the corner of his vision. Turning, he saw the princess holding a flower-embroidered handkerchief out to him. He accepted, and dried his eyes. He tried to hand it back, but she was already returning to the flowers, plucking up a set of pruning shears as she went. “I’ve never known a good fighter that didn’t have big emotions brewing under the surface,” she assured. “But don’t you worry, after the way we saved my dads, saving you brother should be no sweat!...” Luigi, hearing a light snip of closing shears, saw Princess Daisy remove one of the ice flowers at its base between where the leaves connected to the soil. Despite being cut off from its roots the plant remained as lively as ever. It almost looked to be dancing happily in her hands as she delivered it back to Luigi.

“...and when you do save him, give him this.” She said, holding out the offering. “If Mario’s anything like you, he’s not going to want to be defenseless, and ice magic is the one of the few things that can combat boos besides your Poltergust.” Luigi smiled. He reached out and took the flower into his hands. He was surprised to find it wasn’t particularly chilly to the touch– clearly the coldness of the room was for the sake of cultivating the plants, not the effect of the flowers themselves. “You seem to really know a lot.” He mused aloud, pressing the gift to his chest. “But… you said humans aren’t native to this world. Where did you come from, then?” He stopped suddenly, realizing the personal nature of what he asked. He searched Daisy’s face for some sign of disapproval, but was relieved to see her smiling just as brightly as before. “Ha! I wish I had an answer to your question!” She laughed, “Dragonzamasu says I hatched from an orange egg that appeared suddenly in a field of flowers. Biokinton says he found me curled up in a bassinet hitched to a shooting star. Hiyoihoi says he found me locked in a gemstone at the center of the oldest mountain in Sarasaland. But I’m more inclined to buy Totomesu’s story.”

“What’s Totomesu’s story?” Daisy’s smile wavered. Luigi wondered once again if he misstepped, but this time easily brushed the thought aside, trusting by now that the princess would let him know if he had done something wrong. She turned away, staring up at the stars through the glass wall of the greenhouse, and Luigi placed himself at the her side, watching the stars in tandem until Daisy finally broke the silence and answered his question: “He found me at the mouth of a warp pipe, barely old enough to crawl and completely terrified. Sometimes I think I still remember that day… as much as I prefer to believe that I hatched from an egg.”

There was such an odd sadness to her voice that Luigi felt an impulse to reach out and reassuringly take her hand, though he had enough common sense to refrain from such an intimate gesture. All the same, he wanted to say something comforting. “I don’t mind that you didn’t hatch from an egg.” He heard himself blurt out.

Daisy shot him a confused look, and Luigi nervously scrambled to explain himself. “What I mean is… hey, you were a baby, y’know? Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re already so cool, you can’t be cool every moment of your life, and most babies aren’t cool! And… uh…” Daisy started to laugh. Luigi turned red, but felt a little better now that she was smiling again, even more so when he felt the princess affectionately nudging his shoulder. “Haha! I get it big guy, I get what you're saying!”

Luigi laughed too, in spite of himself.

“Speaking of ‘cool,’” Daisy went on, “I'm freezing!” She rubbed at her arms in a display of discomfort. Luigi, too, was suddenly reminded of just how cold he was. By now the low temperature had seeped all the way through his clothes and skin, triggering a powerful shiver that ran through his core, which was soon soothed as the princess wrapped an arm around him, and pressed him close. “Tell me, Luigi, do you have hot chocolate in your world?”

“I love hot chocolate!”

“Perfect!” With her arm still tightly wrapped around the plumber, Daisy eagerly led him to the egress of the greenhouse. “Let’s get us some good old-fashioned creature comforts before we fight some ghosts!”

"Heh. Yeah. Let's-a-go!" Luigi said, forcing enthusiasm, thankful that he had the cold as an excuse for his uncontrollable shivering.

[cyberbunny07]

First Meet

An Adam x Reader Headcanon

A.N. I’m going to be trying different formats, but once I find a good one I’ll change them all to match. Also, I’m posting this today to tide you all over until tomorrow. I’m planning on posting every week, maybe twice a week if I have the time. Next up is a Lucifer. I hope you enjoyed, lovelies!

So, how do you get to know Adam in the first place?

