#cw heavy vent here

[socialc1imb]

I love art ! I’m not lying !

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Forgive me, forgive me. I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes.

You know I find it incredibly bewildering to see just how much kalki reflects myself in him like YEAH Duh of course he does, he’s my little guy it’s like his full time job. But at the same time he is a fully functional facet of my being and he is at the mercy of my whimsies, and whatever he discovers in his arduous journey of self realisation is ultimately a reflection of what I discover in the real world. It’s also incredibly funny because ffxiv lore for dark knights is really baked into the idea of (re)discovering yourself amongst the bloodshed and continuing to live and love and thrive despite the world working against us. who would have thought such a raw message could come from an mmorpg side quest about edgy emo boys of all places

also adamantite armour of fending i would lay down my LIFE for u

variant + phone bg version + ID below the cut

tch as if you guys are actually going to use artwork of my little guy as your phone background. i know. how dumb. let a girl dream. i should make an alternate version but it's of Fray and Myste

[START ID: A picture with a red background focusing on the character's bust that is placed to the left of the image's centre. He is coloured with a dark blue overlay, contrasting with the red background. He has brown skin, long black hair that falls over his shoulders, and is wearing blue and gold armour and earrings. He is looking at the viewer, right eye dark brown and the left an glowing unnatural red, with an expression that looks determined and angry and yet bitter and forlorn. In the foreground and on the right side of the piece, a miniature version of the character stands coloured in a light blue overlay and wearing the same blue and gold armour, looking as if he is glowing. He is facing towards the left of the piece, or perhaps at the character bust, his expression unreadable. Above the miniature character's head is the symbol representing the FFXIV dark knight, coloured in gold. END ID.]

[galaxywhump]

I'm really sorry for this but I could really use some cheering up tonight

[troublewithvampires]

//anybody wanna trade spines

fair warning mine is aching like a motherfucker but like i'm sure it's fine. someone take it

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

just woke up immediately having the worst international women’s day ever

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tender Cuts

Gwayne comes home battered and beaten, and so you kiss his busted lip and tend to his wounds.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions of injury/blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, softhours, typos, etc.

A/N: i cant help myself. the unholy unspeakable things i want to do to this man... and yet here i am offering you some fluff

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings

Gwayne watches the way I undo his armor. He sighs and straightens from his chair, turning to the vanity mirror, "I am uninjured."

"And so you say, yet on your lips therein lies the lie you offer, husband," I retort as I finally remove the final piece of steel upon his form.

I bend over as he sighs once more. His tired eyes remain on my face as I unbutton his top. He places his hands on his thighs as he spreads them, "I am not gravely injured."

I forfeit a response and continue to touch him with care, as not to accidentally cause his unexposed injuries any more irritation. By the time I have his top unbottoned, Gwyane removes it along with his undershirt before I can do so. He stands and takes my hands. His eyes are more awake now as he places my palms on his bare chest, "inspect me yourself if you distrust me so."

His tone pinches my heart. "It's not that I distrust you, love," I rub his shoulders, "it's just that you've grown numb to your pain, and I do not wish any ailment to sneak up on you."

Gwayne's eyes slowly shut as I rub his arms then caress the sides of his firm belly. "So?" he grumbles, "shall I rid myself of my pants?"

My expression perks, "you might as well."

He opens his eyes and furrows his brows.

"I will bathe you myself."

Gwayne does not protest, save perhaps for a few more sighs as he rids himself of his last articles of clothing and steps into the preprepared tub. I waste no time and drag a stool to the side, eager to get him clean. He melts into my touch as I scrub his skin.

I splash his arm a few times before moving onto his chest. The room is silent, apart for the sound of sloshing water. Gwayne's head feels heavy, I can tell. I rub his shoulders to encourage him to relax.

"You don't have to mother me, you know."

I tilt my head as I find one of the freckles on his sternum, "I am a mother. You should know, you were there when it happened."

"You mothered my children, not I." He rests his arms on the sides of the tub.

I lift my gaze. His eyes look heavy.

For a moment, my husband is not he, but a child abandoned. I look upon his tired face and recall the soft confessions he'd whispered as I laid in his arms, confessions of his loneliness, his longing. He recounted all the memories of his mother that remained with him. He vented out his hurt over his father who he grew without.

I knit my brows and put down the sponge in my hand, "do you not want my touch?"

He drops his head then grabs my wrist, "I do not want you to worry." Gwayne pushes closer to me. The water around him splashes. He leans on the rim by my side and kisses my pulse. He repeats softer, "I do not want you to worry."

I press my lips into a line and brush his hair back with my free hand, "oh, my love," I sigh, "unfortunately, I worry regardless."

He rests his head upon my hand when I caress his cheek. I comb my fingers through his hair as much as it will allow me in its matted state. He closes his eyes. I trace the shape of his nose with my palm.

Gwayne has never said it out loud, but I know that sometimes he feels undeserving of the attention I so freely shower him in. The wounds of his younger self that never quite healed make the affections he's so craved quite hard to take in.

"My sweet boy," I whisper, gently rubbing his lips, "let me do this for you."

His blue eyes slowly open. They are shrouded with red exhaustion. He finally relents, eyes closing again as he leans back and offers himself completely to me.

I decide to wash his hair for a change, and as I do so, I sing a folk song from the Reach. He rests his head on the tub, sinking slightly into the water as he allows himself to relax.

I only stop singing when he mutters something unintelligible. I lean towards him, "what was that, my love?"

His lips barely move, "thank you."

A soft smile finds me.

"I love you."

I immediately press my lips into his. I make sure to do so delicately, so not to disturb him or the cut on his lower lip. I look at his face for a few moments before pulling back, "I love you too."

I continue singing from where I left off.

[silkjade-archived]

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF A PORCELAIN HEART

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: even the most resilient of hearts must shed its armor, and despite your efforts to appear strong, alhaitham still senses your distress ⤀ cw: gn!reader, your heart is referred to as 'she', insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort — ꒰ 1.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: this is a vent drabble, so reader is based on me. extremely self indulgent + selfship coded. ending edited 8.26.24, prev titled ‘still with hearts beating’

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

Although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, Alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

He sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine — that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

Your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“Are you alright?”

He asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

To him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“Just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. After all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

You flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

He repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. Empty words filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

Nonchalant, rehearsed, refined — and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

You open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. To swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. For Alhaitham, who is more than just an Akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of Sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. The sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

His moon, he calls you. And yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

You purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. It'd be egregious — like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. For even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “really.” It’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

You push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. Good, you think, he's given up. But then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey — like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

But Alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. There is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

The sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. There are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. It's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

You relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

Your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. He does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. Alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. The occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

A heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. Perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor... but as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

In the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… Alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“If I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “Am I… enough for you?”

The seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

Finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside Alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. The intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

Enough for him? Is that what you were upset about? What a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. His moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“You're intelligent and intuitive,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “Beautiful and independent—sometimes too independent—but that just means you're strong. Capable of anything…”

Alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, and replaced by an absolute reassurance.

“…which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

He peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Haitham…”

Alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word — I love you because you're you. I know you like to pretend otherwise, but you have a gentle heart, and I only hope you'll deem me worthy of it one day.”

Guilt flashes in your eyes as you open your mouth to speak, but anything you had intended to say, is drowned in the depth of his kiss. A part of you wishes to stay like this forever so that you might melt into his embrace — he who loves you so dearly, he who hopes his true feelings are adequately translated into this kiss...

...but your heart sighs in understanding, finally calm as she's held afloat by the strength of his affection. It's familiar, it's safe, it's home.

And if not for the lack of air, Alhaitham knows he'd kiss you forever, irrational as it may be. Pulling away, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead — another promise of his affirmation. “You don't have to say anything, I'm happy to wait. Just know you’re more than enough, just as you are. And no one should be able to take that away from you, so…”

He rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head resting atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

notes2: this was actually vrie therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[dollfacefantasy]

ddlg with chris!!!😫

who else need daddy chris rn 😔

chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, ddlg, p in v, cockwarming

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

It’d been a hard day for you, and Chris knew it. He could tell from the second you got home. He could tell from the rhythm of your steps, the measure of your breaths, and the wistful look in your eyes when you stepped into the living room with him. Every theory he had was confirmed when he heard you call for him.

“Daddy?”

Your voice is soft and demure, how it sounds when you get in this mood. It’s muscle memory at this point, but it’s like two wires connect among the circuitry of his brain. He’s in a mood too now. The one that directly complements yours.

“C’mere, princess,” he calls in return and pats his lap, his arms already open and awaiting your arrival.

