#friendship: but i like you with your inquisitive heart

[koushirouizumi]

“Te  tomo  , you should trai   with me. Why wo  ‘t you?” Koushiro displayed the results of his training to Tentomon, who was watching him from the side. Tentomon tried it out for himself. “Very well, Koushiro-ha  ” but right away he said, “No, this isn’t for me. Ending at ‘Koushiro-ha’ just doesn’t feel right. It feels icky.” “I see. I  deed that is a shame.”

Digimon Adventure Novel; “The Inquisitive Heart” Translation from Digital Scratch (Link in the comments)

[iwritefandomimagines]

TREEHOUSE — JESS MARIANO

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy jess’ flirty teasing. he’d be lying if he said that you didn’t make him uncharacteristically mushy.

warnings: swearing n fluff!!!, that’s all folks

author’s note: ok so i caved and started rewatching GG already — i had this idea and had to run with it! let me know what u think x

“Wow Y/N, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this!”

You looked up, rolling your eyes at the smirking boy before you as you placed down your book, “Oh yes,” you quipped sarcastically, “Such a shock to see you at your uncle’s diner that you live above and work at. Bonus points for you literally choosing to come over to my table, by the way. Usually you save our tantalising small talk for when I come to the counter for a drink.”

This only emboldened his smirk, and he glanced back to see Luke quirking his brow at his usual game — he always distracted himself from helping out by busying himself with talking to you.

In seconds he’d sat himself down in the empty chair opposite you, leaning on your closed book and staring so intently into your eyes you felt your heartbeat quicken immensely.

“What do you want, Mariano?”

“Ouch, last name?” he pouted, “And here I thought we were friends.”

Your heart was racing at how close to you he seemed to be, but his assertion of your supposed ‘friendship’ dulled this a little.

It infuriated you that he spent so much time flirting, and then every other moment acting like his having any romantic interest in you was a ridiculous suggestion.

“Friends, hm?”

In all the time he’d been loitering around, lending you books, stealing your books, making you coffee and all-round just finding any reason to be near you, Jess had never been certain his attraction to you was reciprocated either.

You’d started out shy, unsure of why the hell he seemed so struck with talking to you when he appeared so disdainful of everyone else in Stars Hollow.

And then you’d warmed to him, you’d opened up, you’d spent evenings as the only two people in Luke’s — just talking for hours on end — only to the next day seem distant again.

He’d tried to reassure himself that you did like him too, and that you were just shy, but something always stopped him from passing the boundaries of friendship beyond flirtatious remarks.

“Am I being relegated to an acquaintance?” he placed a hand over his heart and screwed up his face like he was going to cry, before relaxing it and smirking once more, “Or is your inquisitive tone your way of hinting at your undying love for me?”

“Shut up,” you shoved his arm gently, watching him feign a gasp, “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that right?”

Jess scooted his chair even closer to the table, “I totally thought that was your favourite quality of mine. My mistake!”

You didn’t reply for a moment, challenging him with eye contact and feeling your chest tighten at the way he seemed to match the intensity.

“What’re you doing tonight?”

This was new — he normally just hinted at caring what you were up to, nudged for you to give away whether you were seeing anyone, and danced around flirting just enough that he could deny it if you called him out on it.

You gestured to the book he’d made himself comfortable on, “A riveting night of draining your establishment of coffee ‘til you close, finishing this book and then probably either starting another or binging some shitty tv.”

It was only now that he looked at the book he was leaning on, clocking that it was Ham on Rye and he was the one who’d lent it to you when you’d expressed a desire to read more Bukowski.

“How’re you finding it?”

“Oh, and apparently starting the Jess and Y/N book club,” you teased, “Yeah, I’m enjoying. Thank you again for letting me borrow it.”

He smiled, “Anytime. Want me to leave you alone ‘til you’re done with it?”

You pondered his question for a moment. You didn’t want him to go anywhere, but weren’t quite sure if you should suppress your eagerness for his company.

“No, no,” you bit your lip, “Its alright. Does—,” you almost asked if Luke needed him, in the hopes that he’d say no and you could ask him if he wanted to get out of there. Almost.

“Does… what?”

“Nothing, never mind,” you shook your head, blushing crimson at how closely he watched your every move, “Its quiet in here tonight.”

He shrugged, “I was hoping you’d ask if I wanted to get out of here, because Luke definitely doesn’t need me when it’s this dead.”

You smirked, “Is this you asking me to get out of here?”

“Maybe.”

“Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yes, Jess, cool. Let’s go somewhere else,” you grinned, pulling your book from beneath his elbow slowly and watching him roll his eyes at your teasing smile as you did so, “I was going to ask that. Didn’t want to seem too eager and boost your ego.”

He feigned insult again, “Ego? What ego?!”

He rose to his feet as you packed your book into your bag, gesturing that he was going to go and tell Luke he was leaving and quickly sauntering over to the counter, where you just about overheard Luke mumble, “Finally asked then?”

That made your stomach swarm with butterflies — this was really happening.

All this time, and things were finally progressing.

Jess briefly disappeared behind the counter, before re-emerging with his jacket and opening the door to the diner for you to lead the way out.

“Where’d ya wanna go?” you asked, your voice quiet as you suddenly felt anxious about being so close to him.

Your feelings for Jess had been growing steadily for so long now, bubbling under the surface, and now you finally had an inkling he actually liked you too you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

He shrugged again, looking down at his feet with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he ambled through Stars Hollow at your side.

“We can just walk,” you hummed, “Or we can go to mine. I’ve, uh, got a treehouse out back that my dad built when I was a kid. Or not if that’s a really fucking lame suggestion.”

He kicked a stone at his feet, “No, that sounds good. Totally lame. But good.”

That pleased you enough to elicit a small hum from your lips, and you found yourself walking a little closer to him as you led the way to your house, “Good. Follow me then.”

When you arrived at your house it was empty as ever — the reason you spent so much time at Luke’s was the rarity of company at your own home given your parents’ busy work lives.

You grabbed a few drinks from the fridge, some snacks from the cupboard, and then led the way out back to the treehouse, which was lit with fairy lights and adorned inside with band posters and shelves of books.

“I’ll give it to you, Y/N, it’s less lame than expected,” Jess nudged your side as you crawled in and slumped down on the mattress in the corner of the room, scoffing at him, “I feel honoured to have the Jess Mariano’s approval.”

“Should I feel privileged to be up here?” he licked his lips, eyes glancing over at the torn “NO BOYS ALLOWED” sign discarded at the edge of the tree house too, “Or does the sad state of the sign suggest I’m one of many exceptions?”

You rolled your eyes, “If you’re jealous that other boys may have been up here, you can just say that, Jess. But you should feel privileged because you’re the first. In fact, I can’t believe I didn’t even think twice about bringing you up here.”

He seemed to like that, his eyes glimmering as they darted between your lips and your eyes repeatedly while he found the words to respond.

“I’d say that means you like me, Y/N,” his voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, and your close proximity left you shuddering as his breath fanned over your face, “Can’t say I blame you.”

His shit-eating grin made you roll your eyes for the millionth time tonight, “Here I was about to say maybe you were right. Thanks for snapping me out of it, shithead. I don’t like you nearly as much as you like yourself, huh.”

He just stared at you for a moment, eyes still twinkling and his breathing jagged.

“Funny, except I don’t think that’s true,” his head dipped to kiss you now, capturing your lips at first tentatively and then with increasing pressure as you kissed back.

He pulled back for a second, half smirking and half dazed, “Yep, I’d say you definitely like me.”

“Says the one who initiated the kiss,” you challenged, “And has been flirting with me incessantly since, like, the moment we met.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Oh is that so?”

“Are you denying it?”

“Oh no, I’ve definitely been flirting,” he licked his lips once more, desperate to kiss you again but trying to refrain for now, “It’s just funny that you’re only calling me out on it now.”

You gently shoved him and poked out your tongue, “I can kick you out of my treehouse whenever I want, you know.”

He only leaned closer again, “But you’re not gonna, are you?”

Jesus Christ you’d not been prepared for the palpitations in your chest right now. Your heart thrummed against your rib cage, drunk on the feelings that had only gotten stronger tonight.

“It’s your lucky day.”

You kissed him again, and the arm he wasn’t propped up on scooped around your waist to pull you closer and deepen the kiss, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You stayed like this for god knows how long, joking around in between kisses and getting more and more comfortable in each other’s company, until he sat up abruptly and furrowed his brows.

“What’s wrong? Filled your kiss quota for the night and ready to leave or something?” you smiled, tongue in cheek, and he chuckled.

“Oh no, never. Just figured as much as I’d like to just kiss you, we should probably talk,” it was unlike Jess to look as nervous as he did right now.

In the time that had passed this evening, you’d grown comfortable enough to help him out a little here.

“I really like you, Jess.”

He wasn’t expecting that — you could tell from his wide eyes and open mouth, which he swiftly shut when he realised he was slack-jawed and silent.

He reached out to take your hand in his, fingers twiddling with yours, “You do? That’s, uh, good. ‘Cause I really like you too, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help the little joyous giggle that escaped your lips, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sound of it, “D’you want to stay over tonight? We can sleep in here?”

He kissed your nose, relaxing back into his reclined position again, “If you’re sure… I’d like that.”

“‘Mm, c’mon then,“ you cuddled in a little closer to him, suddenly overcome with tiredness from the evenings events, “…’m sleepy.”

He smiled, a broader smile than he was sure he’d ever smiled before, happy you were finally this close to him. He dipped his head to kiss your forehead, interlocking your hands as you got comfortable on his chest.

“G’night beautiful,” he whispered, and you could hear his heart thrumming in his chest. You couldn’t believe you’d found this side of Jess Mariano. And you weren’t going to get over that joy any time soon.

“Night Jess,” you hummed, already half asleep, “You better be here when I wake up.”

“Oh I will, Y/N, I’m not going anywhere.”

———

ahhHhHhh i hope you enjoyed this !!! please feel free to make some requests if you’d like, or just let me know what you think! i’ve been in such a writer’s block funk lately — but hopefully i’m back now!

here is my masterlist if you’d like to read more of my works!

[nincompoopydoo]

Hey! Can you please write something for Aaron Hotchner with the prompt ‘I never saw such a woman, she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.’ ?

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader WORD COUNT: 800+ SUMMARY: Hotch is in love and you’re trying to figure out who. Little did you know… A/N: can u tell i love writing confessions ;-; and peek the ts reference! anyway hotch has my whole heart. thanks for the request! note: paragraphs in italics is a flashback. WARNINGS: swearing. reader being kinda clueless. mentions of a gun. no beta we die like men. PROMPT: “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“I know that look, Hotch,” you hint with a natural inquisitive tone, “You are in love.”

This was normal for the two of you – an unlikely friendship with a shared need for coffee to survive late-night paperwork, rudimentary for a budding friendship of otherwise Quantico strangers. You crossed paths from your work with the CNU on the floor below and first backed the BAU a year ago with a hostage negotiation. You were new to the job but rose quickly up the ranks. Ever since, you kept seeing each other everywhere.

11 pm. Coffee. You’d always meet.

He isn’t sure how the topic of being in love came about, but he suspects you had a hunch for quite some time. For a moment, Hotch’s heart drops at your words but quickly catches the curiosity in your tone, and the general ignorance to the fact that your prying means a lot more to him than you realised.

You really haven’t got a clue.

Hotch feels a beckoning of warmth flaring in his cheeks, spurring a sheepish smile and a passing light chuckle. His gaze trails the rising steam billowing from his black coffee and disappearing into the expanse of his office.

He shifts his eyes to you, casually hunched in your seat, legs stretched out, and your coat hung at the back of the chair. You’re watching him with a curious look.

“In love is a bit of a stretch.”  

That’s a lie. He’s very much in love with you.

Your smile curves into a sly smirk. You know he’s lying.

“So, you don’t deny it?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

You scoff, shifting in your seat to cross your arms. “Look, be thankful I’m not using hostage negotiation tactics on you right now. Answer the question, Hotch.”

Hotch laughs, and it leaves him with a small smile. He shakes his head, gaze falling to his mug once more. “I don’t deny it.”

You simply hum. “I won’t pry, but I believe it’s customary to tell me how you met and what she’s like.”

Hotch raises a brow, and you reflect his expression – it’s a challenge. He’ll never make it out of Quantico if he doesn’t tell you.