- First off, Adam runs in the higher circles of Heaven, so you’d have to do something to catch his eye

- Either you’re a Heaven-born, a well-known angel, or you do something out of the ordinary

- As for being a sinner, I doubt he would look twice at you until after ep. 8

- He’s being reincarnated as a sinner, fight me

- ANYWAYS, once you get his attention, you can’t get rid of him

- Ever

- Lute tried

- If you accept his attention and even encourage it, he doesn’t do too much

- Of course you don’t mind

- If anything, you’re lucky to catch his eye

- Now, if you ignore him

- Good luck

- Just a shit ton of “Check this out” or “I bet you can’t…”

- He’s like a needy child

- If you don’t have your attention on him while he’s around, he’s going to do anything to get it

- Legit anything spanning from throwing a piece of popcorn up in the air to doing a rather risky trick in the air

- That may or may not cause a sprained wing

- Now, if in his attempts to catch your eye, he does hurt himself, he’d be so damn embarrassed and try to play it off

- But you fussing over him makes his ego shoot through the damn roof if it’s even possible

- Not in public, though. He still has an image to maintain, of course

- As if he has one

- Now, if after a while or right away you two start to feel comfortable with the little dynamic, he’s going to start thinking about you

- Stupid little things like “I wonder if they’d like this” or “Ha, that reminds me of that time they…”

- Once he notices, he thinks he’s sick

- Not even joking

- He notices how even you getting close makes him antsy

- And if you’re touchy, he’s going to pause every time

- Lute finds it hilarious

- Who, by the way, is Adam’s wingwoman

- Protective wingwomen

- If you get her to like you, you’re golden

- All in all, it takes a bit of patience, especially after Lilith and Eve left him for ‘Mr. Duck Army’

- Stick around after his outbursts and comfort him when he gets sick in his head and he hears wedding bells

- Once you get close to him, he would be willing to do anything for you

[devildom-moss]

Im so happy the request box is open again /gen

Could i request a fic where MC has an ed (Eating Disorder)?

Im struggling with eating atm and would love to read about the characters (especially Beel) comforting the MC about it

Thats all, have a good day!

Lots of love, anonymous M /ref

Anon, I'm so sorry that you're struggling. Please do your best to practice harm reduction in regards to your specific eating disorder. I hope that you are able to get the help you require.

I also hope that this fic will be a comfort to you. I tried to keep the specifics of the eating disorder vague since there are so many types and I didn't know which you had. There are some mentions of binging and restricting, so I hope that is okay. The format of this was kind of experimental, so I hope it came out okay.

I love you. Take care (to the best of your ability).

MC with an eating disorder

(SFW) (unspecified eating disorder with mentions of restriction and binging) (could be read as platonic) (all characters) (half fic/half headcanons?)

Word Count: +3,900

You couldn’t hide this forever. They were bound to figure it out eventually. The unfortunate thing about being a person is that no matter how careful you were – how hard you tried – secrecy, subtlety, and perfectionism were not without clumsiness. Even if you wanted to hide this from them forever, you were going to slip up – do something suspicious. Most sicknesses have symptoms, and someone will find them.

Or maybe you had a moment of pure courage and decided to tell them: you needed help. Maybe you understood – even if it felt like a lapse in judgment – that the best outcome for your health and happiness would not be achieved alone. You needed someone – some understanding source of love and support.

The truth leaked out to everyone eventually – and eventually seemed to crash into you like the final domino in an elaborate setup. The most knowledgeable and observant of the bunch couldn’t keep quiet for long. It’s hard to bite your tongue when someone you love is suffering.

You were hardly prepared for the talk they all felt was necessary. Barbatos called for a meeting with you “to discuss a personal matter of utmost importance.” To be fair, they all made the decision not to overwhelm you by not allowing everyone to take part in the meeting.

When you arrived at the castle for the meeting (mostly to prevent nosy eavesdropping), Barbatos escorted you into a room with Simeon, Solomon, Lucifer, and – surprisingly – Mammon. Initially, Lucifer had no intention of allowing Mammon into the meeting, but “being MC’s first” and the fact that he had been the one to alert Lucifer to your struggle held enough sway to expand the meeting size to six.