In seconds, your bag is on the floor against the wall and you’ve closed the distance between you two. Your ass finds its familiar perch on his thigh while the rest of you sinks into his broad, pillowy chest. He strokes your head and keeps you secure against the heat of his body.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs.

His palm intrinsically remembers the way it’s supposed to move up and down your spine. His leg bounces a few times just to remind you that he’s here, and he’s in control now. There’s nothing for you to worry about when daddy’s got you.

That glowing warmth begins to settle over your shoulders. Your stresses leak away from your brain, leaving it empty and swimming with nothing but your want for him.

“Tell daddy what’s got you down, sugar,” he says.

A lot of the time, once you had this go-ahead, everything would just pour out of you like a broken faucet, but not right now. You weren’t in the mood to vent right now. You were in the mood for daddy to make everything better.

“Too much goin’ on,” you say simply as you slot your face in the crook of his neck.

He hums with understanding and pulls you in even closer, like it was possible for the two of you to meld together.

“Too much going on?” he repeats, “They got my baby working too hard, huh?”

You nod to the leading questions, wanting to reach the destination.

“That’s not fair. You’re not made for thinking. That’s why you got a daddy,” he murmurs, his fingers coasting upwards to massage the base of your neck.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, drawing out the syllables, “Makes my head hurt.”

“Where’s it hurt, baby?” he asks.

“Here, here, here,” you say, pointing front and center on your forehead and then behind each of your ears.

He responds in kind and lands his lips on each spot. Each kiss is precise and tender. He makes a little “mwah” sound to really drive home the power of these.

“Feel any better? Or do you need a few more?” he asks, his lips already brushing your forehead while he speaks.

“Few more,” you answer without a second thought. You were never one to turn down kisses.

He gives you the few more, and your dangling feet begin swaying back and forth subconsciously. He notices in an instant, a small tell you were slipping deeper into a docile, malleable state of mind. He guides you back a bit and tilts your chin up, wanting to look into those eyes that’d be going glossy in no time.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I think daddy’s got an even better fix for this,” he says and smacks a kiss on your temple.

You look up at him curiously though you have an idea of what’s coming. The two of you had a familiar routine when it came to you feeling spread thin. He boosts you to your feet and tugs down your bottoms and panties, leaving you in just the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Why don’t you grab your game, baby? Then you can come relax with daddy,” he instructs.

You nod and move to follow the directions. While you’re gone, Chris prepares himself for you. He lifts his hips and pushes his pants down to his ankles. His cock lays against the crease of his thigh, warm and heavy. Grabbing it, he gives it a few strokes to get it stiffened up. After all, nothing relaxed his sweet girl more than a few minutes on it.

You scurry back into the room, still pantless with your Nintendo in your hands. You head to him and stand between his legs. He turns you around by your hips and then guides you down onto his length.

“That’s a good girl,” he grunts as your heat engulfs him.

His head rests against the chair, and he lets out a shaky breath. You were so fucking tight and wet. Your pussy took the thickness of his cock like that was its purpose, and he couldn’t get enough.

Once you’re settled he pulls you towards him so your back is against his chest. You squirm a little to get comfortable, raising one of your feet to rest on his thigh. You settle in as if nothing is amiss. He watches over your shoulder as your game boots up. The little characters dance across the loading screen before you take control and start running around the map.

He relaxes too. His arms come to rest around your waist while his fingers rub your tummy gently.

“Look daddy. You like her dress?” you ask him as you show off the little outfit you’d dressed up the character in.

“Mhm. She’s pretty. Just like you,” he mumbles and kisses behind your ear.

You laugh a little and continue playing, showing him the different things you’d built in the game and mini tasks you had to complete.

To be honest, moments like these helped Chris relax too. His cock buried inside you as you sat there and brightened up the room. It was soothing, therapeutic even. You were dripping all over him, moving the little joysticks around as your slick dribbled over his balls.

He rubs your sides, the care he has for you seeping from his palms into the softness of your torso. Every so often, you’d move a bit to adjust yourself, and he would grit his teeth to resist the urge to thrust into your warmth. He manages to restrain himself though, knowing you just needed some time to relax before more stimulation.

Staying still for a while more, he allows you that. It’s only when he sees you beginning to stall in your game that he squeezes your hips and rolls his own as if he’s getting comfortable. You’d been trying to decide what you wanted to do next in your game, but the motion draws a whine from your throat, and you tilt your head back to look up at him.

He smiles at your sweet expression and drags one of his thumbs down your jawline. “What’re you looking at, hm?” he teases, “Is it daddy’s turn to play?”

You nod, and he rewards you with a peck to your lips. He hooks his large palms under your knees and folds your legs flush against the rest of your body. Your breath gets shakier as the elevated position lets his cock reach even deeper inside you.

You keep playing your games for a handful of thrusts, but the way he’s sliding in and out of you, hitting even the deepest of your sweet spots makes you put the handheld console aside. He nuzzles the side of your head.

“There we go. You feel a little better, baby?” he murmurs against your ear.

“Mhm,” you whimper. A soft, breathy moan leaves your throat as he pumps into you a little quicker. The pace was still nice and slow, supplying you with an even, steady stream of pleasure.

“Good girl,” he says, “You just let go, let daddy do all the work. Just let that pretty little head go empty.”

You nod lazily and turn your head to plant sloppy, weak kisses on his neck. He grunts at the feeling of your saliva coating his skin, digging his fingers into the dough of your legs. His hips continue rhythmically thrusting into your wanting hole. The feeling satisfies you like no other. You feel full and sated, like there’s nothing left on earth to long for. It makes it easier to turn your brain off.

“That’s my baby,” he coos, “My sweet little girl. Daddy’s here.”

Your noises are soft, cute mewls and delicate whines. Chris cherishes each one, savoring the way they drift to his ear and pull him further to release. He knows you’re getting closer too from the way you’re clamping down on him effortlessly. Every thrust massaged his thick shaft between your velvety walls. It never took much to make you cum when you were in this space.

He tilts his head down and steals your lips off his neck, connecting them with his own. Amidst the kiss, he feels your hips grinding forward a bit in an attempt to reciprocate his thrusts.

“So cute, princess,” he smiles against your lips.

You merely whimper in response and lean in for more kisses. He indulges you before pulling back and looking into your glazed eyes.

“You gonna cum soon?” he grunts.

“Yeah, daddy,” you whimper. Whines bubble from your lips at a higher frequency now and he ups his thrusts to match.

“Gotta use your manners first, babydoll. I know I’ve taught you how to ask for what you want,” he tells you.

A strangled breath comes from you and your eyes screw shut. You wanted to let it all go, but right now to your little mind, being a good girl was more important than fleeting pleasure.

“Can I please - mm - Can I finish, daddy? Pretty please?’ you ask, lips jutting out into a small pout.

He grins and squeezes your legs gently. “Perfect, angel. So polite,” he praises, “Yes, you can finish.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper quickly before your back arches off his chest and you cum. You become impossibly tighter around his cock, and his moan accompanies yours as you gush around his length.

His arms fully support your weight as you lose yourself in the throes of release. He fucks up into you deep enough to hit the switch that keeps you a babbling, squirming mess against him. And now that he knows you’re over the edge and feeling good, he can let go himself. He feels the tightness of an impending orgasm and lets it snap.

He cums inside you, warm ropes of cum filling your insides. He knew you always craved that ultimate connection, that absolute claim on your body when you were feeling like this. So he provides that for you and drains himself in your cunt.

You start coming down from your high, melting back against his chest. His arms finally put your legs down and allow you to rest on his lap. He encircles them around you and holds you close while he peppers kisses on your cheek. His cock stays buried inside you. You needed a slow pull out, nothing jarring or sudden.

“Did that feel good, baby? Is your headache all gone?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you respond, “Feel a lot better.”

He smiles at the tender tone your voice takes on. Your eyes were drooping a bit too.

“Daddy always makes it better, yeah?” he asks.

You nod and smile, nestling your face against his neck.

“I think daddy’s gonna clean you up now and then put you down for a nap,” he says while rubbing the small of your back.

You nod again. He slowly pulls out of you and turns your body so he can scoop you up against his chest and stand with you in his arms. You nuzzle his neck before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Love you, daddy,” you murmur.

“Love you too, baby.”