With a heavy sigh, he ultimately gives in. 

“We first met on the field. She assisted us on a case…”

“Agent Hotchner!”

He spins around to see you trudging across the road while strapping on your tactical vest. You introduced yourself with a polite smile through squinted eyes under the glaring sun and shook his hand. Firmly.

You’re CNU – hostage negotiator. A fresh face.

“We appreciate you coming on short notice,” Hotch says curtly, though the smile that tugs his mouth betrays his usually serious demeanour.

“Well, anything for our upstairs neighbours.” You beam up at him, and Hotch prays that his suddenly flushed cheeks are hidden under the shade of the nearby trees.

You make a final adjustment to your vest with a light huff and unclasp the holster that secured your gun, withdraw it and extend your firearm to Hotch in a heartbeat. It’s a silent request and an act of trust.

Hotch hesitantly took the gun from your grasp. “You sure about this?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. You were terrified. “Yeah... Unsub isn’t gonna talk with a gun in his face.”

Another smile his way. “Just cover me while I’m in there.”

Your words resonate with a heaviness that strikes directly at his heart. There’s a clear passion for your job despite your horrified disposition. It isn’t noticeable, but he sees it. He respects that about you.

Hotch just nods assuringly, “Always.”

“– Alright, pause. She’s highly intelligent, an excellent communicator, fears nothing, and I’m assuming incredibly hot...” You stop yourself and laugh to yourself, expression gleaming with amusement. “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

You don’t mean to, but he can see you trying to ‘crack the case’: the identity mysterious woman. He knows you’ll uncover the truth eventually. Despite harbouring a confession for months, Hotch understands there may never be a right time. It needs to be now.

So, he allows you to piece it together.

“She certainly is.”

You’re not listening anymore, brows shooting up like you just had a revelation. “Wait, you mentioned she’s a negotiator?”

“Yeah, she’s from the floor below.”

Your brows furrow with confusion.

“The floor below?! But there’s only Annie, who’s very much happily married, and–”

A beat. Realisation settles upon your face, and Hotch’s heart leaps.

Oh.

OH.

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

It’s you.

“...You’re in love with me?”

Your words are barely audible and careful, bearing their fragile weight and gravity. There’s a crease between your brows, eyes gleaming with expectancy. 

He has never been so sure.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

A beat. He says it so plainly that it assures any doubts you had before. Your breath hitches.

Hotch is in love with you.

Instantly, your face splits into a bashful smile as you reach for his hand, a gentle touch to your palm, fingers intertwined with your own.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

[maharellasa]

I've given it a lot of thought about making a post like this, because I didn't want to just add to the already extended discourse on the subject, but I keep reading opinions and I just can't stay out of it.

Before I continue I want to make clear that I've done high approval solas playthroughs and I do believe that a befriended solas cares deeply for the inquisitor. He respects and values them, and you could even argue that they forge a kind of sibling bond or a mentor/apprentice one. So for him to betray that, it's really a tragedy in the end—the inquisitor hurts deeply for their lost friend/mentor.

That said, and I am truly, honestly, not saying this as a solasmancer, but from a storytelling point of view, the story of a romanced solas is still far more impactful.

Please let me make my case before you draw conclusions.

I am not saying it's more valid, or that you should do it, or that it should be the canon. Just, simply, that it is a more powerful story narratively, and that acting like the high approval run somehow has an equal narrative value is completely unbased. It's a meaningful story, yes, but it does not have the same impact. (To be clear, I'm not speaking in comparison to other romances here since that's based on taste and preferences, just the case of befriended vs romanced solas specifically.)

From a creative writing point of view, the romance employs:

backstory relevance: fen'harel is an important part of lavellan's culture and upbringing. and yes, arguably, that's true for any lavellan, but in the case of a romanced one, there's the beautiful narrative device of—

tragic irony: she grew up specifically being cautioned about the dread wolf's treachery, hearing blessings like "may the dreadwolf never catch your scent" etc. and what does she do? she goes and falls in love with him.The dread wolf literally takes her. A befriended lavellan might love him, but will give him nothing so vital as her heart for it to be considered "a taking". And as for other inquisitors, well, they don't even know who Fen'harel is.

unique perspective: (edit because of comments on this post) solas reveals much more of himself to a romanced inquisitor than a high approval one. "it's not right", "it's been so long since I trusted someone", "it will be kinder in the long run", "you saw more than most", and to top that, the ultimate reveal of solas telling her he can remove her vallaslin, which is his way of showing her who he truly is.

denied catharsis: one of the most essential rules of storytelling is that after you've reached the climax of the hero's journey and you've dragged them through all their struggles, you should provide a form of catharsis. that doesn't happen in the case of the romanced lavellan. she ends up alone. I'm not even saying heartbroken, because losing a friend can cause equal pain, but a solas romanced lavellan ends. up. alone. After all that she went through, after having her personhood erased and being forced into a religion that is not hers, after losing her arm and potentially her clan, she ends the journey of the inquisition standing completely alone overlooking an empire that will never thank her. and added to that, we have—

continued torment: her lover still visits her in dreams and she can't even tell if he's real or her imagination.

Yes, high approval playthroughs are enjoyable and meaningful and as much a valid canon as any. And yes, it's really unfortunate that they limited such a beautiful romance to a specific race and gender in the game. But please, please, stop trying to argue that the friendship narrative is as powerful a storytelling as the romance. And stop treating solavellans like silly fangirls who can't see past their faves. I admit that there are those who are trying to force the romance as the only valid option, but I'm not talking about those, every fandom has its radicals.

This is not an argument of whether romantic is better than platonic or vice versa. And it's not an argument of whether solas cares more for a romanced inquisitor versus a befriended one. He cares deeply in both cases. It's about the fact that, narratively speaking, the romance delivers a far greater impact to the character and the story than the high approval run.

[neonovember]

Do you have a request WIP we can take a peek at?🫣🤭

oh you know i do

You aren't jealous.

You have never experienced the slimy green devil in any of your past relationships, so you shouldn't feel it now.

Your mind isn't fond of what it should feel however, and instead, you feel a burning ache begin to burst through your chest as you watch Carmen nod excitedly at Claire in the Beef’s front dining space. It disgusts you, how this feeling wraps around your heart like sludge. You've been trying to focus on prepping for the new menu, gathering different ensembles of compotes and sauces, but your eyes always finds it’s way back to them.

And her.

Claire had burst into Carmen’s life seemingly out of nowhere, and it took one exchange between you both to know it was different. Claire had something you didn't with Carmen, a past, and the discomforting feeling of being on the outside looking in was all that blared in your mind the past few weeks since her appearance.

It wasn’t like Claire was rude, no that would have made this feeling easier to bear. She was nice, for god sake. The only person in Chicago who it seemed had not yet gotten all their goodness sucked out, and she had to have been Carmen's old friend. And a friend was all she was, so why did you- why are you jealous?

She knows him better than you do.

You shake the thought out of your mind so furiously the container in your hand spills onto the cutting board. You weren't going to go there, not when Carmen hadn't done anything wrong. You wanted him to have friends, to broaden his circle from beyond just the Beef and Sugar, who you made sure to point out didn't exactly count. So you should be happy, ecstatic even, that he was able to reconnect with someone that had known him for so long.

But she had known him for so long. 

And you know you're being irrational and hypocritical and you know you can’t own someone else, but maybe there was a part of you that liked that you had him all to yourself.

Carmen was different. To your other relationships, your other friendships, everything. You and Carmen danced around your feelings for so long that when it exploded into heated kisses and confessions of love one night after a dazzling dinner service, it had already felt like you had been with him for years.

And Carmen was devoted to you, he sang it into your skin every chance he got. It was just that those chances had begun to dwindle day after day the more Claire came around, until you had begun to detest the sound of her name leaving his mouth.

The squealed sound of Claire rips you from your reverie, and your eyes shoot up to catch her grip Carmen's shoulder, her head tilted back and eyes squirmed shut in laughter. The ripple of jealous rage that bursts through every limb in your body causes you to drop the knife in your hand and rush through the inquisitive shouts of Richie and Syd, until you hear the slam of the backdoor behind you.

Your leg jitters as you walk around in circles, grinding your jaw as visions of Claire and Carmen flash in your mind. Fisting the washcloth in your hand till your knuckles turn white, you stuff your face into it, masking the scream of festered anger that rips from your throat. 

You’re pathetic, you don't get to feel jealous. Carmen would never even think of it, of betraying you, and yet angry tears gather at your waterline despite. Your heart feels as if it's going to shatter and take you tumbling down with it, when have you ever felt this way?

You hate it, you seethe as you're forced to sit in it and make room for it in your mind. It takes over, overcrowding your mind till you can't hear anything else, where even the buzzing of your phone is unregistered till your thigh begins to itch.

Wiping a hand across your face, you reach down to grasp the metallic slick edges. And the image of Luca flashing across the screen stumps you frozen till it rings out. You hadn't seen him since Denmark, in fact it had been years.

The ping of a text shakes you from the memories of spending months on boats and pastry kitchens in Copenhagen, the gray bubbles appearing on your screen.

“Gonna be in Chicago for a bit, wanna test out if your Mille-Feuille is still up to standard?”

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Beer Never Broke My Heart - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: another country music inspired TGM oneshot because why not. Beer Never Broke My Heart by Luke Combs is a fave and it's been stuck in my head all day so, here we go.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

warnings/content: fluff, a little angst if you squint I guess? Bob and Bradley playing cupid. Jake's a commitment-phobe.

word count: 2.8k

The stories about Jake Seresin’s Fourth of July parties were the thing of legends. At least, that’s what your childhood best friend, Bob Floyd told you. Growing up together in the quaint corners of Kentucky, your friendship persisted even after Bob enlisted in the Navy, bridging the geographical gaps that separated you. Upon encountering Jake, Bob wasted no time in regaling you with tales of the charismatic, albeit arrogant and cocky, pilot he had befriended—someone he cheekily deemed "perfectly your type." With a mischievous grin, Bob couldn't resist teasing you about your penchant for less-than-stellar romantic choices. However, as Bob grew closer to Jake, his jests evolved into genuine affection, a burgeoning belief that perhaps you and Jake were destined for each other. Your recent trip to San Diego had you attending Bradley Bradshaw's birthday bash at Bob's insistence, albeit with the conspicuous absence of Jake. Despite assurances from Jake himself that he wouldn't miss it, he was reportedly detained by a rigorous training exercise on base, but Bob hadn’t been buying it.

"Has Jake ever mentioned having a significant other, like, ever?" Bob quizzically posed one evening at the Hard Deck, the favored haunt for Navy personnel and their circles.

Bob's squadron pondered, their heads shaking in unison while exchanging contemplative glances. A few scanned the ceiling, delving into their memory banks to recall any fleeting encounters where Jake might have been accompanied by a woman for more than just a passing night.

"Bradley, Javy, you guys practically grew up with him. Have either of you ever seen him with a girl for longer than a one-night fling?" Bob chuckled, arching an inquisitive brow.

Bradley and Javy exchanged a silent glance, both shaking their heads softly. Bradley took a sip of his beer, placing the bottle down with a soft laugh, as if a distant recollection had suddenly surfaced.

"I take that back, I do remember this one girl. What was her name... Heather, Jessica, something like that. This was way back when I first met him, over a decade ago. Jake would've been, what, 21 tops? He was ready to tie the knot with her—or so we all thought. Then she decided she couldn't handle dating someone always on the go, and it broke poor Jake's heart. After that, he seemed to reckon he had something to prove, which might explain why he can be such an insufferable dick most of the time now."

Bob raised a knowing eyebrow, nodding thoughtfully. A smirk crept onto his face as he glanced around at his companions, then back at you.

"Jake's got cold feet when it comes to commitment. That's why he skipped out!” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it, Bobby?” Bradley grinned, shaking his head as he sipped his beer again.

“Look, I think we need to just bring you to his annual Fourth of July party. He’ll love you when he meets you. He’s just scared of the idea,” Bob nodded as he turned to you, grinning. 

“Guys, if Jake doesn’t want to meet me, it’s ok. I’m not offended. If he’s a commitment-phobe, I’m probably good just…not meeting the guy,” You shrugged as you sipped your cocktail, laughing softly. “Besides, Bobby, you’re the one who said he was perfectly my type because he’s an asshole. I mean, maybe I should change my type.”