On your long walk back home, during which you were escorted by Lucifer and Mammon in a miserable, awkward silence that Mammon made multiple attempts to alleviate, you couldn’t stop clinging to their words during that meeting.

You couldn’t remember who spoke first – who had the guts to interrupt such a solemn, all-knowing silence. Lucifer or Barbatos? No. They planned this, so maybe they pushed the softest approach on you – forced a tender heart to confirm that the time had come to talk about your eating (or lack thereof). In that case, it was probably Simeon. Your memory was already so hazy. Maybe you shut down and dissociated. Maybe you would remember if your body wasn’t going through hell. Then again, if it wasn’t, maybe you wouldn’t have had to have that conversation.

– Got bad enough for them to notice, I guess?  That was a shitty thought to have. The sooner it gets addressed, the better. No one should have to get “bad enough.” You knew that. –

In truth, they had planned ahead, and Simeon was supposed to ease you into the conversation. Mammon couldn’t let him, though. “Ya know, I don’t care how strong ya get. I still think it’s my job to protect ya. You’re sick right now. All tha signs are there. Ya keep hurtin’ yourself doin’ shit like this. I’m doin’ an awful job keepin’ ya safe, so we’re gonna get ya some help. And we’re gonna be right there with ya the whole time. I’m gonna be there – whatever ya need.”

Simeon was relieved that Mammon spoke first – even if it wasn’t the perfect, delicate approach. Simeon had been something he hadn’t been for a very long time: afraid. They all were to some extent – if not afraid, then nervous. However, with Mammon’s interruption, the structured plan crumbled, and they all spoke in cautious yet clumsy intervals. It seemed suitable, then, that the rest of the meeting only existed in messily cut up pieces that you shoved together. Your brain was the young, sickly protégé of Victor Frankenstein and your recall-creature arose as a bloody, poorly constructed monster. There was no chasing this monster off. It clung to your waist and shadowed your every step. It was a sad, hurtful little creature, but there was love in every bone and mass of flesh.

Lucifer had promised to assist with doctors’ orders, keep an eye on your condition, and accommodate you while ensuring his brothers fell in line. What you remembered was the scent of Demonus that lingered on him when he pulled you against him and told you, “Whatever will ease the burden during the hardest parts of your recovery, you’ll have it.” He had had a drink or two to settle his nerves before you arrived.

Barbatos had promised to get you good human doctors – medical and psychological – who specialized in your particular condition. What you remembered was the unfamiliar look of sorrow on Barbatos’s face as he held your hand and promised, “We will prioritize your comfort – no matter how many doctors you have to go through. You’ll get the treatment you need.”

Solomon had offered his magical skills to assist with your commitment to recovery and to ease any pain or side effects that your eating disorder had and would cause. You remembered him gently holding your face and telling you, “I’d never let anyone hurt my adorable apprentice – and that includes you.”

Simeon had offered you a constant and understanding ear to listen. He was the best alternative when you wouldn’t or couldn’t turn to a professional. Simeon had even promised to help Luke and Raphael navigate your recovery as best as he could. You remembered the grave concern on his face – almost frightening – as he told you, “We love you, and you’re hurting. Please let us help you however we can.”

They hadn’t pressured you to explain everything you were doing or understand all of it on your own. They hadn’t even forced you to respond right away. Everything else they had said – and anything you had said – seeped out your ears until you were left with the sound of your own voice giving them one ashamed and heartfelt “okay.”

The conversation probably hadn’t even happened in that order, but it was a hard one to have, and you couldn’t be faulted for jumbling it up.

“Here, take it.” Mammon interrupted the cacophony in your mind by throwing his jacket over your head and gently petting you through the fabric.

You felt something wet running down your cheek. It must have started to rain while you were thinking. No, wait, am I crying? When did that happen? It wasn’t a lot, but a few stray tears escaped you. You tried to blink them away, but now that you had a way to hide, they flowed easier. “Thanks, Mammon.”

You were scared that you would never like yourself no matter what happened, but they loved you, and that was a start.

When you returned to the House of Lamentation, you hid yourself away in the attic where you could cry alone without the protection of Mammon’s jacket. It was getting hot under there, anyway. Despite their attempts, you still felt overwhelmed by the confrontation, and you just wanted to hide from everyone – well, maybe not everyone.