[bambisnc]

lie with you [or, how riize comforts you when you're crying bc of a nightmare]

pairing : ot7 x reader! genre : implied hurt n subsequent comfort cw/tw : hugging + kisses + food mention + possibly swearing? wc : idk ,,

shotaro ,. ! - im a firm believer of taro heavy sleeper agenda - bro will be out like a log, no fire alarm is waking him up anytime soon D: - but! when you wake up because of the nightmare and end up moving a bit away from him as you process it - he knows. - he just somehow subconsciously knows that there's distance between you and just reaches out for your warmth and traps you in a big hug – all while he's snoring softly (in the CUTEST way ever) - ends up comforting you without even being conscious he's just skilled tm like that yk??

eunseok ,. ! - light sleeper!!!!! his happy burritos and cream pasta dreams stop the literal second he hears the slightest whimper out of you - mentally goes "who tf hurt my darling s/o." - when he finds out it's you crying bc of a nightmare i'm sorry but he might tease you (later ofc, when you've had enough time to heal from it bbg dw) - but rn he offers distractions in the form of bingeing cutesy animes (imagine you watch horimiya's toffee scene w him or any other anime romance cliche and he goes would u like me to do that to you. i'd pass awa y)

sungchan ,. ! - you may have to wake him up depending on how tired he is :/ - but as soon as he finds out, wraps you up in the comfiest + warmest clothes he can find and throws you over his shoulder like a potato sack/holds you in a princess carry -> depends entirely on which you prefer he can do both 💪 - takes you straight to his car (we're js gonna pretend he can drive for the sake of the hc my extensive research i.e. 15 mins on reddit led me nowhere ;-;) it's time for a midnight drive! - puts on you guys' shared playlist and takes you to a grocery store snack run followed by going to an open-ish place so you can watch the stars tgt :(

wonbin ,. ! - i think his waking up abilities are honed purely due to being w you (yk like what if you need him to hug you at like 3 am. and he's too busy passed out (dreaming of you) then what.) - feels you trembling and is lowkey upset that you didn't wake him up when you needed him :( - he gets that you might not want to face him tho, so simply presses his chest against your back and places soft kisses on your neck. probably drops in a couple "'m here for you love" "it'll be okay" "i love you so so much yk that right?" he's versatile w his sweet nothings like that :( <3

seunghan ,. ! - this guy scares me ngl /j - he probably knows you're having a nightmare before you know you're having a nightmare - wakes you up by shaking you gently, comforts you with many many many hugs as you're waking up - kisses your tears away .. (i'm so weak for him) - lays your head down on his lap and lets you vent to him just listening to you, dude's gentle presence alone is enough to calm you down - BUT ALSO. imagining him drawing you a warm bath and you ending up coercing him into wearing cutesy animal face masks w you :(((

sohee ,. ! - guy who must be facing his s/o while sleeping !! gets to know and wakes up immediately when you start crying - clings to you like a koala that's it that's the hc. has his head buried in your neck, hands tied so so tightly around your waist which greatly help to ground you - also probably cracks a couple of really cringey jokes something along the lines of "i'll be your silver knight, my princess" but says it w the softest, sweetest expression and in the sincerest, honey-like tone that you can't help but melting completely :( - when he feels you've calmed down enough prob also initiates a tickle fight sorry i don't make the rules acc to him you need to laugh after a bout of crying okay??

anton ,. ! - guy who must be facing his s/o while sleeping (2) except his ass is not waking up unless you physically shake him awake - you'd probably do that though bc what better way to comfort you from a nightmare than your half-asleep bf's soothing voice? - bro is probably so out of it that he just very eloquently goes "wh huh wha" or something of that sort - when he's coherent enough (not really) he would sort of kind of roll up on top of you forgetting his 6'1 stature - but on the positive side his weight over you is a lot like a really comfy blanket (that can kiss your forehead w the utmost gentleness) - if you ask nicely he'll even sing you a lil lullaby to help you get back to sleep <3

notes : THIS WAS FUN !! ppl who dont know my current bias try guessing based on this 🤭 + [m.list]

[winterrrnight]

rafe noticing how you usually hide your real emotions behind a pretty smile and an interactive personality… <3 a bsf!rafe cameron x gn!reader blurb <3 based off this cw: talks about bottling up emotions, venting, lower case is intentional, aaaand this is again super self indulgent :p for @zyafics because we had a little chat on this :) (love you bae 💗)

rafe loved to see your smile. he loved how you were always so sweet to everyone, always laughing, always making sure everyone around was doing okay, frequently checking up on them, and genuinely being a sweetheart.

but it didn’t go unnoticed when he one day saw you sitting all alone in the university library, your head resting in your hands as you looked… sad, your brows furrowed as if you’re thinking of something deeply, and you continued to scribble randomly over a page.

he contemplated going up to you or not, but the frown on your face was concerning considering he almost never saw you frown that way.

that day, he let it slide.

another few days later, he saw you again. you were sitting in the grassy lawn of your university with your back against a tree, your knees to your chest as you looked at nothing in particular. a similar frown was etched on your face and your brows were furrowed just like the last time, and it looked like you’re deep in thought.

this time though, he wasn’t going to let it slide.

he strided over to you, and you heard the crunchy footsteps and turned to see rafe approaching you. your lips were immediately pulled into a smile as he sat down next to you.

“what’s up?” you asked, smiling at him.

he shook his head. “nothing much, what are you doing here all alone?” he asked you.

“oh, nothing really,” you said, turning to look out at the outstretched lawn again. “just chillin’, had a heavy day of classes today,”

“alright,” he mumbled, but his gaze didn’t leave your face. he kept on studying you, and saw how quickly your face had changed from the frown to the smile.

“how’s everything else though?” he asked, cutting through the silence.

“all good,” you said, and that smile just didn’t seem to leave your face at all.

“you sure?” he pressed.

you turned to look at him. “yes rafe,” you rolled your eyes. “all’s well. why wouldn’t it be?”

he shrugged his shoulders, not breaking your eye contact as he looked into your eyes very carefully, hoping to catch a glimpse of something which you didn’t show. “just wonderin’, ’s all,” he muttered. “you just… you just look like you would want to talk about something. a lot, actually,”

“huh?” you hummed confusedly as your brows furrowed a bit – but it’s not the furrow you had when you were too deep in thought.

rafe sighed, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m just saying that if anything ever troubles you, absolutely anything, I’m here for you alright? I’m not one to force someone to open up right at the moment, but I can say from first hand experience that bottling things up never works; it just hurts more in the long run. so, I’m not forcing you to talk right now, but I’d suggest you do it sooner rather than later,” he exhaled as his gentle words settled in. “I know something’s bothering you, I can see it in your eyes… and I want you to stop doing that alright?”

he took in your current facial expression; your eyes were slightly wide, and the faintest amount of tears formed at your waterline. when he saw you weren’t saying anything, he knew he had hit the right spot.

“again,” he started, “I’m not forcing you to talk right now okay? and it doesn’t even necessarily have to be me who you talk to. it can be anyone you really trust. but I’m telling you that I’m one of the people who you can freely trust alright?” he smiled softly as he leaned in and gently kissed your forehead.

he took a glance at his watch before turning to look back at you. “I’ve got to run now, we’ve got some fancy family dinner I need to be home for,” he said softly. “but feel free to text me or call me okay?” he smiled, before getting up from the grass next to you and walking away, leaving you alone as tears slowly made their way down, realising you’ve been noticed in a way you never were.

— —

if you find yourself relating to this in any way, please know that help is always available, and that you never should have to think twice before talking about feelings and things that bother you to a loved one <3 take lovely care of yourself and prioritise your mental health as best as you can 💞

[nikkento-writes]

Chapter 1 - About Love

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

cw: 2nd person POV, angst, heartbreak, explicit language

Summary: You finally make it to paradise, though you can’t help but put yourself through hell by constantly remembering your break-up from two months ago. Everything around you reminds you about your ex, about couples, about love. And you hate it.

Author's Note: Here it is! The very first chapter of the series that’s been heavy on my mind for almost a year. This is basically background and setup, no mention of Nanami in this chapter, but he’ll be making his appearance in the next, so stay tuned :) I kept the location unspecific so that I could have my own liberties with it, but for reference, I’m drawing most of my inspiration from Boracay in the Philippines. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

It’s a warm spring evening on the first week of April when it happens. You open the windows to let in the refreshing breeze now that it’s finally starting to cool down. Your cheeks are sticky from the day’s heat and the brisk air of night is a relief on your skin.  

Jun arrives later than usual tonight, nearly midnight when the familiar jingle of keys rings from the other side of the door. Half of the dinner you prepared earlier sits cold in the fridge, though you expect to eat it yourself as leftovers for tomorrow. This is the typical routine nowadays. He grabs food with his colleagues while they work overtime together, and yet, you make a plate for him out of habit. By the time he returns home, you’d already be in bed, half asleep, awaiting his comforting presence beside you. He’d give you a kiss on the forehead, calling your name softly, the smile on his face apparent in his tone. In the past two weeks, however, he’s gone straight to sleep. No kiss, no greeting. Nothing but the weight of his body sinking into the space inches from you. 