“Nah, Jake’s not a bad guy,” Bradley shook his head quickly, an awkward chuckle escaping his lips. “He’s just not a smart guy, at least not when it comes to social settings. Trust me, he’ll be fine. We just won’t tell him you’re coming.”

A few nights later, you and Bob rolled up to Jake's party, the warm summer air buzzing with excitement. You sported a laid-back ensemble: denim shorts hugging your curves and a tie-dyed halter top in patriotic hues of red, blue, and white, exuding a festive vibe. Your sunglasses rested atop your head, adding a touch of effortless coolness to your look.

As you stepped into the backyard, the scene unfolded before you: Bradley and Jake engaged in their customary banter, beers in hand, the ambiance alive with their friendly squabble.

"I'm telling you, the Astros are taking it all this year," Jake asserted confidently.

Bradley scoffed, retorting, "And I'm telling you, they'll crash and burn like they always do, Bagman."

Bob chimed in with a chuckle, playfully interrupting their debate. Adjusting his glasses with a grin, he shot Bradley a teasing glance.

"Are we interrupting something here?" Bob quipped, his tone lighthearted as he ushered you forward.

Bradley's smile widened as he greeted you warmly, introducing you to Jake, who turned to you with a suave grin, his eyes sparkling with charm. 

As you laid eyes on Jake for the first time, a rush of sensations flooded through you. Standing tall with a commanding presence, his tanned skin glowed under the party lights, accentuating the golden hue of his tousled blonde hair. His bright sea-green eyes, vibrant and captivating, seemed to hold the entire universe within them, drawing you in with their magnetic gaze.

A charming grin played upon his lips, exuding confidence and warmth, while his strong southern accent, dripping with Texan pride, resonated through the air like a familiar melody. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his rugged yet effortlessly handsome features, feeling a flutter of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. In that moment, it was as if time stood still, and all you could do was offer a tentative smile in return, your emotions swirling in a whirlwind of curiosity and intrigue at the enigmatic man before you.

As you stood before him, captivated by his presence, Jake extended a hand with a confident smile. 

"Well, hi there," he drawled in his rich southern accent, his voice smooth as honey. 

"Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin, US Naval Air Force." he said, his bright green eyes twinkling with charm, emphasizing his title as he shot Bradley a competitive smirk. You knew Bradley was a Lieutenant, and you knew from what Bob had told you that the Jake and Bradley bickered over Jake’s newly-appointed higher rank. 

"Pleasure to meet you," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of admiration for the accomplished officer standing before you.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Jake's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of confidence and charm. "Likewise," he responded warmly, his grip on your hand lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, sending a jolt of excitement coursing through you.

His handshake was firm yet gentle, sending a tingle of electricity through your fingertips as you exchanged introductions. In that moment, his genuine warmth and charisma enveloped you, leaving you eager to uncover more about the man behind the captivating facade.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself drawn further into Jake's magnetic presence, each moment spent in his company deepening your intrigue and desire to unravel the layers of the enigmatic man before you. Jake excused himself politely after a few minutes of lively conversation, and you watched on with a dreamy-eyed expression on your face as he slipped away into the party to converse with someone else. Out the corner of your eye, you noticed Bob and Bradley exchange knowing grins as they observed what was unfolding. 

The night carried on, and you headed into the house to find your way to the bathroom. Closing the sliding patio door behind you, your eyes scanned over the house, taking in the crisp, white walls adorned with different pieces of country-themed decor, as if Jake was trying to bring as much of Texas into his Californian home as he could. A simple cactus sat on the coffee table, a Stetson hanging on the wall, next to a vintage rodeo poster, framed and on display. The decor was somewhere between vintage Americana and a country bar, but it seemed so perfectly Jake. At least, from everything you’d been told about him, and from your five minute exchange with him earlier.

As you headed down the hallway to find the bathroom, passing by the entryway to the kitchen, you could hear muffled voices, deep in discussion. You paused for a moment as you recognized both voices. One was unmistakeably Bradley, his Virginian lilt echoing slightly out of the kitchen. The other, an equally deep and recognizable southern drawl, one you’d only just heard a short while ago, but equally ingrained in your mind. 

“Listen, Bradley, I’m sure she’s a great girl. Bob wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t. I’m just not interested,” Jake protested, and you felt your heart sink slightly as you heard the words that weren’t intended for you.

“Jake, it was 11 years ago, man. Don’t you ever think about what it’d be like to meet someone? Settle down? Have a kid?”

“No,” Jake replied stubbornly.

“Now you’re just being a jackass,” Bradley sighed, and you could just envision the disapproving glance and head shake that Jake was on the receiving end of right now, “You can’t just keep having drunk one night stands, dude. You’re gonna wake up one day and realize you basically pissed your whole life away. The Navy’s not gonna be there forever. One day you’re gonna have to retire.”

“And I’ll retire happily. On a ranch somewhere in Texas.”

“Alone.”

“I’ll buy a dog if you’re that fucking concerned about me being lonely, Bradshaw,” Jake spat back angrily.

“What if she’s not like what’s-her-face?”

“Chelsea. And it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. You’re pissing away a chance with a really nice girl because of what, your pride? Your ego? You’re afraid to get hurt? You’re gonna end up drunk and alone.”

“Beer never broke my heart. Women have.”

“Oh come off it, Bagman. You were 21. You’re how old now?”

“Thirty five.”

“Exactly. Almost fifteen years ago. Give yourself a chance to be happy.”

As you listened in on Jake and Bradley's conversation, hidden from view in the hallway, a sudden tickle in your nose sent an urgent signal. You pressed a finger beneath your nostrils, desperately attempting to stifle the impending sneeze. However, despite your valiant efforts, a soft, involuntary sound escaped into the air, betraying your presence to the two men engrossed in discussion.

The gentle echo of your sneeze disrupted the flow of their conversation, prompting both Jake and Bradley to turn their heads in unison, their brows furrowing in mild surprise. Caught off guard by your sudden interruption, they exchanged a quick glance before Jake's gaze settled on the source of the noise.

You stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you met Jake's curious stare. In that fleeting moment, you felt like an intruder, an eavesdropper stumbling upon a conversation meant to remain private. Yet, despite the awkwardness of the situation, a part of you couldn't help but wonder if this unexpected encounter might offer insight into Jake's guarded heart and the walls he had built to protect himself from the ghosts of past heartbreaks.

“Sorry, I uh, I was just looking for the bathroom,” you blushed, nodding your head quickly as you smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Jake nodded once, remaining awkwardly guarded as he spoke. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bradley held his hand out, shaking his head, “I promised Bob I’d sort this out and I’m damn well gonna do it.”

As Bradley stepped forward, determination etched into his features, you couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension. His insistence on addressing the situation piqued your interest, but you also couldn't shake the unease of being caught in the middle of a potentially sensitive conversation.

Jake glanced at Bradley with a hint of skepticism, his guarded demeanor softening slightly as he awaited Bradley's next words.

"Look, Jake," Bradley began, his tone earnest yet firm, "I know you've been hesitant about getting involved. But trust me, she's not like anyone you've ever met before."

You blinked in surprise at Bradley's unexpected endorsement, feeling a rush of gratitude toward your friend for advocating on your behalf. Bradley gave you both a knowing look before nodding once again and heading out of the room to give you both time alone. Jake shifted awkwardly on his feet, avoiding your gaze.

Jake's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes as he absorbed Bradley's words. After a moment of contemplative silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry,” Jake nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling before glancing over at you. “Bob and Bradley have been so bent on getting us together. I guess I’m just hung up on some shit from fifteen years ago. An ex-girlfriend told me she didn’t want to live the whole military spouse life after I had an accident in training. I never got over it. Had a ring for her and everything. Was gonna have the whole 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence thing going on. Then she decided she couldn’t be a military spouse, and I decided I couldn’t give up what I’d been working on achieving, so I let her leave.”

“You haven’t dated in fifteen years?”

Jake's lips curved into a rueful smile, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.

“Not really, I mean, I’ve been with girls, but not seriously.” 

Your laughter rang out, tinged with discomfort as you shook your head in incredulity. "And here I thought my dating history was a train wreck," you confessed, a nervous chuckle punctuating your words. "Bob likes to rib me about it, but I have a knack for attracting men allergic to commitment, unless it's to Sunday night football and beers with the boys."

Jake's laughter echoed yours, a genuine warmth infusing his expression as he nodded in understanding. 

"Now it all makes sense," he remarked, a glint of realization illuminating his features. "Bob kept insisting you were my type, and I couldn't figure out how he knew."

You frowned in confusion. "I'm lost."

"I tend to gravitate toward women who epitomize everything I'm not," Jake explained, a note of introspection coloring his words. "The ones wanting marriage, stability—all the things I shy away from. It's why I've avoided serious relationships. I thrive on being the best, but in that arena, I’m like…a football team short of a quarterback."

“I mean, you could. You just have to want it.”

“Part of me does.”

“But?”

Jake lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head remorsefully as he looks down. He leans his body against the counter, shrugging his shoulders before speaking.

“But, I’m 35. I guess I could retire from service if the right girl came along. I just…it’s all I know. I know I’m a good pilot, ya know? I don’t know how I am at this boyfriend shit. “

His eyes met yours, earnest and vulnerable, as he confessed, "I mean, sure, I wanna be the kind of man who can sweep a woman off her feet, who knows how to cherish her and make her feel like she's the center of the universe. But truth be told, I ain't got a clue how to do that. I'm afraid I'll crash and burn before I even get off the ground.”

Jake frowned at the can of beer in his hand, shaking his head with a hearty chuckle.

“I’ve had too many of these, I don’t normally share my life story. Not with pretty girls at least.”

“Well,” you responded, pulling up a bar stool beside him before resting your elbows on the counter, holding your head in your hands as you looked at him, “I’m listening.”

"You know," he mused with a wry chuckle, "I never thought I'd feel betrayed by a cold beer, but here I am, questioning my trust in beer of all things." He shook his head, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Seems I've stumbled into uncharted territory here, darlin’.”

As Jake's laughter subsided, a lull settled over the conversation, punctuated only by the distant hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses in the background. You sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a moment bursting with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"Maybe it's time to navigate these unfamiliar waters together," you suggested softly, breaking the silence with a tentative smile. 

"We can figure it out as we go, right?"

Jake's gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I'd like that," he admitted, his voice tinged with sincerity.

 "It might be a bumpy ride, but, I reckon this time I might stand a chance of finding my bearings."

And in that moment, as the weight of his words hung in the air between you, you felt a spark of hope ignite within your heart—a flicker of possibility for something beautiful to bloom amidst the uncertainties of the journey ahead.

[magiccath]

Every Word

Tenth Doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which two idiots who believe their love is unrequited finally admit their feelings for each other

A/N: My old account got accidently deleted so I'm using it as an opportunity to rework some of my older fics.

Sometimes, you were so distracting to the Doctor. Often, you weren’t even trying to be. You just were. Your existence was enough to make him forget what he was doing. Like, right now. 

You were sitting in the TARDIS control room, a book in hand. You leaned casually back against the console, one foot crossed over the other. You bit your thumbnail anxiously as your eyes darted across the pages. Whatever the story was, it had you fully engaged. 

He loved how focused you were - like the book was the most interesting thing in the whole ship. Your head was bent over the pages, causing your hair to fall in your face slightly. He had to resist the urge to reach over and brush the strands away from your eyes. 

He was supposed to be fixing the console. Even if he wasn’t doing that, he should be doing things that weren’t staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel that it was wrong, looking at you like this. He shouldn’t be as enamored with you as he was. 

He ran his hands over his face, tugging slightly. He needed to snap out of it. You shifted slightly, the motion causing his eyes to wander back to you. It was so hard to look away. 

Sensing his eyes on you, you peeked out from behind your book. The Doctor turned a deep scarlet and whipped his head away from your direction, pretending to act busy. You chuckled lightly to yourself and returned to your book. 

The Doctor couldn’t help himself, his eyes drifted over to you again. And again. 

“Doctor?” You laughed when you caught him again. The man blushed and rubbed his neck anxiously. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, setting the book down. The Doctor looked at you, confused. 

“You’re staring,” you elaborated, narrowing your eyes. 

He shook his head vigorously, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.  

“Do I have something on my face?” you rushed out, raking your hands across your face. 