It was a comfort when you heard a soft knock at the door and saw that fluffy orange hair peeking in. “MC, can I come in?”

He found you, and something about that melted your heart, even though you thought you wanted to be alone. You wiped any stray tears from your eyes and cleared your throat. “Yeah, you can come in, Beel.”

Surprisingly, when he sat down next to you on the bed, his lashes stuck to his skin like he had been crying, too. There was a long silence, during which he just stared at you. Sometimes, you liked it when he looked at you. You’d see all the affection on his face and recognize the love behind it. Other times, it made your skin crawl as insecurity squirmed around through your veins like a parasite. You saw everything you deemed wrong with yourself, and there was no way to hide it. This time, it felt different – some slow-cooked stew of guilt and sorrow. You imagined an inflated, tainted feeling of pity in that look where it was absent. In reality, “pity” from Beel used that word in its purest, sweetest form; there was no negativity or disregard – only sympathy and compassion.

Beel leaned down and bonked his forehead against your shoulder, leaving it there. His breath was slow and even, finding comfort in the physical touch, as he built up the courage to speak.

“Do I make your eating disorder worse? I’m always eating and talking about food.”

“No . . . well yes – but no.” Beel pulled back to look at you, doing everything he could to not look hurt and sorry. You felt the cracks in the dam begin to burst. Either you patch them up now, or you lift the gates and relieve some of the pressure. You chose the latter. “You made it easier to hide it. I could give you my food whenever I was restricting, and you were so happy to be fed that you never worried about me being hungry. Then, I got to watch you eat. It was cathartic – watching you do something I couldn’t do. You made it easy to cover up a binge, too. No matter how out of control I felt, I couldn’t make a dent in the amount of food you ate. That kind of made me feel better, but it enabled me. The extra food I ate, the snack boxes and wrappers, the disappearing food – everyone assumed it was all you most of the time. It saved me a lot of embarrassment, I guess, but it didn’t take away the shame. And to be honest, I’m kind of jealous of you. You’re out of control when you eat sometimes, and then you have all the control in the world to work out. But you look amazing, and you seem happy. I can see my impulses in you, and I think, if it was just a little different – maybe if I was better and more disciplined, I’d be more like you and less like me. I know that isn’t how it works; it’s just how I see things.”

You hadn’t expected all of that to come rushing out. Then again, neither did Beel, but he sat there firm and strong through it all. For a brief moment, a cruel and twisted feeling popped into your mind. What is he doing? Is he one of those idiots who stands in the path of a tropical storm because they think they can take it? He’s going to get hurt. Just move out of the way. You knew better than that train of thought. Beel would make himself an immovable structure through all of this if you’d let him. Hell, he’d make the effort even if you didn’t.

You cast your eyes down to the bedspread and the way Beel laid his hands down on it in front of him, with one cradled in the other while he ran his thumb along the side of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Beel interrupted. “It’s a lot to process, but thank you for telling me.”

Beel let out a calm, steady breath before standing up. He offered you his hand with a rueful smile.

“What is it?” you asked with your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you want to dance for a bit? I know we don’t have music, but I think better when I move.” Beel was embarrassed by the admission – but more embarrassed by the strangeness of his request. He added, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“We can dance.” You took his hand and let him make the clumsy attempt to lead. He wasn’t close enough nor graceful, but he was trying.

“I’m not very good at this, but I want you to get better. I hope you don’t mind learning together.” He had never had to help someone recover. You had to learn how to get better, and he had to learn how to support that.

“I don’t mind.”

“Even if I mess it up?” Even if he said the wrong thing or accidentally triggered you? Even if he couldn’t protect you every time? Even if you found a new place to hide and he didn’t come find you right away?

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“Neither do you.” Beel had sharpened his words for that one, and all you could do was give him an apologetic chuckle. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t –”

“– I could, and that scares me. I love you so much. I will still love you during recovery. I’ll love you through relapses. I’ll love you when – and if – you fully recover. There’s nothing wrong with your willpower or your body. You’re sick and hurt. We’ll be okay.” Beel had added the last part for his own comfort before he pulled you closer. He stopped trying to dance and just held you against him, as if to remind you that he was there.