The signs are all there, clear as day. Still, you don’t see it coming. Or maybe you’re pretending you don’t. 

You’re waiting for him on the couch when he comes in through the door, eyes tired, tie already loose around his collar. He slips out of his shoes before looking up, surprised to see you. He says your name quietly, and you don’t realize how much you miss hearing it in his voice until now. 

“Welcome home.” It sounds weird coming out of your mouth, feels even weirder. Like you’re greeting an acquaintance coming back to their hometown after a long while. Except this is your boyfriend of five years who you live with. 

His expression is one you’ve never seen before. Jun has always been calm, cool, and collective. Whatever face he’s currently wearing is the opposite of that. Brows tight, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff. You chalk it up to stress; he’s been working diligently almost every night for over a month. Deadlines, urgent reports, training the new employee. It’s been endless. 

He takes slow steps towards you, sitting beside you on the couch, sighing deeply, taking your hand in his. You scooch closer to him, ready to listen and comfort him while he vents, totally unsuspecting of what is going to come next. 

“We need to talk.”

You wake up abruptly, gasping for breath. The turbulence on the plane must have rattled you awake, though you’re more convinced it was because of your bad dream. More like a bad memory you can’t stop thinking about, even in your sleep. You flex your fingers, skin tingling as you remember the odd sensation of your hand in Jun’s as he broke up with you that night two months ago. In that moment, it felt like an outer body experience, where you were watching yourself getting your heart broken and there was nothing you could do about it. The seat beside you, which should be occupied by him, is empty. Though you’re surrounded by other passengers on this tiny, stuffy plane, you’re alone. Completely and utterly alone.

You knew this trip was a bad idea.

It takes you a couple of seconds to reorient yourself on your whereabouts. A quick glance around and you’re reminded that you’re on-route to an island getaway, which is getting paid for by your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself. How did it end up this way? You close your eyes once again, another thirty minutes till your arrival, replaying the events of that night in your head.

“I think I have feelings for somebody else,” Jun confesses to you, staring down at his lap, too ashamed to meet your gaze.

You sit there, stunned. Is this some sort of horrible prank he’s pulling on you? This can’t really be happening, can it? After nearly five years together?

“You’re cheating on me?” You don’t mean to accuse him, it comes out on instinct, all of your worst insecurities revealing themselves. 

He shakes his head. “No. Well…not technically.” When you’re prepared to start yelling at him about bullshit technicalities, he quickly adds, “I haven’t acted on it. Nothing has happened between us. But…but I like her. And I don’t think I can keep ignoring these feelings any longer.”

You’re surprised at yourself that you aren’t already crying. Calmly, albeit voice trembling slightly, you ask, “Who is she?”

After a deep, intentional breath, he answers. “It’s Mai.”

The new employee. The coworker. The woman he was tasked to train when she started at their company a month ago. His underling who calls him or texts him before and after business hours. The reason he’d rather work than come home to you. Mai and Jun. This has to be some kind of cruel, sick joke.

Deep down, deep deep down in a place that you buried for the sake of your own sanity, you saw it coming. The distance between you and him had already existed and ever since he met her, it’s become too far to reach. You’re too slow to catch up with him. 

He continues to hold your hand, the once-familiar touch foreign on your skin now, a total stranger. There’s tightness in your throat as you fight the tears that are surely coming. “What…what did I do wrong?”

At this, he finally looks at you, as if he’s fighting them back too. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I think…” he pauses, struggling to get the words out. “I think we’re not right for each other.” It’s a hard truth to swallow, but you do, understanding that there is merit to what he’s saying. Something’s been missing, some sort of spark or flame to keep the fire burning. The two of you got along fine, making the most out of it. You were content, enough to keep each other around. Until now, apparently. 

You use your free hand to wipe your cheeks, soaking wet from continuous tears streaming down your face. “I wanted it to work out.” You did. You even planned a summer vacation in hopes of reigniting that flame, that passion. Was it never strong enough to begin with? 

“I know you did. I did too, for a while. But then I met Mai and -” He stops himself, giving you a tentative glance, realizing that he probably shouldn’t talk about his newfound love while the wound is very, very new.

“What?” You want him to continue, tell you what is that Mai and he have that you and he don’t. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s different. It’s something I’ve never felt before.”

It stings. It more than stings, it straight up hurts. A stab in the back, right into your heart. Things were fine, absolutely and totally fine. Was that the problem? It was only ever just fine? 

“What can we do differently? What can I do differently?” You’re panicking now, pleading with him if there’s any way you can salvage this

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing his words carefully. When he does, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The final blow. “I don’t think I can ever get there with you.”

With that, you’re certain that there’s nothing else that can be done. You take your hand from underneath his, using both your sleeves to wipe your face, the tears unable to stop flowing. He remains seated, only the sounds of your sobs filling the tense silence. Through your sniffles, you manage to say, “I don’t want to start over again.” Having to build another relationship from the ground up terrifies you. It took almost five years for you and Jun to do that, only to have it crumble into dust right before your feet. At this rate, you’ll be alone for the rest of your life. Just the thought of it has you bawling harder. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, burying his face in his hands. “This is unfair to you, I know that. But this is better for the both of us.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you already found someone else.”  You don’t hold back on the spite now. You know it’s venomous as soon as it leaves your mouth, but considering the current situation, you don’t feel too guilty about it. 

“You’ll find someone too.” He wraps a tentative arm around your shoulders in an attempt to console you. You don’t bother shrugging him off, savoring this little bit of intimacy for the last time. “And when you do, he’s going to change everything you know about love.”