“No, no,” The Doctor blubbered, “you look beautiful. You always look beautiful.” 

He regretted it immediately. He really shouldn’t have said that. 

You raised your eyebrow inquisitively. The Doctor was prone to rambles and word vomit, but they usually didn’t involve him calling you beautiful. This was uncharted territory, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t interested.

“I mean, you’re just naturally a really gorgeous person. More stunning than any star I have ever seen. Very possibly the most beautiful creature to exist. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone or something that matched your beauty,” the words came out in rushed clumps and you had to bite back a laugh. He was tripping over his words in an attempt to save face, but really he was just digging himself into a deeper hole. 

He averted his gaze and tugged at his hair. You found that he usually did that when the cogs in his brain were racing to keep up with his babbling mouth. 

“What I’m trying to say is there's nothing wrong with your face,” He gasped desperately, putting an end to his ramblings. 

You giggled quietly, trying to hide your laughter with a hand over your mouth. The Doctor chattered on all the time, but it was extremely rare you got to see him this flabbergasted. If you didn’t know better, you would think that he might actually have feelings for you. Ones that weren’t of the friendship variety, that is. 

“Thank you,” You grinned. The Doctor could feel his hearts melting. The minute you flashed him that smile he knew he was a goner. He loved your smile and even more, he loved being the cause of your smile. 

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smirked before walking to the other side of the room, averting the Time Lord’s gaze.

You didn’t want to ever admit out loud that you found the Doctor attractive. It’s not that you were ashamed of it. Practically everyone fancied the Doctor, he was just that kind of bloke. Rather, you couldn’t imagine him viewing you as more than a companion. But the way that he had been rambling on only a few minutes ago suggested otherwise…

The two of you never really bantered like this. Is that what this was? Was the Doctor flirting with you? The mere thought of it left you shaky and breathless. It felt too good to be true. 

The Doctor was shocked by your compliment, the words leaving him motionless. His reaction left you scared that you had gone too far, so you busied yourself with the numerous buttons on the console in front of you. Idly, you traced your fingers across them. 

“Really?” The Doctor asked, wide-eyed. You smiled to yourself. He could be so daft sometimes.

“I suppose so,” you said, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. Your words made the Doctor light up, a wide grin quickly taking over his face. 

“I’m quite fond of you, y’know?” You blushed, turning your head back towards the console. 

“I’m quite fond of you as well,” He said, moving closer to you. 

“Insanley fond,” you added. “You might even be my favorite person,” you shook your head.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, taking your hand in his. 

“I am?” You asked, genuinely shocked. 

“Of course! Have you met yourself?” 

You threw your head back laughing, the action making the Doctor smile to himself. 

“I love you,” he smiled adoringly, his wide toothy grin igniting a warmth in your stomach. You blushed and looked away, his gaze feeling insanely heavy.

“I- I mean... Uh,” He stammered, suddenly embarrassed by his confession. 

“Me too,” you interrupted his bumbling thoughts, looking up at his tall form. The Doctor stopped his blubbering and looked down at you. He swallowed anxiously, the action making his Adam’s apple bob aggressively. His eyes darted across your face, settling on your lips multiple times. 

“As more than a friend,” he whispered. 

“As more than a friend,” you repeated with a smile.

The Doctor's eyes darted from your eyes to your lips and back, silently asking for permission. You nodded gently, the motion hardly noticeable. It was all the invitation he needed to grasp your face in his hands, delicately leaning in. He hovered for a few seconds, still giving you time to pull away. 

You sighed with frustration, grabbing his tie desperately and using it to pull his lips into yours. 

The Doctor was stunned at first but quickly relaxed into the kiss. His hands draped around your waist, gently pulling you closer to him. 

Your own hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling with the messy brown strands. You sighed deeply, the warm feeling in your stomach spreading across your body. 

The Doctor smiled against your lips, unable to contain his joy. 

After a moment, you pulled apart to gasp for air, your breaths coming out in quick pants. With red faces and lips plumped from the kiss, you smiled at each other before letting out a lighthearted laugh. His thumb trailed lightly across your bottom lip, the gesture gentle and loving. You ran your fingers along the seams of his suit, tracing the familiar lines. 

Still not getting enough of you, the Doctor plastered kisses across your face. He kissed your cheeks, forehead, chin, and collarbone lightly before landing on your lips again. This kiss was softer, more delicate. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You let out a relaxed sigh and danced your fingers across the nape of his neck. 

“I meant every word,” He whispered, which made you laugh. 

“So did I,” you smiled up at him, before pulling him back in for another kiss.

[seramilla]

So human au Sera's and Emily's apartment is nearly livable and soon they will have to go back. No one wants them to go back but the learned hyper independence and self deprecation Sera got from her childhood makes her feel like she has to leave as quickly as possible even if she deep down really wants to stay. Carmilla who wants the two to stay is frustrated that all her efforts to convince Sera to stay forever didn't work so she decides to play a little dirty. One day when Sera is off somewhere and Emily is with Carmilla the girl says she wishes Sera and her could stay here forever and Carmilla tells her that she wants that too. Now Emily will be more on the side of coming to live with her and the girls which may eventually get them to move in full time once the lease is up.

When Sera tells Carmilla that her and Emily's apartment is nearly ready for them to move back into, Carmilla stops in her tracks, struck out of her good mood and back into the reality she's been trying to avoid for so long. That this arrangement between Sera, Emily, and the Carmines was probably temporary. Even though Carmilla had hoped against all hope that it wouldn't be.

Sera and Emily have been staying with Carmilla and her girls for nearly three weeks. It's been the happiest, most content that Carmilla has felt in her big, mostly empty house in years. Odette and Clara have been ecstatic, more than happy to have Emily as a playmate for nearly every waking hour. Carmilla herself has also felt so much peace in her heart, her head, and in her psyche, having Sera so close.

She hasn't made a move on Sera yet. Not really. Their interactions are still mostly friendly. Maybe teetering a little into the realm of more-than-friends. But she still highly respects Sera as a fellow parent, of sorts, being the one and only family member and guardian that Emily has. Carmilla has been extremely fond of Sera for a while now -- having the other woman so close, being able to talk to her every day, seeing that smile on her face, and having her comforting presence around them all daily...

It's been nearly a dream come true. And now the dream is ending, and she has to wake up. Carmilla absolutely hates it.

Carmilla hasn't admitted it to Sera herself yet, but...she has grown deeply, madly in love with her. And it's Carmilla's own sense of doubt, and not wanting to ruin the friendship they already have, that keeps her from admitting it aloud. Using the actual words "I love you" is a hurdle she hasn't quite yet overcome. She'd hoped Sera and Emily would stay longer, for the long haul...forever. Carmilla's spirits are now dashed in that regard. Carmilla doesn't know how to respond.

Little Emily comes to her that morning, showing Carmilla a picture she's drawn, of the five of them together, happy in a sunny field of wildflowers and little animals all around. Carmilla feigns excitement and praise. But Emily, just like Sera, is very astute and has the observation skills of someone twice her age. She looks up at Carmilla inquisitively, tilting her head, and asks, "Are you okay?"

Carmilla is a little shocked out of her own stupor. She hadn't expected to be called out like this...especially not by a little girl. She had thought her false happy face was fool-proof. Apparently she's wrong.

"Yes," Carmilla says at first. Emily doesn't appear to believe. "Well...I am very you're here, Emily. But I'm also a little sad."

Emily's eyes widen. She looks so concerned for Carmilla. She comes up to the matriarch, and puts her little hand on Carmilla's leg, and pats it softly.

"Why are you sad?"

"Because you and your sister might be leaving soon. Your aparment is almost finished."

"Oh." Emily says the single word with so much finality, that for a moment, Carmilla wonders that the little girl is almost taking this too lightly. Like it doesn't bother her. But then Emily continues, "Will you miss us?"

Carmilla smiles. She leans down to pick up Emily, holding the girl in her arms for a moment, before drawing her in for a tight hug. She can smell the familiar scent of Sera all over Emily...she's like a tiny version of her sister, and Carmilla loves the little girl just as much as her guardian. She hasn't admitted it to herself until now.

"Of course I will, Emily. I would miss you both so much."

Emily seems to take this statement in stride. She bobs her little head forward, in a tiny approximation of a nod, and then squirms as if she wants to be put down.

"I will miss you, too. Sera will miss you. She likes you, you know."

This is news to Carmilla. She puts the girl back down on the floor, and Emily looks back up at her as she turns away, looking like she wants to get back to playing with Odette and Clara before they have to leave for school.

"Please don't be sad," Emily says before she finally goes into the other room. "I don't like it when people are sad."

Carmilla doubles down on the fake smile. She hates to see other people sad, as well. Especially little Emily or her sister. So she twists her mouth into another corny, fake grin. One she hopes is convincing for both Emily and the woman she loves.

"I'm sorry. I'm happy now, Emily. Thank you!"

Emily looks like she doesn't believe Carmilla one bit. She frowns, but ultimately turns away, and goes back to Odette and Clara's room to play, and finish getting ready to leave for the day.

Carmilla lets out a sigh. A big one. Then she leans down on the kitchen counter, both arms curling over her head in a defeated posture, and groans into the crook of her arms.

This isn't the outcome she'd wanted. She wants them to stay. But more than that, she wants them to be happy, whatever Sera decides. Now that she knows Emily would miss her...and Sera, too...Sera's decision to leave makes even less sense. This just got a lot more confusing and complicated.

She loves Sera. But she doesn't want to force the issue. That would be bad for everyone. Sera must have her reasons for wanting to go back. Carmilla decides she has to respect Sera's decision, no matter what it is, and no matter how much she might hate it. So Carmilla stands up straight, puts on her most convincing happy face, and gets ready for work. She can already tell it's going to be a long, agonizing day.

[inquisimer]

dragon age character study fic recs

I'm back with another fic rec list, this time focusing on character studies! There were so many more than five that I flagged as interesting 👀 when I was putting this together, so there's definitely a chance that this theme makes a repeat in the future.

Check these awesome fics out! And leave a comment + kudos to let the author know you did💜

Vote in this poll to help me choose a theme for next week's rec list (:

-

New Tricks by Penknife (@penknife)

Dorian Pavus & Cullen Rutherford, Josephine Montilyet & Cullen Rutherford & Leliana | G | 1968 words | No Archive Warnings Apply Author's Summary: Five times Cullen found that he didn't have to do everything the hard way. Mer's Rec: If you're into Cullen & Dorian friendship, or really any Cullen friendship, this fic will be right up your alley. Penknife does an excellent job of contrasting Dorian as a beleaguered academic (beloved) with Cullen's quieter intelligence. They also highlight Cullen as a strategist and commander, not just the "send the troops" guy, and the advisor interactions resonate with coworker friend energy, which I loved. I always adore fics that explore Cullen's habits and traits leftover from so many years as a Templar and this story seamlessly weaves in those details, which brings a real depth to both Cullen and his interactions.

Names Are Cloaks by EllanaSan

Female Adaar & Josephine Montilyet | G | 2963 words | No Archive Warnings Apply Author's Summary: They can’t have that, she supposes, the Herald of Andraste being called names behind her back… The only way the situation could have been worse is if she had been an elf. She could tell the ambassador that there are people in this very camp disrespecting her at every turn but she is far too used to it to care. They call her oxwoman. They call her witch. They call her chosen or your worship. They call her Tal-Vashoth. Names are weapons. For the bearer to hold and to wield. Names are cloaks. For the bearer to wrap themselves in and discard when outgrown. Mer's Rec: With Bioware's scant lore about Qunari and the Qun, I was impressed by how this story immersed me in Adaar's history. Tidbits from canon interwoven with fascinating-slash-heartbreaking details about the Qun, Vashoth, and Saarebas, plus her introspective musings on the past and her identity make this Adaar stand out from the cookie-cutter protagonist in the best way. I want to know more about her! From Josephine's dialogue and mannerisms to the uncertainty, fear, and alienation the Herald can experience in Haven, everything about this story feels like it could be straight out of the DAI canon.