With the professional help came the personal support.

Lucifer keeps track of you and your meds. He checks in with you and your doctor and ensures you take your medication in a timely manner. He removes scales from the house or keeps them safely hidden from you. He keeps his brothers up to date on your recovery plan (with your permission), so that you don’t have to deal with it. He gently pushes you along when he catches you staring in a mirror unfavorably.

Mammon magically removes all the nutrition information – barring ingredients and allergy information – from groceries and snacks whenever someone does the shopping. He also walks you to all your medical and psychological doctor’s appointments. More importantly, he keeps you distracted when you feel bad – movies, games, dancing in clubs, you name it. However, he won’t take you gambling with him anymore, horrified that you might jump from one maladaptive behavior to another.

Leviathan, whose entire existence is antithetical to normie values, musters up the courage to remind you that he thinks you look amazing and that you don’t have to worry about what normies think. He is almost always there to play games with you or read manga or watch anime – especially when binge urges come. He’s happy to spend time with you, so don’t be ashamed of the reason you need a distraction. He makes and buys cosplay outfits for you and spends half an hour hyping you up so that you feel confident – even if you never end up wearing it outside.

Satan helps monitor your nutrition and plans meals that will help you avoid malnutrition. He works especially hard on this during the first few months of recovery and after relapses when it’s the most critical. He reads up on eating disorder treatments and studies anecdotal success stories so that he can help equip you with more tools to ensure your full recovery. He also offers distractions when you need them. Sometimes, he even reads to you.

Asmo compliments you endlessly – almost daily if you let him. He finds cute clothes for you that fit you in ways that make you feel comfortable and look amazing. He does your makeup and hair if you want it – anything to make you feel better about yourself. He’ll take pictures of you if you let him. Hell, he’ll arrange a full boudoir photoshoot for you if it boosts your confidence. Asmo has always been able to find beauty in anyone, so he tries to lean into body positivity and prove to you that there is beauty in every body because being alive is majestic all on its own. It’s equally important what Asmo doesn’t do, though. He stops body checking and talking about diets around you. He diets less, and when he does, he keeps the details of it away from you. This isn’t exactly supportive, but he will offer to praise you in bed and make you feel so gorgeous and so good that your mind has no room for self-doubt.

Beelzebub eats meals and snacks with you – especially when you are having trouble eating. He’s great to have around when you want to try eating something or multiple things off a menu, but you’re worried about feeling the need to keep eating after you’re full. He’s always happy to eat the leftovers. He constantly tells you how happy he feels when he sees you enjoying food with him. He also exercises with you – taking special care to ensure that you aren’t pushing yourself too far. He just wants you to get the movement that supports your health. He probably also teaches you something like boxing to help you release anger and anxiety during your recovery. Additionally, it’s hard for anyone to make you feel weird or bad about your exercise levels when Beel is around to level them if they so much as look at you the wrong way. Alternatively, he also accommodates you by helping you exercise in private (a home gym or body weight exercises; if your mind is in the gutter, that’s fine too).

Belphie walks you home from all your appointments. Mammon could do it, and it’s a lot of effort for him to walk you home, especially when he wasn’t already out and about, but he wants to show you that you are worth the effort. He threatened to curse and beat up Mammon if he didn’t let him walk you home. He likes the idea of you knowing that after a check-up or a draining therapy session, you can expect to see him waiting outside for you. He’s never late, either. He watches the stars with you and reminds you that you are beautiful to him but in the vastness of the universe, your body, your weight, your sense of control – none of it matters as much as you think it does. He is also an anarchist, and that especially includes diet culture. “Fuck society. I just want you to be alive and to take naps with me.” Also, he thinks your body is incredibly comfortable to nap on, but he tries not to actually say that.

Diavolo employs the best doctors he can find for you – with help from Barbatos. He adores complimenting you, so you can expect him to continue reminding you how amazing you are – both mentally and physically. He doesn’t have as much time to spend supporting you, but if he can provide you with any services, he’ll do it. His favorite thing to do is to take you shopping and buy clothes and accessories for you. If you like it and wearing it makes you feel better, he’ll get it for you. It’s a good distraction, and seeing you smiling in outfits that he got for you warms his heart. When he does have spare time, he’ll try to spend it with you so he can check in and see how you’re doing – but also so he can just be around you.