You almost scoff at him, the anger within you beginning to erupt in your chest. What does he know about love? What do you even know about love? Love means never being alone, always having a warm, familiar body to wake up next to. You loved Jun because he fulfilled that for you. Is there more to it than that? If there is, and Jun isn’t the one who can show you that, is there anybody else who can?

~~~

So, what’s the quickest way to remedy a broken heart?

Doctors recommend a healthy diet and exercise, which is medically correct, for all intents and purposes. Your old next-door neighbor’s five-year-old kid offered a hug and a bandage to make the “boo-boo” go away, and that did make you feel better, even if just for a fleeting moment. Your parents tell you that only time will heal all wounds, that you’ll have to continue living your life as best as you can until you’re normal again. And sure, deep down, you know they’re right. But it’s already been two months and you’re still hurting. Time is moving so slowly, so painfully that you can’t stand waiting any longer for any of this suffering to end. So, you follow your best friend’s advice instead, who convinces you that this stupid vacation is exactly what you need to help you get through this. Especially because your ex, the cause of your heartbreak to begin with, is the one paying for it. After two flights, one on a bigger plane with barely any turbulence, then the other on a smaller one that had tons, you’re finally on the last leg of your journey, a boat heading straight to a beautiful island paradise.

The sun beats down on this scorching June day, your bare shoulders hot under its rays. The brim of your hat ripples in the wind as the boat flies through the choppy waters, nearing your final destination after a long and tiring travel day. The ocean is just as stunning as you expect, a perfect canvas painted with the most serene shades of blue, a vision that pictures will never do justice. You close your eyes, taking deep whiffs of the salty sea, remembering the conversation you had with Jun convincing you to go through with this.

“It seems pointless for me to go anymore.” You sit crossed-leg beside the drawer in your bedroom, neatly folding your clothes into the biggest suitcase you have. It’s been two weeks since the breakup. You’ve been moving in overdrive, distracting yourself from wallowing in the misery of your heartbreak. The job you initially dismissed two months ago came to the forefront of your mind. When you heard about it from a colleague of yours, you immediately disregarded it, not interested in relocating. You knew long distance with Jun would be difficult, impossible. Now, it’s the exact opportunity you were looking for: a fresh start, somewhere new, somewhere not here.

Jun’s inside the closet, helping you pack your clothes. “All the deposits are non-refundable. Plus, you spent a lot of time planning the itinerary. It’s a waste if neither of us go.” He’s referring to the vacation the two of you booked earlier in the year to celebrate your five-year anniversary. Too much time and too much money spent, all for nothing.  

“Then why don’t you and Mai go?” you snap at him, trying to contain your constantly teetering temper. 

He doesn’t respond right away, ruminating on his guilt while he continues to slide your blouses off of hangers. “It wouldn’t be right if we went.”

“None of this is fucking right, Jun. You think you can just pay for a vacation to make the pain go away?” Oops. Guess you couldn’t really control it this time. 

Again, he takes a moment to formulate a response. “Look, I know I’m an asshole and you probably hate my guts, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel really fucking guilty about this. And I know that this isn’t going to solve anything, and it won’t make what I did any less horrible. But I don’t know what else to do, okay? I just need to do something for you. Please.”

The shame he’s harboring is obvious. Despite all that’s happened, you can never truly hate him. If you were in his shoes, maybe you’d do the same. If the greatest chance at love fell before your feet, who’s to say you’d be any different from Jun? He just found it first, therefore, he’s the “bad guy”. But maybe it’s better for both your sakes to be free of a relationship that was only ever going to be “just fine.” 

Still, nobody can expect you to be understanding about it. At least not now, while it’s only two-weeks fresh.

It’s your turn to carefully contemplate your decision regarding this damn vacation. The idea of being alone, no matter how gorgeous the destination is, sounds awful. You don’t trust yourself to appreciate it enough while you’re all messed up in the head.  

You clear out the bottom drawer before replying, “I’ll think about it.” You pause, then add, “And for the record, I don’t hate you.”  

Jun doesn’t say anything else, but you can sense the ease in tension, at least for the time-being.  

The two of you continue to work in silence. Halfway through the top drawer, you comment, “If I do go, I hope you know that I’ll be taking full advantage of everything there, since you’re paying for it all.”

He laughs, a hearty, genuine one, and it tugs at your heartstrings just the slightest bit. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~~~

As you approach the dock, the white sands are even more blinding than they were from a distance, shimmering like diamond dust against the solar beams of the bright sun. The other tourists surrounding you already have their phones out, capturing this first glimpse into paradise with shared excitement.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” You turn to see an older woman beside you, grinning. “Is it your first time here?”

You swallow nervously, almost forgetting how to speak properly after having not spoken the entire day. “Yes it is.” It’s an answer to both her questions.

“My partner and I used to come here every year,” she continues, scooting closer to you to overcome the sound of the motor. “It’s a wonderful island. The food is fantastic and the beaches are superb. The softest sand you’ll ever feel on your feet. You’ll never want to leave. We got engaged here, then married here. It’s a very special place.”

You nod along with her, listening to her heartfelt story about love, ignoring your own bitterness towards it. Her eyes light up, reminiscing on all the wonderful memories she shared with the love of her life here in paradise. You can’t help but be envious of this stranger.

Glancing behind her, you notice she’s alone. Without thinking, you ask, “Is your partner here?”, expecting her to reply that they’re in the bathroom or on a different part of the boat taking pictures. That’s when you notice the small urn she holds in her lap and your heart sinks to your stomach. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see – ”

She laughs, waving her hand at you. “Of course you couldn’t have known, no need to apologize.” 

Mortified, you mumble out another apology, staring down at the urn. “I’m…I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Her smile grows wider, her kind gaze twinkling like the ocean surrounding you. “Thank you. But don’t feel so sad for me, my dear. I get to spend one last time in our favorite place with my sweetheart. What’s there to be sad about?”

The boat slows to a stop, a crewmate tugging at the ropes to dock it properly. In the background, the captain cheerfully announces your arrival. It’s met with claps and cheers from your fellow vacationers who hurry out of their seats to be the first ones released into paradise. The woman rests a gentle hand on your shoulder as she stands up, readjusting the urn between her arm and hip. “You’ve got a long, wonderful life ahead of you, my dear. Enjoy it while you still can.”

You bite your lip, holding back the tears welling in your eyes. All you can do is nod at her and give her your best smile in response, trying to contain the outpour of emotions stirring inside you as you watch her shuffle her way to follow the others.

This trip was a bad fucking idea.

~~~

Your resort is easy to find once you make it off the sand, which are indeed the softest you’ve ever felt. There are plenty of signs and staff to help you navigate to Crystal Shores, the open-concept lobby flourishing with all types of flora native to the island. A staff member immediately greets you, offering you a cold glass of citrus water and a fresh hibiscus lei, which she hangs around your neck. “Checking in?” You nod and she smiles brightly, waving you towards the front desk. “We’re looking forward to having you! Enjoy your stay at the Crystal Shores!”

Thanking her, you roll your luggage in the direction she points you to. A clerk with a nametag showing “Jasmine” helps you, a kind smile across her face. “Welcome to Crystal Shores. May I have your first and last name, please?”

You give it to her on instinct, but then you backtrack, remembering that the reservation is not actually under your name. “Sorry, it’s actually under my – ” You stop yourself from saying “boyfriend”, because it’s a simple fact now. Jun is no longer your boyfriend. Instead, you state his full name, cheeks warm from embarrassment as you take a sip of your water, cool to your lips.

She types diligently, still grinning while she looks at her computer screen. “Ah, here it is. Seventh floor, room 703, the honeymoon suite with a beachside view.”

You almost choke on your water. “Honeymoon suite?”

“Yes! It is our understanding that the two of you are here to celebrate your five-year anniversary. Congratulations! We took the liberty of upgrading your original room, free of charge. Will he be needing a key as well?”

You consider your options here. Telling the truth would be humiliating, but lying would be so much worse, especially since you’ll be staying here for the next five days. Making up excuses for why Jun isn’t here would only make you feel more pathetic. So, you decide to be honest, in an attempt to save whatever dignity you have left (which isn’t much). “Actually, Jun and I are no longer together, so he will not be needing a key. It’s just going to be me.”

The smile on Jasmine’s falters the slightly bit, her eyes widening at the uncomfortable confession, though she maintains her professional demeanor. “I see. Well, we are very, very happy to have you here with us.” She quickly averts her gaze, focusing back on the screen, typing something vigorously onto her keyboard.

“He dumped me because he fell for his coworker. But he was probably out of love with me already.” You can’t help yourself from continuing, the words spilling out of you like vomit. “To be fair, I stopped trying too. I could have done more, should have done more. I just didn’t think I needed to. That’s why I’m here. All alone.”

The typing stops. In a quieter voice, she mumbles, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, oddly relieved. “Anyway, thank you for the free upgrade. What’s the difference between a regular suite and the honeymoon suite?”

“The beds are bigger, you’ll have a larger bathtub, and the view is unbeatable. But…” she shoots you a furtive glance, almost guilty. “I should warn you. Since we were under the impression that you’d be celebrating your anniversary, our hotel staff decorated it as such.” No matter how hard you try to escape from it, you’ll always be reminded of your relationship with Jun. It was ridiculous for you to think you could avoid it here of all places, an island practically dedicated to couples. “I’m so sorry,” Jasmine apologizes again, passing you the card key to your room. “If you don’t mind waiting, I can have the staff go in there and dump out all the decorations.”

“No, you really don’t have to do that,” you insist, taking the key and sliding it into your pocket. “I’m sure I can handle it.” You give her a half-grin, truly appreciating her efforts, nonetheless. “Thank you, Jasmine.”

“We really hope you enjoy your stay here at the Crystal Shores.” She looks at you, genuine concern on her face. “Anything you need, please let us know. Don’t ever hesitate to ask, okay?”

You give her one last nod before making your way towards the elevators, heading up the seventh floor to see the honeymoon suite you’re calling home the next few days, ironically enough. On the walk down the hallway towards Room 703, you grow increasingly anxious for whatever is waiting to greet you inside. How bad can it be?

“Fuck me,” you curse to yourself, already regretting the refusal of Jasmine’s suggestion to remove the atrocity the kind staff decided to surprise you with (to no fault of their own).

There’s no denying that the room itself is stunning. The curtains are pushed wide open to reveal the balcony, where you have a perfect view of the sparking sand and sea. Sunlight streams in, emitting a radiant glow inside. The interior décor is modern and simple to accentuate the sensational vision outside. In a word, it’s breathtaking. And you wish you weren’t in such a sorry state to truly appreciate it for what it is: paradise.

Unfortunately, your focus immediately goes to the chaos laid out for you on the ginormous king-sized bed. Two white linen towels expertly shaped into a swan couple kissing, their beaks and neck conveniently making a heart. Scattered beneath them are dozens and dozens of red rose-petals, forming another, even more obnoxious, heart. As if the swans are swimming in their own little sea of love. Yuck.

That’s not all. The television is on, the home screen displaying a “Happy Anniversary!” message addressed to you and Jun specifically. At the kitchenette, there’s a bucket full of ice and a bottle of champagne, along with two champagne flutes, free-of-charge and courtesy of the staff who left a note wishing you “a lifetime of happiness!” Next to it is some sort of hospitality basket overflowing with treats and goodies: dried mangos sourced locally, dark chocolate made from the island’s own cacao beans, specialty snacks exclusive to this country. Again, free-of-charge with another special note from the staff hoping to “fuel your appetite for love!” The tub in the bathroom is filled almost to the brim, rose petals and tea lights still aflame floating on the surface, two sets of robes hanging on the wall beside it. Everything here is all perfectly laid out for a lovely couple celebrating five years together. And yet, here you are, all alone.