I have outlived the night by lilith_morgana (@senseandaccountability)

Loghain Mac Tir, Minor/Background Relationships | T | 2106 words | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Author's Summary: He's five, he's eighteen, nineteen, twenty, forty-six, and fifty-five, he's fifty-six, fifty-seven and ready to die. Instead, he lives. Mer's Rec: The emotion in this fic is so palpable, so visceral, and it slaps you in the face the way careful consideration of complicated characters should. With repeated contrasts between Loghain in his youth versus his later years, the author takes us on a journey from hot-headed kid to weary veteran, and it just makes your heart ache😭 It features strong exposition on Loghain's motives, feelings, and regrets during the Fifth Blight, which I love to see since it's fairly absent from the game itself. Their portrayal of Loghain in Inquisition also felt fresh and different, including a conversation with Cullen, which is a dynamic I hadn't considered before and found incredibly interesting to read. And of course it ends on a bittersweet note, as it always does with Loghain.

To Yield Is Not Weak by disasterhawke

Alistair/Anora Mac Tir | M | 4018 words | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Author's Summary: She may not like her new husband, but Anora Theirin is not about to let the world treat him like it has treated her. She will do whatever it takes to earn his trust. This is not quite what he expects. An Anora character study that explores her arranged marriage to her husband's bastard brother. Mer's Rec: this 👏 was 👏 everything I wanted out of an Alistair/Anora fic! While I think antagonism between those two has a place, this fic explored their relationship through the lens of teaching and working together, rather than animosity. It works SO well and there was a definite give-and-take, with Anora running the show immediately post-coronation, but gradually softening her harsher edges and highlighting Alistair's strengths while they grow as rulers. Anora's internal monologue, not only about Alistair, but also Cailan and Loghain, does a fantastic job showing the humanity she usually has to hide, without diminishing her competence in the least.

when the bough breaks by gummies (orphaned)

Morrigan, Flemeth | G | 1124 words | No Archive Warnings Apply Author's Summary: In her hands, the mouse is kept still. The only movement Morrigan feels from it is the beating of its tiny heart. With her eyes closed, it almost seems that she is holding in her hands its heart alone. Tiny, vulnerable, and so stutteringly fast. It must be afraid, Morrigan muses. Something twinges in her chest. Empathy. She cannot help the flare of protectiveness inside her. For now, the mouse is hers. Plucked from the world from whence it came, tucked away and safe. She wonders if this is how Mother feels of her. Mer's Rec: What struck me most about this fic was the author's grasp of character voices. Flemeth is just as cunning and calculating as she comes across in game, but I was beyond impressed by their young!Morrigan. I could see and hear so clearly how Morrigan would get from the childlike hope she has in this story to the harsher, bitter Morrigan we meet in game. I don't even know how they did that, but it was incredible to read, even as this slice of Morrigan's childhood and her abuse at Flemeth's hands was breaking my heart.

Don't forget to get your fic and art recs lined up for tomorrow's Fan Work Friday!

[cherubiyeon]

she had the world | ive jang wonyoung x female reader

amidst the bustling cityscape of seoul, y/n, an inquisitive traveller from jeju, stumbles upon an art gallery.

✩ warnings. angst, mentions of affairs, strangers to friends with benefits, painter! wonyoung au, unrequited feelings, angst with unhappy ending

✩ word count. ~3k words

✩ playing﹒ she had the world [panic! at the disco]

their first encounter was serendipitous, as if the universe itself conspired to bring them together. y/n stood before wonyoung's painting, her eyes locked onto the colors that seemed to whisper untold secrets.

with a nervous yet determined heart, wonyoung approached, her voice barely above a whisper as she introduced herself as the artist. "hey, um— i'm wonyoung—the artist behind this painting. is there anything you'd... like to ask about this painting? or some feedback would be nice!"

y/n's smile was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, illuminating her face with a warmth that sent shivers down wonyoung's spine. "wonyoung, what a beautiful name," y/n replied, her voice soft and melodic. "your art speaks to me on a level i can't quite explain. it's as if each brushstroke holds a piece of your soul."

wonyoung blushed, feeling a mixture of bashfulness and exhilaration. "thank you," she stammered. "your words mean so much to me! i-i put a lot of emotion into my art, and to know that it resonates with someone else... is the greatest compliment."

y/n extended her hand, a gesture of friendship that felt like an invitation into her world. "i'm y/n. i'm new to this city from jeju and i came to this gallery looking for something that could speak to my soul. i think i found it in your art."

as they shook hands, an electrifying connection surged through wonyoung's fingertips, leaving her breathless with anticipation. she couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was no mere coincidence, but a tapestry woven by the hands of fate itself. the bustling gallery around them faded into a mere blur as they delved into a passionate discussion about art, life, and the inexplicable forces that intertwined their paths.

y/n's eyes, like pools of liquid amber, held wonyoung captive, drawing her deeper into their depths. each word that flowed from y/n's lips was a symphony, each laugh a melody that resonated within wonyoung's soul. she hung onto every syllable, cherishing the way y/n's voice danced in the air, a sweet serenade that intoxicated her senses.

days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as their friendship blossomed amidst the city's backdrop. wonyoung found herself yearning for the stolen moments, the stolen glances that held a world of unspoken longing. she reveled in the small gestures—a brush of their hands as they walked side by side, a lingering touch that sent shivers down her spine.

but as the days stretched into a delicate tapestry of shared experiences, wonyoung couldn't help but feel the weight of unrequited love settle upon her shoulders. the tenderness in y/n's gaze, the warmth in her smile—it was a language that wonyoung longed to decipher, a love that she yearned to be reciprocated.

in the quiet corners of her heart, wonyoung weaved dreams of what could be. she imagined stolen kisses beneath the moonlit sky, whispered promises in the hushed sanctuary of their shared secrets. she envisioned a future where their worlds would collide, their lives intertwined like brushstrokes on a canvas.

the seasons danced on, their footsteps echoing in tandem with the rhythm of wonyoung's heart. spring blossomed, painting the city with hues of pastel dreams, while autumn whispered secrets of change in the crisp air. through it all, wonyoung remained by y/n's side, a silent witness to the ebbs and flows of their intertwined lives.

'twas a cool autumn evening, as the leaves rustled underfoot, y/n and wonyoung found themselves strolling along the riverbank. the water shimmered like liquid silver under the moon's tender gaze, mirroring the shimmer of unspoken emotions that swirled between them.

y/n leaned against the railing, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "isn't it beautiful, wonyoung?" she spoke, her voice carrying a hint of wonder. wonyoung continued in staring at the oblivious woman. "it is," wonyoung replied softly, her heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies in her chest.

as they strolled along the cobblestone path, wonyoung's heart beat a frenzied rhythm, her every word and touch infused with unspoken longing. "y/n... there's something i've been wanting to tell you," wonyoung ventured, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

y/n turned toward her, eyes brimming with curiosity. "what is it, wonyoung-ie?" she asked, her tone a gentle caress against wonyoung's fragile heart.

summoning her courage, wonyoung whispered, "these stolen moments we share... they mean more to me than i can express. you've become the compass that guides my every step, the light that illuminates the darkest corners of my soul."

a gentle breeze carried her words, intermingling with the symphony of rustling leaves. y/n's smile remained soft, the flicker of recognition barely registering in her eyes. "wonyoung, you're such an incredible friend. i treasure our bond more than you know," y/n replied, her words painting a painful melody that echoed within wonyoung's chest.

yet hope, a cruel mistress, refused to relinquish its grip on wonyoung's heart. she convinced herself that y/n's response held a glimmer of reciprocation, a silent invitation into the depths of an affair woven with stolen glances and moments of intimacy.

their encounters became clandestine meetings, hidden from prying eyes, their shared secrets whispered in the sanctity of moonlit gardens. wonyoung, her heart awash with both joy and torment, surrendered herself to the rapture of their stolen kisses, cherishing each stolen touch as if it were the last drop of an elixir she craved.

but in the shadows of their affair, y/n remained oblivious to the depth of wonyoung's love. her affectionate gestures, once interpreted as signs of reciprocation, became tainted with the innocence of friendship, blurring the boundaries between what was real and what wonyoung desperately wished to be.

wonyoung sat in her studio, surrounded by the remnants of her artistic endeavors. the room was filled with the scent of paint and the soft strains of music that mingled with her thoughts. she brushed a streak of vibrant red onto the canvas, her movements betraying the turmoil within her.

yunjin, her wise and caring friend, entered the room, her presence offering a fleeting solace. she glanced at wonyoung's creation, a mix of vibrant colors and raw emotion.

she raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "hey there, picasso. pouring your heart out on the canvas again?"

Wonyoung offered a half-smile, appreciating Yunjin's attempt at making the atmosphere more lighter. "more like trying to make sense of the chaos inside," she replied, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

yunjin settled down on a nearby stool, her eyes filled with concern. "you've been a little distant lately. is everything okay?" wonyoung took a deep breath, but remained silent. "... it's about that y/n girl again, huh?"

Wonyoung took a deep breath, hesitating before she spoke her truth. "It's Y/N. I can't stop thinking about her, Yunjin. Every time she smiles at me or brushes against my hand, it's like fireworks exploding in my heart. I want to tell her how I feel, but I'm scared of what might happen."

yunjin leaned forward, her expression serious yet understanding. "look, wonyoung-ah, i get that love can be a rollercoaster of emotions. but before you go pouring your heart out, consider if you're ready for the consequences. what if things change between you two?"

wonyoung sighed, her gaze fixed on her trembling hands. "i know it's a risk, but i can't keep this bottled up any longer. it's eating me alive."

yunjin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on wonyoung's shoulder. "i'm not saying you shouldn't go for it, but just be prepared for any outcome. and remember, your friendship is precious. you don't want to lose that."

wonyoung nodded, appreciating yunjin's straightforward advice. "you're right. i just wish i could know what she feels without putting our friendship on the line."

yunjin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on wonyoung's shoulder. "i'm not saying you shouldn't go for it, but just be prepared for any outcome. and remember, your friendship is precious. you don't want to lose that."

wonyoung nodded, appreciating yunjin's straightforward advice. "you're right. i just wish i could know what she feels without putting our friendship on the line."

wonyoung nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken desires. she watched as yunjin left the studio, leaving her alone with her thoughts. the silence enveloped her, and she found herself drawn to the canvas that stood before her—a painting of y/n.

the colors on the canvas danced with an ethereal grace, capturing the essence of y/n's spirit. wonyoung had poured her heart into every stroke, every brush of paint. in the painting, y/n's eyes were pools of stardust, a captivating glimpse into the universe she hid within. her lips curved into a soft smile that held a thousand untold stories. wonyoung had painstakingly spun the stars on her fingernails, each one a testament to the boundless dreams she saw in y/n's eyes. yet, despite the beauty she had immortalized on the canvas, it couldn't bring her the happiness she yearned for.

days turned into weeks, and wonyoung found herself lost in the depths of her emotions, yearning for a love that existed only in the fragments of her dreams. every stolen glance, every brush of their hands became a lifeline, fueling the fire that consumed her heart. but y/n remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within wonyoung's soul, her gestures of friendship shrouded in innocence.

one evening, as the sun painted the sky in hues of fiery orange, wonyoung's phone buzzed, interrupting the solitude of her studio. a message from y/n flickered on the screen, inviting her to meet at their favorite cafe. hope surged within wonyoung's chest, intermingled with an undercurrent of nervous anticipation. little did she know that fate had prepared a cruel twist in the tale.

arriving at the cafe, the air crackled with a mixture of warmth and tension. wonyoung's heart pounded against her ribcage, its erratic rhythm echoing the storm raging within her. she spotted y/n, a vision of serenity amidst the bustling crowd, her smile a flicker of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

"hey," y/n greeted softly, her eyes holding a myriad of emotions as they met wonyoung's gaze.

wonyoung returned the greeting, her voice trembling slightly. "hey. what did you want to talk about?"

y/n's gaze flickered, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "i've been doing a lot of thinking, wonyoung. and i think it's time we stop... this."

wonyoung's breath caught in her throat, her world spiraling into chaos. she fought to steady herself, clinging to the last vestiges of hope. "stop what?"

y/n's eyes filled with regret, the weight of her words pressing heavily upon them. "our affair. i care about you deeply, but i can't ignore the fact that there's someone else in my life now."

time seemed to stand still as wonyoung's heart shattered into a million fractured pieces. the colors of the cafe faded, leaving behind a monochrome reality. she forced a smile, her voice strained as she tried to mask the devastation that threatened to consume her.