Barbatos offers to make lunch for you sometimes. Once he gets your permission, he makes adorable and appetizing dishes so that when you see them, you’re actually happy to eat them (usually. Some days will just be bad, and there’s nothing more he can do). He listens to you without judgment. He’ll pour you a cup of tea, offer you something to eat, and let you pour your heart out. He also sews outfits specifically for you, using it as an excuse to both provide personal attention and to tell you how incredible and breathtaking you look.

Luke has a surprisingly good grasp on the situation thanks to Simeon, Solomon, and his own reading. He offers to accompany you to the store when you have to buy groceries. He also does activities with you that don’t involve food – mostly games, puzzles, and going on walks. However, if you’re okay with it, he brings you into the kitchen to cook and bake with him (and sometimes with Barbatos, Simeon, and/or Beel). Maybe it’s because he’s younger, but unlike Simeon or Barbatos, Luke has more courage to invite you into a potentially stressful situation for your eating disorder in an attempt to help you establish a healthy relationship with food and cooking.

Simeon is always there to listen – especially once he figures out how to make a proper video call. He also provides you with plenty of distractions. As the author of the bunch, he’s obligated to encourage you to write or journal to help process your recovery (and just for fun). Consequently, you have a lot of chill writing dates. Sometimes that means relaxing in Simeon’s room with him while you both quietly write your own things. Other times, he invites you out to pretty or interesting locations. When you go out, he does everything he can to ensure your comfort. You’re free to bail whenever you feel the need to.

Solomon, like Satan, does extensive research on eating disorders. He’ll go so far as to interrogate other sorcerers about any magic they might know that will help your chances of a full recovery. If a solution exists, he’ll find it. If it doesn’t, he’ll try whatever options he has to improve your chances of living a long, happy life. However, his studying usually happens behind your back. One of the most important things Solomon does is treat you like normal. It can be a comfort. Unfortunately, on the occasion that Solomon offers you food he’s made, when you refuse, he gets worried about your eating disorder. My guy, it’s not the eating disorder; it’s your atrocious cooking.

Thirteen monitors your candle closely, looking for faster or slower burning rates to gauge your health on her own. If something seems off, she knows it’s time to speak up. She brings you adorable and delicious food and drinks – with your permission – and eats with you so that you can try to enjoy food. If you have concerns about drinks and liquid calories, she will try to help you ease that by offering you sips of her drinks and reminding you that it’s okay. If you like the drink, she’ll happily let you have the rest of it. She will also invite you out to eat and, like Beel, she’ll eat whatever you won’t finish. Outside of food, she distracts you by letting you in on her trap building process and bringing you along to test them out. Your laugh when one of her traps successfully ensnares someone is precious to her. She is another good confidant when you need someone to talk to.

Raphael uses his magic to heal you whenever you’re in pain (if eating hurts your stomach, heartburn, if your body is sore from exercise, etc.). He puts blessings on you – sometimes without your knowledge – to help you feel better mentally, too. Like Barbatos, Raphael sews new outfits for you, but he mostly focuses on trying to tailor your existing clothes to accommodate how your body might change during recovery. Some clothes can be irreplaceable, and he wants you to still be able to wear them no matter how you change.

Mephisto is probably the last person to find out, which annoys him. To compensate for being last, he writes up and prints an entire report, highlighting your positive, admirable traits. It’s practically a love letter. However, this one isn’t for the paper, so don’t worry about being perceived by others. In fact, he’d be embarrassed if anyone else found out about it. He just wants you to have a reminder of how amazing you are whenever you begin to doubt yourself. He’ll be more lenient about you hanging out in the newspaper room whenever you want. Although he won’t admit it, Mephisto asked Satan for a list of safe foods and drinks he can keep around that you’ll eat, and now there’s always safe food in the newspaper room.

A/N: This one was kind of heavy, so I'll try to pick a more lighthearted request next time. Also, just as a reminder, you can still provide input for what to do to celebrate the 1 year anniversary next month. Check the post "Input request" for more info (under the tag #moss update)