After taking it all in for a few minutes, you retrieve your phone from your bag, requesting a video chat with Kim, the person who somehow managed to convince you to do this.

One ring in, she answers, already in her pajamas, getting ready to sleep in her own time zone. “Thank god. I haven’t heard from you all day. I was starting to get worried.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to call until now,” you explain, giving her a weak grin.

Kim knows better than anyone the struggles you’ve been dealing with the past two months. Your best friend encouraged you to go on this trip, hoping it’d aid you in your journey of moving on. While she always tries to look at the bright side of things, she also understands that some days are much harder for you that others, today being one of them. So when she’s asks, “Are you…okay?”, she’s hesitant, gauging what type of “okay” you are. The type of okay where’s you’ll be able to sleep tonight or the type of okay where she’ll have to talk you through it while you spiral into a pit of depression.

Luckily for the both of you, you’re leaning more towards the former. “I’m here, so that’s progress. Right?”

She smiles reassuringly. “It is. How is it?”

You walk over to the balcony, sliding the door open. A cool breeze sweeps through and you take in a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh paradise air. “It’s honestly amazing. This view is insane.”

You switch the camera on your phone to show her. “Wow!” she exclaims, as you pan slowly across the horizon. “How’s the rest of your room?”

“It’s great. Except for the fact that it looks like cupid threw up in here.”

The thrill in her voice is impossible to ignore. “Oh, I’ve got to see this.”

You give her a tour of the room, explaining the situation about the free room upgrade and how you unloaded your trauma on poor Jasmine. She breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing the bed. “You never stood a chance,” she jokes, enjoying this too much.

“That’s not even the worst part. Look.”

You show her the TV displaying the personalized message for you and Jun. She groans, “Oh god.”

“Pretty bad, huh?” you remark, flipping the camera back to your face.

“Well, not considering your current predicament, this is all really, really nice, actually.”

Of course, she’s right. It’s not the staff’s fault for going above and beyond to make a couple’s anniversary special. The only reason you detest all of this so much is because you’re no longer a part of couple. Because you’ve become a grump to anything and everything to do about love. You’re letting all your inner turmoil get the best of you. This is supposed to be an escape, a place where you can forget. It’s your own fault for associating every single thing back to Jun, back to your failed relationship, back to love. You’re only making it harder for yourself to move on.

You sigh, nothing to say in rebuttal. “Yeah, it is really nice. I just wish I was in a better headspace to appreciate it the way it deserves.”

She sits up from her bed, her voice soft and comforting. “All you have to do is turn off the TV, throw away the rose petals, and blow out the candles. Then voila, the honeymoon suites becomes a single-and-ready-to-mingle suite. You’re in the most gorgeous room with the most gorgeous view on the most gorgeous island. You’ve also got a whole bottle of champagne and all these delicious snacks. Maybe you can find some vacation friends to share them with.”

You chuckle, already feeling better from Kim’s pep talk. “I don’t think anyone is going to want to hang out with a wreck like me.”

“You’re on vacation. Leave all your moping alone for a few days and go buck wild! You can do whatever you want and be whoever you want. Go out there and test the waters! Get a little wet! Maybe really wet, if you know what I mean.” She raises her brows at you, smirking.

You dismiss her suggestion. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“But a vacation boyfriend sounds��perfect for you! No commitment, no strings attached. Only fun. It’ll be good for you.”

You consider her idea seriously. No commitment, no strings attached. Only fun. You can’t remember the last time you kissed Jun, let alone the last time you had sex with him. Surely, you’re pent up, though you don’t really pay attention to it since you’re too busy being all gloomy. And like Kim said, you’re on vacation. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want. If that means pretending not to be a woman scorned, so be it. Maybe this will be good for you.

“You’re right. I’ll think about it,” you tell her, smiling. “I wish you were with me. We’d have an absolute blast here.”

“You know I would be if dumb Phil wasn’t born this weekend.” In the background, you hear her husband yell out a, “Hey!” from a distance. “He says hi by the way!” Kim adds, ignoring him.

You laugh. “Tell him I say hi too. Anyways, I’ll let you go. I know it’s late there. The sun sets in an hour so maybe I’ll wash up and watch it from my balcony before dinner.”

“Sounds like a great idea. And I take it back. You don’t have to throw all the petals away. A romantic bath isn’t only for couples, you know. But you should definitely turn off that TV.”

After bidding her a loving farewell, you do just as she advises, shutting off the television to make that message disappear. You unfold the swans back to their original towel form and use your arm to sweep the petals into the trash bin. There’s nothing you can do about the complementary snacks and beverages they so graciously provided you, so you leave them alone, collecting the notes to tuck into one of the empty drawers of the kitchenette.

Grimy after a long day of travel by foot, plane, and boat, you decide to take full advantage of the prepared bath, which is luckily still warm. You blow out a most of the candles, leaving a few to enjoy for yourself, placing them on the surrounding rim. The tepid water is soothing on your skin as you submerge yourself, scooping up the rose petals to feel their velvety texture in your hands. You lather yourself with lavender-scented soap, inhaling the calming aroma through your nostrils, doing your best to relax.

You enjoy it until the water is cold and your skin is supple. Extinguishing the last of the tea lights, you drain the tub and carefully step out, slipping into a pair of slippers before wrapping yourself in one of the robes hanging nearby. You stare at yourself in the mirror, inspecting your reflection thoroughly. You force a smile and it doesn’t look quite right, doesn’t look real. Will you ever be able to feel like yourself again? Will you ever go back to being happy?

Still in your robe, you grab your sunglasses from your purse and you walk out on the balcony, just in time for sunset. Leaning on the railing, you listen to the waves crashing on the shore below you, squinting your eyes at the small specks of people sitting on the sand. It’s tranquil out here, nothing like where you used to live with Jun in the city, nothing like the new city you moved into a week ago. That’s the majesty about this place. It’s like another world, making it easier to separate from reality.

Little-by-little, you watch the sun descend into the horizon, gold being dipped in blue, until it’s gone. And regardless of everything that’s happening in your life, everything that’s happening in the world, there’s no denying how glorious this sight is. Nothing can take away from the beauty of what you just witnessed. It’s glorious enough to give you just the faintest sign of hope that things will get better and you catch yourself smiling.

Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

[venuszn]

☆ : The Sun & Moon

Summary / Reader is hurting from the breakup between her and Bada.

Cw / Heavy angst, Avoidant and Anxious dynamic, Situationship, Emotional codependency, Bada is emotionally unavailable and is also hurting.

Authors note / I totally did not write this in one sitting to vent out the emotions I am feeling nope did not do that at all. Lol anyways I might be in my angst era this one was easy to write (it was therapy). Also, if you got the moon reference at the very end then yay. As usual you can always request and lmk what you think ! 💗

Wc / 1.3K words

Nobody prepared you for this. You did not prepare for this.

Of course, you have been here before. The situation, not being one of unfamiliarity, but you had hoped it would have evaded you for years to come or perhaps even forever. But yet, you find yourself at the very place you dread. The bottomless pit of the feeling named abandonment. You were truly and utterly alone.

How does one mourn the loss of a person still breathing ? Of a person still of flesh and blood. How does one attempt to manoeuvre this emotion and steer themselves onwards and upwards, out of the coldness of the darkness. Nobody prepared you for this.

You drag your feet out of bed, body heavy and thoughts accompanying. Bada should be beside you, but she is not. You look to the bed and you can almost see her laying there, fringe messily draped over her forehead as she would hold you from behind; her soft fingers gently tracing your skin as the both of you would lay there intertwined in body and heart. She always slept on the right and you on the left - that was how things were supposed to be. Now you wake up to nothing but the faint ghosts of what could have been.

You still sleep on the left.

As you gaze into the dirty mirror, a person you cannot recognise lazily gazes back. Her eyes empty but weeping with emotion. But no tears. Your eyes flicker to the toothbrush holder - yours stands in lonesome.

The irony if it all doesn't escape you - how does a person afraid of abandonment initiate the abandoning ? A person who is tired and at their breaking point.

You had always believed that Bada was the one. Nobody had ever made you feel the way she did. Nobody had understood you the way she did and with her you felt an unwavering sense of home - if she was the moon you were the sun.

But perhaps there’s a reason why the sun and the moon are long lost lovers, the beauty of their differences being the harmony that keeps them in balance, but forever doomed to chase the other to the ends of the earth.

You would have chased Bada to the ends of the earth. But would she have done the same for you ?

Despite how many times Bada tried to provide the reassurance you sought, insecurity remained at the back of your mind. You tried your hardest to be the sun for Bada. You saw how she was struggling, how there were times where she couldn't be emotionally present for you but you still shone your rays over her. Overshadowing your own troubles you gave her all of your light, hoping that she would soon start glowing.