"someone else?" wonyoung repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to acknowledge the truth.

y/n nodded, her gaze shifting to the floor. "his name is yunhan. we've been spending time together, and i think it's time to give our relationship a chance."

wonyoung's eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. she clenched her fists, the pain radiating through her like a searing flame. it felt as if the world had conspired against her, weaving a tapestry of longing and heartbreak.

"i'm sorry," y/n murmured, her hand reaching out hesitantly, only to be met with wonyoung's withdrawal. "i never meant to hurt you."

wonyoung forced a smile, her voice tinged with a mixture of acceptance and resignation. "it's not your fault, y/n. we... can't force ourselves to love or not love someone.."

as the café's ambiance whispered tales of love and loss, wonyoung felt a silent plea escape her lips, carried away by the currents of time. she knew she had to release the hold on her unrequited love, to let it drift away like a leaf on the wind. it was a bittersweet acceptance, for in surrendering her heart, she set herself free from the chains of longing, even as the ache lingered deep within her soul.

the days that followed y/n's revelation were etched with a sorrow that clung to wonyoung's every breath. the weight of her unrequited love bore down upon her like an invisible burden, suffocating the vibrant hues of her existence. the unfinished painting of y/n, a testament to the fractured fragments of their temporary affair, seemed to mock her from its perch upon the easel.

one evening, in the depths of her despair, wonyoung stood before the painting, her hands trembling with a mixture of anguish and rage. the colors that once whispered secrets of love now appeared to taunt her, their vibrant dance a cruel reminder of the shattered dreams that lay in ruins. she contemplated tearing the canvas apart, obliterating the memories that held her captive. yet, in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. the painting held too much sentimental value, encapsulating a chapter of her life she couldn't entirely let go of.

with a sigh that echoed with resignation, wonyoung picked up her brush and faced the canvas. as her strokes danced across the surface, she poured her heartache into every brushstroke, the raw emotion bleeding onto the space. it was an act of defiance, a silent rebellion against the pain that threatened to consume her. she channeled her sorrow into art, using the colors as a language to express what words couldn't convey.

her fingers traced the contours of y/n's face, a mixture of sadness and longing clouding her eyes. "why couldn't you see how much i loved you?" she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken words and shattered dreams.

years passed, and wonyoung's perseverance bore fruit. the painting, born from the depths of her despair, gained recognition in the art world. its haunting beauty touched the souls of those who beheld it, a silent testament to the pain and longing embedded within its layers. wonyoung's name became synonymous with a tragic love story, her art an expression of the human experience.

one fateful day, amidst the hallowed halls of a museum, wonyoung found herself drawn to an ethereal presence. her gaze fell upon a child, their innocent eyes fixed upon the painting that had become her legacy. the child's fascination mirrored her own, a reflection of the profound connection art had the power to forge.

wonyoung's heart skipped a beat as her eyes fell upon the child. in that fleeting moment, she saw the ghost of y/n in the innocent gaze of the young girl. a bittersweet smile adorned wonyoung's lips as she nodded in understanding.

lost in a moment of bittersweet contemplation, wonyoung's reverie was interrupted by the child's mother, her voice tinged with worry. "haerin, where are you?" she called out, searching the vast space.

startled, wonyoung turned to face the source of the voice, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. standing before her was y/n, a ghost from the past, now adorned with the grace of motherhood. their eyes locked, the unspoken words of their shared history hanging heavy in the air.

"mommy! mommy! look! this painting looks like you!" little haerin pointed at wonyoung's painting as y/n carried the small girl.

in that poignant reunion, the weight of their unfulfilled love reverberated through the silence. wonyoung's heart trembled, torn between the joy of seeing y/n once more and the painful reminder of what they could never have.

y/n approached, her voice tender and filled with regret. "wonyoung, it's been so long," she murmured, her eyes brimming with emotions left unsaid.

wonyoung's voice quivered, her heartache blending with a fragile glimmer of hope. "yes, it has. i never thought i'd see you again."

y/n's gaze shifted to the painting, her expression a wistful mix of nostalgia and sorrow. "your art has touched so many lives, wonyoung. it's a testament to the beauty that exists within your soul."

wonyoung's heart tightened at y/n's words, her voice heavy with unspoken pain. "do you know, y/n? this painting... it's you."

y/n's eyes widened, disbelief and longing flickering within them. "me? but... how?"

wonyoung's voice quivered, laden with the weight of unrequited love. "every stroke, every color... they are fragments of memories, of the love that bloomed within my heart. you were my muse, my inspiration. and yet, you never knew."

tears welled in y/n's eyes as she reached out to touch the canvas, as if trying to grasp the intangible emotions that permeated the artwork. "i never realized... i never knew."

wonyoung's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, her voice filled with aching vulnerability. "i wanted to tell you, to show you how much you meant to me. but fear held me back, and our paths diverged. now, all i have left are these brushstrokes, a portrait of a love that was never spoken."

y/n's voice quivered with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "wonyoung, i wish things could have been different. but life has its own way of guiding us. i've found happiness in a different path, one that doesn't intertwine with yours."

wonyoung's tears mingled with the colors of her masterpiece as she whispered, "i'm glad... i'm glad you've found happiness, even if it's not with me."

the weight of their unspoken emotions hung heavily in the air, the gallery a silent witness to the tragedy of their unfulfilled love. time seemed to stand still as they stood there, caught between the echoes of what could have been and the reality of their separate lives.

with a trembling breath, wonyoung turned away, her heart splintered but resolute. the pain of letting go mingled with the knowledge that their paths were meant to diverge, like two shooting stars blazing across the night sky before fading into obscurity.

[koushirouizumi]

Koushiro felt that {Koushiro} should at least give {Babumon} a response {to Babumon's relentless vocalization}, but because {Koushiro} had lost {Koushiro's} words, {Koushiro} could not speak. As if {Babumon} could sense that, Babumon’s eyes directed Koushiro to the laptop {Koushiro} was always carrying in {Koushiro}'s backpack. When Koushiro rested the laptop in {Koushiro's} lap, {Koushiro} typed into the keyboard: >I’m sorry for making you degenerate.

"Babu, babu, babu!!" >Since I don’t have my inquisitive heart, I'm not very sure about this… but I feel that I have been {tricked}. "Babu, babu," Babumon agreed, nodding its head. >Babumon, will you help me take back my inquisitive heart? Babumon could only say "Babu, babu," but to Koushiro’s ears, he could hear the nostalgic tinge of Kansai dialect in Tentomon’s voice telling {Koushiro}, "Of course, Koushiro-han!"

Digimon Adventure Novel; “The Inquisitive Heart” Translation from Digital Scratch (Link in the comments)

[burr-ell]

Honestly, it feels really good seeing Claude fan who also happens to love Lady Rhea. There's really not enough of us

Sending love 💛💚

anon this warmed my heart so much im gonna give u a snippet from the claude & rhea friendship fic i never got around to finishing <3

He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Enter.”

He opened the door and stepped into the archbishop’s chambers. The atmosphere was surprisingly soothing, sunlight streaming through the windows and a floral perfume permeating the air. Rhea was sitting up in her nice, if plain-looking, canopy bed, resting against a couple of squashy pillows with a teacup and a book on the bedside table.

“You wished to see me, Claude?” she asked.

“I did.”

“I take it you have further questions?”

“Thought I’d come to pick your brain,” he said easily. “You’re the only one who’s ever taken on Nemesis directly. We need all the help we can get straight from the source.”

Rhea smiled, almost unnervingly genuine. “I can advise you, provided we discuss what’s really on your mind first.”

He’d expected her to be able to disarm him, but he hadn’t expected her to be so pleasant about it. Still, he was nothing if not nimble. “That easy to read, am I?”

“Not at all, actually. Seteth has often complained of it to me.” Her eyes flicked upward, a practiced gesture of exasperated fondness. “But do not forget that I have been in hiding for over a thousand years. There are many skills I lack, but I can detect a master of the craft.”

“Then it looks like we’re on the same playing field.”

Rhea sighed. “I cannot force you to lower your guard, nor do I expect it, but…please, at least have a seat.”

She gestured to the chair next to her bed, and Claude seated himself, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“I gather you would still like to know more of the story of your professor.”

“There are still so many things that Byl—Teach still doesn’t know.”

“Including that you are here speaking with me.”

Claude nodded—he’d have been more surprised if she hadn’t guessed. “I didn’t want to worry her. And I think…she needs time before she can speak to you objectively.”

Rhea heaved a sigh, tipping her head back against the bed frame. “I understand. I—I gave you both quite enough information to take in. And…and she must be feeling…I cannot possibly understand what.”

“Neither can she.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral, but it was hard not to be accusatory.

“I owe her many apologies,” Rhea said softly. “Apologies that I cannot expect her to accept.”

“I can’t speak to where her head’s at right now,” Claude said slowly (honestly, Byleth’s head was still an enigma to him sometimes), “but I don’t think she’s—angry. She’s just…” He pressed his lips together in thought, then continued. “She’s spent her whole life being treated like a tool. And then she came here and sort of…found herself. And then she found out that someone who helped make that happen also wanted to use her.” He would know. He’d done the very same thing, before he’d gotten to know his best friend. His…well.

Rhea closed her eyes miserably. “I know. I have greatly wronged her.”

“She also understands why you did it,” Claude continued, “and why you kept it a secret. It’s just…a lot to process. Especially for someone who for so long didn’t even understand how to really feel anything.”

“And what about you?”

Claude tipped his head. “Me?”

Rhea frowned. “You are known for your inquisitiveness, and your thirst for knowledge. Yet you did little to question what I revealed to you. Why?”

Claude propped his chin in one hand, rubbing his lip thoughtfully with his index finger. “Honestly…what you told us made everything I’d been looking at for five years click into place. Just looking at the Relics alone, knowing what we know, and you can tell they’re made of—y’know.”

Rhea nodded, in a resigned sort of way.

“But if you don’t know the full story,” Claude went on, “you might not really think about it. Most people can’t use them, and they’re kept hidden away when they’re not being wielded. Even I didn’t get a look at Failnaught until my grandfather actually passed and I inherited the estate.”

Churning insides were nothing new to Claude, having dealt with them both naturally and otherwise, but even mentioning the bow was making him a bit queasy. How he’d yearned for the chance to wield it, knowing it would give him the opportunity to study it up close and grant him the power to achieve his greatest dreams, and now…

“It all makes sense now,” he continued softly. “I’ve never heard of something so horrific. And the way Seteth and Flayn are so secretive, and how upset Seteth was when Flayn went missing…” He paused, mulling over whether to reveal this particular piece of information—but it was unlikely that Rhea hadn’t seen such a thing coming, and at any rate, in light of all she’d shared with them, she deserved as full a story as he could give in return. “Seteth once confiscated a diagram I was showing Teach, of a creature called The Immaculate One. It had already given me some clues about Crest stones and Relics. At the time I thought it was because the church had something to hide…and in a way, I was right. And now I know that he was right to take it.”

Claude leaned a little closer, meeting Rhea’s eyes and their combined relief and sorrow. It was an expression he knew well—of finally finding someone who understood. “I didn’t even think to say it before. I am so, so sorry, for everything that happened to you. No one deserves to live in fear just because of who they are.”

“You…” Rhea swallowed thickly, eyes misting. Claude fell silent and averted his gaze, giving her a moment to regain her composure.

She took a deep breath. “Your words touch my heart—truly, they do. Yours is a perspective gained from cruel experience.”

She knew. Or at least she’d guessed. It was unsurprising, really, but he couldn’t help the thrill of anxiety pulsing in the back of his mind. Even so…there was an odd kinship here, one he didn’t even feel with Byleth when they discussed it, that kept his panic at bay. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I do. I know better than most people what it’s like to be resented and hated for being who I am. And what I’ve been through…it can’t even compare to what happened to you, and Seteth and Flayn.”

Rhea smiled, eyes still watery. “Such things are not competitive. At the end of it all, there are others who understand.”

[lovely-peace]

Black secrets

Summary: "Don't give away to much, or it will lose it's value."

Pairing: Sirius black x hufflepuff!reader

Warnings: past toxic friendship, past toxic relationship (not with the reader), insecurities, self conscious , fake dating

Thank you all for the loving comments, I will try to write more <33 This part takes place before the last.

Wc: 1.1k Masterlist Last Part Next Part

I literally flew through the corridors. My heart was racing, my legs felt light, and for the first time, my head didn't seem to throb. The sun shone brightly and seemed to smile at me. I smiled back and enjoyed the beautiful weather.