But she didn’t.

The mourning had already begun.

As the days passed you felt Bada pulling further away. Your biggest fear. The moon can’t pull away from the sun, what would happen to the existing balance and harmony that they shared ?

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you a relationship right now. I’ve told you this.”

“I know.” You say as you sit on the bed, head down and playing with your fingers.

“So what should we do ?”

“I don’t know . . .” Bada never knew.

“I need you to make a decision, Bada. I’m here right now because I care about you a whole fucking lot. Probably a lot more than you care about me. How many times do we have this conversation a month ? You say you can’t give me a relationship and I say ‘It’s fine’ and I stay because you want me to stay and I want to stay. I don’t want to leave you.” You choke out, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

Bada sighs and runs her long fingers through her hair in defeat. “And I don’t want to leave you either. But I also know that I'm not ready to give you a proper relationship. I want to treat you like you deserve to be treated. I want to do all of that and more for you but I just can’t - not right now.”

“So when ?”

“I don’t have the answer to that.”

“But you want me to stay ?”

“It’ll hurt like a bitch if you leave.”

“Then I'll stay.”

It was a vicious cycle. You and Bada were heavily dependent on the other - truly the sun and the moon.

A period of time passed where the both of you deluded yourselves into pretending that everything was fine - that you were not both teetering on the edge of gravity. A relationship but lacking the security. It was nothing but a ticking time bomb ready to implode.

Tick.

Gentle touches and hushed sounds. Innocent kisses and those filled with longing. You both continued the facade - ignoring the faint ticking sound of the inevitable in the background.

Tick.

Bada would lean down and eagerly kiss you - when asked.

She would wrap her arms around you, engulfing you in her comfortable embrace and give tender kisses to your forehead - when asked.

“Bada, why don't you kiss me first ?” You had asked one day, feeling the insecurity creep up once more.

“Oh, I’m not used to initiating affection. It’s not something I've done in the past but please don’t think I don’t want to kiss or touch you. I do - that's why I always do it when you ask.”

“Oh, alright.”

Tick.

You knew Bada, you knew she would never intentionally cause you pain. You understood her behaviour and tried your hardest to accommodate your differing personalities. You truly cared for her and so you stayed and stayed everytime.

Tick.

But just as all things began they must also come to an end.

What will happen once the sun stops shining ? How many aeons will it take till it finally gives up - till the fuel runs dry and it begins to die.

“Bada, if you don’t want to do this anymore we don’t have to . . .”

Bada had pulled further away that week and you were at a loss. You were exhausted.

“It’s not that. It’s not about you specifically. I’m just not okay right now, you know this. There’s a lot going on and I don't know when I'll be ok . . . This isn’t fair to you, I know.”

“I think we should end this.”

Your eyes don’t leave Bada’s face as you read her expression - nothing.

Maybe you had both come to terms with it.

“I’m sorry. I tried to be happy for you and tried to pretend that everything was okay - that we were okay.”

“We haven’t been okay for a while now. And I wasn’t happy either. But it's fine. One of us had to make the difficult decision that we had been avoiding so at least now it’s been made. I hope you can be happier now, Bada.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you . . . I don’t know what else to say right now.”

“That's okay. You don't have to say anything more, I'll be going now.”

You had taken a few of your things from her place and left through the door, unsure of if you ever wanted to return to collect the rest of your belongings. Your heart had never ached like it did in that moment.

You were no longer the sun.

The reflection gazing back at you was not one of brightness and warmth. You were barren of warmth and light as you wondered if you should have confessed to the moon and complemented its beauty.

The words, accompanied with the rise of tears, fall from your lips and into the deadness of the air.

“The moon is beautiful, isn't it ?”

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight @nimixe ! [OPEN]

[epiclamer]

Feeling like reading horny rn so flirty villain and flustered hero except hero finds out that villain is actually kinda,,, yknow,, shy and then things turned steamy hehe

ofc no rush i just wanna slip a request here-

CW: SMUT

Role Reversal

There had been an array of different situations in which the hero and villain had wound up stranded together. Hero never planned their whole month out for the sake of it, because they always got stuck. Whether it be for a week, or a single hour, they always got stuck.

Never before had Hero a problem with it. Sure, their ideal Sunday night was not to be trapped in an air vent with their nemesis or turning green out on a boat at sea. But it never caused any damage that couldn’t be undone.

Just an inconvenience.

Hero tapped their fingers mindfully on the dark oak table, eyes boring into the king sized bed covered in rose petals ahead of them.

Unfortunately, planning around constant disturbances—such as this one—enabled any chance at up-keeping intrapersonal relationships. Or so the agency liked to call them.

The hero figured love-lacking was just as efficient.

For the second time this month they had been broken-up with because of their constant disappearances. Even when they tried to explain the situation, they just weren’t around enough.

They were always with Villain.

Villain this and Villain that, a new trap or a new mission always led them back to each other. And it was because of this that Hero couldn’t keep a relationship. It was because of this that they couldn’t love nor be loved.

A gentle tap on their forehead startled the hero out of their thoughts. Whipping around to see the partly dressed villain, water droplets pooling at the ends of their hair.

“I know it’s infuriating, but I don’t think you can kill a bed with your eyes, sweetheart~” Villain laughed, a chest laugh, an honest laugh, one bordering on intimate.

Hero’s eyes scanned over their nemesis once, twice, three times— Before the villain caught their attention once more, grasping the other’s chin with their fore fingers, tilting it up until their gazes met.

The smile that graced their lips only fuelled the hero’s boiling pit of anger even more. Did they think this was funny? Locked and stranded in a love hotel? Never being cared for or loved? Being dumped because of these stupidly constant rendezvous?

They huffed, pulling their face from the villain’s hold as they stood up and turned around. The image of the half-dressed and freshly showered criminal still imprinted in their mind.

“It’s because of you that I can’t have nice things.” It came out harsher then they had meant, but Hero kept reminding themselves that Villain was at fault for their losses. If anything, they deserved to be treated harshly.

Villain scoffed, voice cracking for a moment before they masked it with a cough. “Oh really?” Both hands landing on either side of the hero pressed against the counter, caging them between the tile and Villains body.

It took every molecule in the hero’s body not to turn around and clock the villain in the face. Maybe if they were lucky they’d dislocate their jaw.

The villain’s breath was on their ear now, hot and heavy as they teased and teased and teased. “Make me pay for it.”

They snapped.

Hero turned around, everything slowed down to a blur, unspilled emotions bubbled up inside them after such a long day. Heartbreak mixed with rage and suddenly both their hands were on the villain’s face and they kissed them. Lips against lips and they didn’t hesitate another second, catching the now flustered villain off guard enough to stumble them backwards into the wall.

All they could think about was Villain. How much they hated them for ruining their love life, how much they hated them for taking up their entire schedule. Hero was so sick of the villain’s flirting and innuendos.

Yet, they wanted nothing more then to have them right here and right now.

The crime-stopper pulled away, getting a good look at the villain’s red and blotchy face. Their wet hair falling over their eyes, swollen lips and heavy breaths, eager eyes practically begging for more. They were so fucking perfect. Hero was going to devour them tonight.

“Get on the bed.”

Villain only hesitated for a second as they tried to comprehend what was going on, but it was a second too long for the hero. They pulled the other back into a kiss, working furthermore in sync now that they were used to the rhythm, Hero dragged the villain backwards and onto the bed.

Flipping them so that the hero was on top, legs straddling the villain’s as their kiss grew rougher and passionate. Pulling away once more, Hero grinned when they had to pin the villain’s shoulders with their hands to keep them down.

In every encounter the two of them shared, Villain always flirted. They had this suave attitude that drove the hero mad and hardly even flinched in the face of danger. Even the Superhero found them charming.

But in this moment, Villain was theirs. Finally, they had broken through their hard shell to their blushing mess of an interior and it was a better rush of reward than any crime-stopping had ever provided.

Hero noticed the villain’s desperateness. How even now as they were pinned to the bed, they pushed their hips up against the hero’s in search of friction. How they groaned when the other pulled away and chased the hero’s taste on their lips. “You’re so needy…”

With an evil glint in their eyes, Hero leaned their head back down, mouth moving instead to Villains neck rather than their lips, gently rocking their hips against the villain’s momentum. “You just need it so badly, hm?”

They didn’t wait for the villain to answer, “can’t go so much as a week without my attention…” they bit down gently as they sucked a hickey under the villain’s collarbone and the other moaned as their hips shot up. Movements suddenly sporadic as they lost their momentum, animalistic almost as their hands reached to push the hero’s hips down even harder.

“All worked up over the slightest movements…” The hero watched in satisfaction as the villain’s body dripped with sweat instead of water. Losing any cleanliness it might have gained from being washed as Hero began to reach even lower with their trail of hickeys, making their way down painfully slowly.

Villain whined as the hero continued with their torture. Slowing their grinding to just a fraction, merely to tease the villain. They wanted to edge them. Wanted to make them beg and scream all night long before they got to finish. Wanted to keep the villain from the end until they were broken.

Releasing a hand from Villain’s shoulders as they reached it down, letting their fingers dip below the waistline of the criminal’s pants a few times before pulling them down. Not wasting anymore time as they altered their positioning, sitting lower—on the villain’s thighs—until they were sat comfortably enough to let their hand wander back to where the villain wanted it most.

Toying with them with featherlight touches. Torturing them with occasional rubs against their palm. It went from ghostly delicate to perfectly harsh and back again. Over and over and over as Hero’s mouth made it’s way lower and lower and lower.

“F-Fuck, Hero— please…”

They smiled, lips resting just above the villain’s sensitive skin. They could lean down a single centimetre and devour the other in a fury. They could make the villain see heaven for hours with just their tongue. Put them on cloud nine while they worked them until they were dry.

Very slowly, Hero leaned forwards, lips connecting with the villain’s abdomen once more. Fully aware they could make the villain’s night if they went just a touch lower. Before beginning their crusade of kissing their way back up. Because, where was the fun in that?

[leggerefiore]

cw: fluff, short drabble

pairing: Lear/Reader

“This is too much…” were the only words that could leave your lips as you entered your lodgings. Gifts sat sprawled around the room. All things of which were things you had once expressed an interest in, no matter how minor it was. You picked up the closest item, a stuffed toy of some kind, and sighed. It was little mystery of whom had the means and finances to do such a thing here on Pasio.

You had captured the attention of a certain prince thanks to your hat, apparently. This made him despise you – until he did not. Apparently you, alongside many others, made him recall the importance of friendship and bonds. This naturally meant you had his eyes more than most other trainers on the island. A champion could be standing directly in front of him, but as long as you were nearby, his gaze would fall onto you as he vented his frustration about whatever thing was on his mind or fell into some strange combination of an insult and compliment. But, recently, it was clear his feelings had shifted into something else. Lavish gifts and invites were appearing with heavy frequency. It was not exactly difficult to figure out what this correlated to – Especially when he seemed frustrated whenever anyone else held your attention for too long in his presence or if someone interrupted your time with him.

In fact, he had been seemingly inviting you over to his home quite frequently as well. He seemed insistent on spending alone time with you. It was often just existing in the same space together, as there was only so much two people could discuss when they saw each other often. However, it appeared your one declination of a hang-out had resulted in an overload of gifts. Lear was certainly something else. He had not even properly asked you out, but everyone around essentially assumed that you two had started dating. Even Rachel had been giving you some dirty looks. Though, granted, you had not exactly said yes to this. But… You would not exactly say no to it, either. There was something simply adorable about the prince and his inability to do anything normally.

You squeezed the plush toy and sighed. At this rate, you felt he would announce a marriage before you had even been asked to date him. Really, you could imagine it now… He would make some grand announcement before a gathered crowd about a royal wedding, while you stood none the wiser among them. Then, he would demand you join him on stage before giving out further details. You shuddered at the thought. He often did things with little forethought, you felt. Though, you wondered how he would feel if you did not want to be royalty or failed to want to move to his home region some time in the future. It would be an unfortunate reality that if you did marry him, that you would become royalty.

Lying on your bed, you gazed out the window. Well, he was still just a prince as it stood, but his succession was to follow his victory – against you – at the next PML. It was only a matter of time before that happened, too.

~

“Lear, we need to talk,” you caught his attention as you wandered the villa, having been searching for him. He stopped in his tracks to allow his uncovered gaze to fall onto you. Purple eyes stared almost through you in that moment. He nodded. You let out a sigh. “Uh, what are we?” you decided to first establish that before going any further. His gaze became strange.

“… Romantically involved? I thought it was clear that I was courting you,” he replied, “I'm generous, certainly, but I don't treat everyone as I do you, I hope you realise.” Ah, the usual accidental insult in his words. You sighed. Well, you were right. He just assumed you two were dating. Stepping closer to him, you caught his hand. He did not flinch nor really gaze a reaction more than a cock of his head. It seemed that he was truly convinced that you two had plainly been dating.

“… Okay… So,” you pondered how to say this, “… Uh, you're not planning any insane public announcements, are you?”

“… Not particularly. I think it is fairly obvious to anyone that we are involved,” he deadpanned and grasped your hand back, “… Unless you are asking that I do so, of which I have no opposition.” You swallowed. The last thing you needed was him smugly informing those visiting Pasio that he was dating you. The very thought was embarrassing enough to make your heart race.

“I'm not,” you clarified, “… Please stop getting me so many gifts, I'm running out of room for them.” He blinked in surprise.

“… Then move in with me,” he said simply.

You were almost tempted to take him up on that offer. But, instead, you just leaned in and gave him a kiss. Which, to your shock, he returned without any of the expected complaints.

He did take that as a yes, however. You had to stop him from actually moving you in.

[carolmunson]

what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

9!

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

8!

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

7!

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

6!

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

5!

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

4!

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

3!

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

2!

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

1!

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

[teddybeartoji]

∷ LOSERVILLE'S GUIDELINES & RULES

— this blog is very much 18+!!!!!!! all minors will be blocked on sight. same goes for all ageless or blank blogs.

— this blog is firstly and most importantly a space space for ME. i welcome everybody with open arms but please keep that in mind.

— i write for gender neutral, male and fem readers.

— i write both sfw and nsfw stuff.

— all character are written as 21+

— i do not take requests!! but i’m always down to listen to your ideas and thrists!!!!

— do not rush me. i write when i want to write and what i want to write, please remember that i am just some guy and i do this for fun. i am also very slow with my replies and tend to hold onto asks, please don't take that as anything personal.

— please do refrain for asking for part 2’s and such! it sucks the motivation right out of me, a nice little comment and praise is way more appreciated<3

— please don't use my inbox as a place to vent. it's more than okay to tell me about your day but please do not get into anything heavier, i do not feel comfortable with that.

— dark content is very welcome here. that includes yandere, dub and noncon, stepcest, blood, gore, somno etcetc, so if you see anything you don’t like, i suggest you to either block said tag ("cw blank") or you know… leave :3

— while i am very open minded and am very glad to talk about different kinks, i have a few bigger no's that i'd prefer not to delve into - very rough/hate sex, impact play (receiving; a few ass slaps is fine, and perhaps a pat on the cheek but nothing stronger than that), hard doms and heavy degradation. i have nothing against these and i don't judge ppl who are into them, they just aren't for me at all.

— in nsfw works, there's rarely a certain dynamic set in stone. my readers tend to vary from sub to dom, mostly settling somewhere inbetween those two. the same goes for the characters i write about.

— this blog is not spoiler free!! any newer leaks will be tagged with "blank leaks" and "blank spoilers" though.

— feel free to tag me in any art or any writings you think i'd like!! that includes your own aswell, but just bear in mind that it might take me a minute to get to it.

— if you think there's something i should know about, please come and tell me about it, so i can handle the situation myself. please do not harass people on the behalf of my name.

— please don't ask me to be mutuals with you. i follow who i follow.

— please don't spam like (over like six posts in a row), i am very glad that you like it here in loserville, i am just afraid of getting shadowbanned lmao

— DO NOT REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR ALTER MY WORK!

— DO NOT FEED ANY OF MY WRITING TO AI! ai is not welcome here in any shape or form.

DNI: rascists, homophobes, transphobes, zionists, terfs, ableists, misogynists, sexists, pedophiles, xenophobes etc, ppl who hate on dark content and cannot seperate fiction and real life, and ppl who dislike readers with personalities and ppl who like to stir up discourse.

∷ LOSERVILLE'S OFFICIAL ANONS

— 🦉, 🦷, 🃏, 🐭, 🍓, ☀️, 🎭, 🥀, lesbian lover anon, thristy ahh anon.

∷ LOSERVILLE'S LEGEND

#mayor of loserville- me talking or whatever

#mickeycore - get to know me through shitposts

#mickey’s magazine - pics hehe:3

#wtf mickey can write - all of my writings

#mickey is daydreaming - headcanons n stuff

#mickey vs gender - me struggling or whatever

#mickey can’t stop thinking - ideas n concepts n lore

#ceo of letterboxd says hello - me talking about movies

#friends!! - answered asks

#working at tumblr dot com - masterlists n such

#loserville's library - masterpieces u should read

#loserville's art gallery - masterpieces u should look at

#interview the mayor - ask games