Suddenly, I bumped into someone.

I looked ahead and saw a boy from Slytherin, who looked at me with big, inquisitive eyes. Where did I know those eyes from?

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

He still looked at me with that gaze. Eventually, he shook his head. "As if someone like you could hurt me."

What?

He already pushed me aside and was about to leave after saying that, but I didn't let him go so easily.

"What do you mean?"

He looked away and shook his head again. "Forget it, Whisky."

"What… How do you know-"

"Everyone knows you by now, and you should know why." I felt small under those eyes. How they followed me. How they assessed me. How familiar they seemed.

"How do you know 'Whisky'?"

His eyes widened at that. He looked at me for a long time, as if he were just coming up with his answer.

"I'm (y/n)."

Then he looked away. I tried to catch his gaze, but I couldn't. Finally, he turned around.

"I only know Whisky, who always chases after everyone and now pretends to be with Sirius Black. Not (y/n)."

Then he walked away.

"Hey, wait! You can't just-"

"I have to go to the Quidditch field. Leave me alone."

And before I could say anything else, he was gone. My confusion slowly turned into panic as I realized what that fifth-year just said.

Pretends.

Who the hell was this boy with blavk hair and those familiar eyes? And how did he know?

~~~

"Why did you talk to Leander? And about what?" Cassie looked at me appraisingly. It seemed she and Phina didn't catch everything Leander had said in the common room. Lucky.

"I just warned him not to pick a fight with Sirius. We all know how that ends. He'll end up in the hospital wing again," I said, gathering my things and placing them on our dresser.

Our rooms were far from the other houses. It wasn't always pleasant to climb the entire way up. And who came up with the idea to place Slytherin in the basement? Whisky still always came down to wait for me.

"So what? Let him end up in the hospital wing; it's more fun for us! Otherwise, everything here is sooo boring… Since Whis-"

"Our team should win, not start a brawl," I interrupted Phina before she said something that would infuriate me. I understood her desire for something new all the time and the amusement of drama. But I didn't want any drama with Leander and Sirius at the moment.

"That's strange, though," Cassie began, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Since when does our untouchable Seraph care about our Quidditch team? Usually, you only went for Whisky. Or are you hoping to see her there?"

I shook my head laughing, as always. Don't reveal too much; otherwise, it loses its value. "Yes, sure, Cassie." Give nothing away, or it loses its value. "You have a vivid imagination in your sweet little head."

Hidden revenge hurts the most. And I know what it looks like. But when I look at Whisky, I don't see that hidden revenge. I see guilt feelings, as if she genuinely cares about me. Yes, as if that little snake somehow cares about me in her new perfect world!

Cassie didn't say anything more and looked away. Sometimes, she reminded me so terribly of Whisky that I wanted to hit her.

"Come on, Phina, let's go upstairs already."

And sometimes, she was so unlike Whisky that I wanted to strangle her.

"Can you wait for a damn moment for me? It's not that hard, is it?"

Both looked at me silently as I sighed and finished tying my hair into a ponytail. I stood up and examined myself in the mirror. "Not great, but it'll have to do."

Then I turned to the little mice, waiting for my next move. "Wasn't that difficult, was it?"

Phina looked like she wanted to say something, but Cassie gave her a look that made her hesitate. I didn't want to wait for their game, so I started walking. They followed me as always.

Take it away from them, and they'll want it again.

~~~

One foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right-

"(Y/n)! There you are, we've been looking for you!" Maya and Lydia approached me. I was on my way to my room to contemplate this encounter.

"Come on, let's go to the game together; it's starting soon. And you definitely shouldn't miss it!" Lydia looked at me with a meaningful look while Maya took a moment to understand her hints.

"Yeah, you're right."

I joined them and walked towards the field with them, trying not to show anything. I kept the encounter with the boy to myself for now.

"Would it be okay if we meet up with Luis and Luke? They don't know you yet and would like to get to know you. They're nice guys, even if Luke can be a bit rough, he's still nice." Maya explained, looking at me expectantly.

I wasn't good with new people, but if they wanted to get to know me, it would be impolite to simply say no. So, I nodded with a smile, and we headed to the spectator stands.

On one side, there were mostly green robes, with a few yellow or blue ones. Slytherin was very serious when it came to the game against Gryffindor. The same could be said for those sitting on the other side.

As we approached the stands, I could already see two boys my age in Ravenclaw robes from a distance. They both had black hair and seemed to be twins, although you could distinguish them easily. One had a very serious expression and a scar on his face, while the other looked more relaxed, but something seemed to be on his mind.

Maya waved to them, and Lydia ran towards the one with a smile on her face, hugging him. He seemed surprised at first but hugged her back.

"Feeling better?" she asked him, and he smiled a sad smile. He nodded slightly but very uncertainly, and Maya scrutinized him with concern.

The somewhat grim one cleared his throat and turned to me. Instead of saying anything, he nodded his head towards me and looked at his brother pleadingly. The brother quickly caught on and let go of Lydia.

"Hey, sorry, this must be weird for you. Everything's fine, don't worry. You're (Y/n), right? I'm Luis, and this is Luke." He smiled at me, and I nodded back. "Nice to finally meet you. We've heard about you from everywhere."

I looked away shyly and didn't know what to say. I didn't have to say anything, as Luke spoke up. "We need to find a seat soon. Otherwise, Slytherin will take them all."

"And where should we sit?" I asked, looking at the others.

Luke looked at me in disbelief. "To Gryffindor? On your friend's side? Where do you want to go?"

I looked at the Slytherin side where I usually sat and was startled by his question. "I- It's just a habit, sorry."

Luis laughed softly, not mocking but friendly. "You were a Slytherin fan? How did you even end up with Sirius?" He looked at me for a long time, and my heart stopped. "But he also dated Seraph, so it seems he puts Quidditch aside in his relationships."

"Now let's go!" said Lydia, who seemed to want to get me to the spectator level as quickly as possible. Luis laughed, and Luke just grinned at me slightly as we walked in.

The field seemed huge every time I saw it. The preparation seemed to be over, and the players were in their team tents. We found seats near the front but not too close so that we could have a good view of the field.

It took a long time for all the spectators to sit down, and the murmurs subsided. I looked into the spectator rows around us and saw people I had known since childhood suddenly very close. Some even smiled at me, although we had never spoken.

Eventually, it was time. The players were called and summoned to their positions. It didn't take long until I saw Sirius, but it seemed like an eternity before our eyes met.

When he saw me, he pointed at me and smiled. As if to say, I'm winning for you. I blushed slightly and smiled back at him. Eventually, I couldn't look into those eyes anymore and looked away.

Into other familiar eyes. Wide-open eyes that looked at me in shock. Seraph was sitting across from me. I felt uncomfortable as she looked down and then back at me. But she wasn't looking at Sirius.

The Slytherin players gathered, and the last player was called to his position. The boy I had encountered. The one who glared at me from below. The one who seraph looked at in disbelief.

"And Regulus Black, as Seeker, to his position!"

Regulus.

Black?

Taglist: @theofficialmadman @fanboyluvr @fjdjsiskcjfj @starsval @olkathedestroyer @helloitsmeeeeeee @xamapolax @maripositanoctruna @ancientimes @cloudlst @marina468 @regulus-black-223048 @loving-and-dreaming @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @princesspuffle8@lonely-nerd-sodaholic@lostgirlsstuff@wolken-n @thepunisherfrankcastle@nefri-black@solitarioslilium@briskesby@ropickle@my-current-fandom-is @hawkinsavclub1983@dancingwithreality

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #46] Forgetting the Friendship

warnings: progress!! seven mv inspo!! fluffy goodness <33 a treat! (1) reference to 'ur so mean ting ting ball :('

notes: i love these chapters so much waaa, it makes me excited to write for bd again <3 also these chapters are copied straight from ao3 and the space after italicised words before full stops drives me insaaane but I am too lazy to fix it lol soz

wc: 9K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Jeongguk sitting across from you at a dining table is not a foreign concept.

Nor is his smile, and the solace it brings; or his inquisitive eyes, and how they're able to make even the most mundane of activities enthralling.

In fact, sitting with Jeongguk in a dark, smokey barbecue place just off the central restaurant district downtown feels entirely comfortable.

Yet it's perhaps the most troubling thing of all: dating Jeongguk is easy .

Easy, like the first sip of an expensive vodka. Easy, like the laughter that comes whenever you're with him. Easy, like you knew it would be. Easy, like it always is.

The restaurant is familiar to you both - somewhere you've frequented for countless late-night dinners. It's a standard joint, nothing technical nor fancy about it. Booth seats, coal pits in the middle of the table, extractor fan above head.

The pipe work is exposed, but it's more for practicality than aesthetics, even if it does lend itself perfectly to the industrial vibe the place has going on. Lights are dim, neons on the walls, overheads shining down on the barbecues only. It's the perfect place to go incognito for a little. Perfect place to test the waters of what a date could be like with Jeongguk. Perfect, because you can hide, if you want.

Hide what you are. Hide how you feel. Hide from your friends, onlookers, judgement. Hide, as if you need to. As if anyone gives a shit. As if you aren't just a couple of besties just sharing some food.

No one understands.

No one realises they're witnessing a cosmic union that'll change the world as we know it. Celestial in the way your energies merge, a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon is happening with every awkward glance. Every shy smile. Every bite of his lip, and flip of his lip ring. Every sparkle of your glitter beneath the hazy lights.

God, Jeongguk thinks, hands clammy. So fuckin' pretty.

You know exactly why he's chosen this place. 'Best meat in the entire city,' you've whined a few times, mouth full of your favourite cut. Moksal, the neck cut, is your go-to. Jeongguk always prefers samgyeopsal, and actually thinks there's a place across the road that is superior - but you like moksal, and you like the moksal here.

So here is where you are.

When you realise this—as he's asking the waiter for a cut of samgyeopsal and two cuts of moksal—your heart hurts. If it could pout, it would.

You don't realise that you're kind of pouting too, until Jeongguk asks, "Is that alright? Did you want something else? I can change the order."

"No," you insist, a smile settling on your lips, just shy of a giggle.

Attentive as always, you find his drive to keep you happy sweet. Charming, in fact. You know that if he had it his way, he'd have ordered three cuts of samgyeopsal straight off the bat, then maybe ordered moksal for round two.

But he wants this to be easy.

It is easy.

It's not like you had expected a date with Jeongguk to be a particular hardship. Nothing like that at all.

You've known him for long enough now, and experienced enough of life with him, to know what something like this could be like. Hell, you've done this exact thing with him on an easy two dozen occasions. More, maybe.

The ease, the comfortability, the absence of complication; It's all so easy .

You've never known love to be easy.

Never known it without conflict. You don't even know if this is love—but you know it has the potential to be.

It's too soon for such heavy words. The dates barely even started. A bottle of soju and a bottle of beer are brought to your table, and Jeongguk cracks the cap of the beer while you unscrew the soju. Work in tandem. Get the drinks flowing, 'cause neither of you are truly confident enough for this.

Have both tripped over your words already. Both took a little too long to think of responses, in an attempt to make them perfect. Make this perfect. Be perfect.

This is your first fatal error, for perfection has never been what either of you have liked about one another.

It's everything else—flaws, and all— that you like.

He'd proven that as soon as he had shown up at your door that evening.

"I like your hair," he had told you earlier, a little bashful in your apartment hallway, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.

Half up, it isn't particularly special today.

Danbi had spritzed it with a little glitter hairspray while you'd been doing your makeup, and twisted some plaits back, leaving your grown-out fringe to frame your face. It is a little fancier than your normal half-up go-to, but it's not exactly ground-breaking.

'Smart casual' had been the attire set by Jeongguk after you'd asked for a dress code, which is honestly the worst thing he could have possibly said.

You're good at doing casual. Great at doing cocktail. Mildly okay at doing smart. The combination of smart and casual? Yeah, not so great. Too many things to factor in.

"Like, do I go business-sexy?" you'd considered out loud, spending far too much time whining when you should have been getting ready. "Yanno? Like a hot secretary? Is that what he means?"

"I think he just means a little dressy," Danbi had talked some sense into you. Really didn't understand all the fuss. "Not full Disco Ball, but enough to still turn heads."

Glancing over to the sparkly dress hanging on the back of your door—the same one that Jeongguk had sort of gifted to you over the weekend, but also not spoken to you about at all—you decide that maybe that will be a little too much.

Thankfully, Jeongguk did send you a mirror selfie twenty minutes before he was set to leave.

Black slacks, a blazer, and a graphic white tee beneath it. Smart casual. Captioned it with, 'will you be able to resist me, or should I get changed?'

You have a last minute panic and change to dress accordingly; tight black mini skirt, large white tee hanging loosely off your frame. A tour shirt from one of your favourite bands, it's been through the wash enough times to look almost vintage, even if it's just from a few years ago. Tucking it in a little at the front, you allow for the material to billow and hide the body Jeongguk seems to love so much. Perhaps it's better. Less tempting.

With a smile, you reply, 'no & no.'

Layering on some jewellery, you do a few last minute checks, and tug on your Converse. Totally not because you think he might wear his. Not at all. Decide against a jacket. You know Jeongguk's got one.

If you're gonna date, then you're gonna do the datey things - and that includes stealing his jacket before the end of the night.

Definitely has nothing to do with the fact you know Jiyeong did the same thing. You're definitely not trying to overwrite the memories of her. Not at all. That would be childish and pathetic and silly and exactly what you're doing.

You've had long enough of reducing yourself and making yourself invisible for the sake of men.

Jeongguk has never made you do that. Not once.

You're confident that Jeongguk won't ever make you reduce yourself. In fact, he's the one who frowns whenever you're without glitter. If anything, he seems to want to amplify you. It's a strange feeling. One you're not quite used to, yet.

But it's one that you had welcomed as he turned up at your door. Had dimples digging into his cheeks the second he caught your gaze, desperately fighting a smile.

A million thoughts raced through his head: how gorgeous you always look in the flickering light of your apartment hallway; how happy he is to be at your door, and how it felt like he'd be sick the entire subway ride there; how he'd planned on stopping for flowers on the way, but had been too eager to see you instead.

None of these thoughts escaped his lips.

Instead, the greeting had been awkward . Bashful. Both of you unsure of this new etiquette, even though being together feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He made note of your lack of jacket. Didn't insist you get one. Knew straight off the bat that he'd be draping his blazer over your shoulders by the end of the night. Wrapping you up as his own. Sticking a label on you that distinctly marks you as his.

He also noticed your shoes. Smiled. Looked down at his own pair - that he definitely didn't wear because he thought you might... not at all...

Part of you felt a little cheated as you headed down towards the subway ( where was the hand holding he'd spoken about? ) but you were also thankful he wasn't going in all guns blazing. Were nervous. Unsteady.

Now that you think about it, perhaps a hand would have been useful to hold.

But in a place that is familiar to you both, the nerves settle.

"So, tell me about yourself," you flirt, as if this really is a first date by the standards of normal people. "Pets? Siblings? Hobbies?"

Jeongguk smiles, easing into how natural this all feels. Feels a little odd, too. You know all this. Still, he nods. Cosplays as a stranger to you 'cause maybe he is a bit too acquainted for some guy who isn't even your boyfriend.

"One brother, no pets. Want a dog, but I'm waiting until I have more free time, yanno?"

"More free time?" you enquire, as if you don't know his schedule like the back of your own damn hand.

You're probably more well-versed in Jeongguk's work rota than your own by this point. Know which days to end up in Dionysus with no purpose other than to have his eyes on you the entire night. Know that he gyms at ass o'clock in the morning because of his work schedule. Know that he'll cancel that particular schedule if it gives him the excuse to stay in bed with you. Bonus point if he gets his cardio done in other ways.

You still might not be a gym girlie, but your core strength has never been better. You're getting pretty good at yoga, too. The Cobra is a particular favourite. Cow, too. And fish pose. In fact, now you think about it, you're getting real good at yoga. Danbi would be proud.

"More free time," he nods, before pausing to take the utensils from the waiter, insisting he's fine to grill his own meat. It's no different to usual—Jeongguk often happily cooks his own meat—but something about it this time around gets you smiling. A little flustered. You do love it when a man takes charge (mainly so you can fight with him), but it's entirely different now.

He just seems... capable. Dependable.

"Work enough hours at a part-time job for it to be full-time," he begins to explain. "But I'm also in the process of setting up my own business. Restaurant business."

Absolutely none of this is new to you, and yet you find yourself asking questions. So many questions. Rehash old conversations, and go off on new ones. Have Jeongguk smiling and enthusing, talking about his dreams like they're coming to life in little vapours dancing around his head. You can picture it all; his successes, his meticulously planned interior, the wind-down after a busy night, sitting with him around his favourite table and eating for yourselves.

He rambles on about staff uniforms, and whether or not he wants shirts or just aprons when he stops himself. Smiles, Says, "Sorry, I'm like the worst date. Just talking about myself non-stop."

Date . Jeongguk is your date. Fuck . You could squeal. You won't—but you could .

Shaking your head, you disagree. "I like hearing about your plans. It's fun. Your eyes get so sparkly whenever you talk about your dreams."

"Shut up," he cringes, a little embarrassed by himself, and also aware that you're totally wrong.

His eyes don't sparkle 'cause he's talking about his dreams.

His eyes sparkle cause he's looking at you as he speaks about them.

Nonethewiser, you raise your shot glass. It's filled to the brim with soju, hastily poured by him, and grin, "to your future."

He raises his glass, and knocks it against yours, tiny droplets of alcohol trickling over the lip of the glass and onto your fingers, so minimal it's almost unnoticeable. "To the future."

The , not his . A collective. A future he hopes you'll share together.

"Anyways," he says as he swallows down the soju and chases it with a little beer. "Tell me about you. Gimmie your life story, Disco Ball."

The smile on his face as he calls you that is sweet. Kind. His dark eyes twinkle in the dimly lit restaurant, a little smoke from the coals beneath the barbecue obscuring him for a brief moment.

Your ability to talk with Jeongguk about anything and everything for hours upon end is nothing new.

As you laugh and joke your way through dinner, there really is nothing remarkably hard about spending time with him. You never thought there would be.

Part of it worries you. Concerns you that 'nothing remarkably hard' could lead to you being simply 'nothing remarkable' altogether.

See, comfortable has been used upwards of a thousand times to describe your relationship. Now is no exception to that.

You talk with him like an old friend, not a new lover - and while this is fine, and safe, and necessary for a successful foundation, you fear that such security will prevent you from building something truly great.

Hours are lost in conversation.

The tables around you come and go. Fill up with new punters, then filter out. At one point, a server spends a little too long looking at your table. Jeongguk notices. Says, "I think we gotta order more or fuck off."

It's been three hours.

And so Jeongguk orders budae-jjigae to keep you going. Knows you won't eat all that much of it, but also knows he can demolish the stew off if needs be. It's cheaper than more meat, and easier to pretend like you're taking your time to eat it. Gives you more time.

Soju bottles empty out rapidly. New bottles are brought over every now and again, the table never running entirely dry. More meat is eventually ordered, because Jeongguk is Jeongguk, and the mere scent of the table next to you grilling up meat gets him hungry again.

Again, he grills for you for the most part, but when you take the tongs from him to turn the meat and give him a little break, he almost crumbles .

His gaze is centred on you. Flicks down your arm, to your wrist. Your hands. Watches as they work. Says nothing, just slowly wets his lips as you continue talking, then presses them together. His lip ring does the thing . Posture reclines a little into his chair.

"What?" you ask as you notice the way he's not paying attention to what you're saying at all. "You good?"

He just shrugs. Absent-mindedly toys with his lip ring a little. Is contemplative as he says, "Why are we putting ourselves through this, B?"

And while you could act dumb, and pretend like you don't know what he means, the relief that washes over is too damn obvious. Your shoulders fucking ease. He knows what you look like at ease, and now that you've sunk into it, he can't believe he didn't realise you were so tense before.

"Oh," he laughs, now, realising that you've been deliberating the exact same thing that's been running through his head. "Am I that much of a terrible date?"

"Date?" you tease. "This is a date?"

"Oh, fuck off," he laughs. "Course it's a date. I wore a blazer."

"You looked hot," you tell him, 'cause you've had a few too many shots to be making good decisions. Tucked into the base of the seating booth to protect it from the smoke, Jeongguk's in just a t-shirt now.

Arms out. Tattoos on display. Muscles tensing just right.

It's a miracle you've been able to form coherent sentences at all this evening.

Truthfully, you've not been focusing on them.

Can't help but let your mind jump back into its memories. Fractures of heated moments in his shower keep coming to mind. The grip you'd have on his arms as you came undone. Memories so potent they almost make you whine.

So yeah, you've been avoiding looking at his arms.

"Should I put it back on?" He raises a brow.

"No," you hum. Bit down on your lip. Sparkle underneath the lights of the restaurant. The taking of Jeongguk's breath is accidental. The way you shrug, and playfully raise your eyebrows as you recline into your chair, is not. "You're hot now, too."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me, Byeol."

"Am I not?"

"Are you?"

He's so pedantic you could scream. Instead, you giggle. Shrug as you lean forward to slide your chopsticks beneath one of the fermented perilla leaves. Say, "Give me a hand?"

Of all the things Jeongguk wants to give you right now, a hand is definitely one of them. Maybe not in the way you're requesting, but fuck . He's insatiable whenever you're like this. Impatient .

Yet, he does as he's asked. Splits the leaves for you. Wonders how out of pocket a marriage proposal would be, even if he is just joking.

Instead, he asks, "If we go somewhere else after this, can it count as date two?"

"No."

"Byeol," he whines.

"No," you laugh, knowing exactly why he's asking. "You can't get me into bed that easily. Can't speed up the process. You gotta earn it."

He has earned it. You know it, he knows it. Everyone who looks your way knows it. Your want for him is written all over your face, cosmic eyes shooting up like stars every time you glance his way.

"The process is dumb," he pouts.

"The process is necessary," you insist, though you really are doubting it now.

"The process has already been done," he assures you, though you're not sure his maths is adding up. This is still just date one of five.

Thing is, Jeongguk sees eating together as more of a daily routine thing. It's not special enough - but it's what he said he'd do in the midst of a fuck that felt like a whole lot more, so he had to see it through. Had to make sure your expectations were met. Didn't want you to be disappointed if he didn't follow through.

"We've basically been ' together ' for fuckin' ages, now," he continues, lips a hell of a lot looser now that he's got soju swarming through his veins. Cares not to hide how he views things between you. "The rules are redundant 'cause we already know each other like the back of our hands."

"So?" You toy, enjoying this slightly desperate side to Jeongguk. You normally only get to see it in bed. Nice to witness it fully clothed, even if it does make you wanna disregard the rules you're so desperately trying to enforce. "Think about how good it will be when you finally get me how you want me."

"It'll just be embarrassing," he assures you, thankful that the chatter around you drowns out the conversation you're having. "I'll finish, in like, 2 seconds."

"No different to usual, then."

"Fuck you."

"No," you smirk. "That's the whole issue, remember? We're not allowed to."

"Swear you get off on my pain," he grumbles, topping up both of your glasses with the dregs of the beer left in the bottle. Pours you both water, too. Definitely hasn't had enough, so he doubts you have, either. "Is this what our relationship is gonna look like, huh? You torturing me for the fun of it?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you tease him with a playful smile. "I'm not your girlfriend."

He just shrugs again. "Yet."

Your lips purse. Smile hides. Eyes sparkle.

Yet , you think.

As if he can read your mind, he just nods slowly. Yet .

No time is given to dwell on such a small word, for Jeongguk gets already on his feet and heads over to pay. Doesn't even give you the option of offering to go halves, because it is a date, and he does want to tick all the boxes. Make you happy.

And he does. You are.

The restaurant you're in is a few floors up from the street. A skincare shop is on the bottom floor and a kitchen on the next one up. The staircase is themed, adjacent to the restaurant. Has a vibe about it that just begs to be photographed - which is obviously an intentional, marketing ploy, given by the sheer amount of mirrors available on the descent. All branded with a small tag in the corner, you know if you searched it on insta, heaps of selfies would pop up.

Grabbing his blazer from the booth, Jeongguk ushers you towards the staircase, Drapes his blazer over your shoulders, even if you aren't complaining about the cold yet. He knows you will.

Even though he's not been wearing it, there's a warmth about his blazer. His aftershave is stuck in the fibres. Divine. Fresh. Dreamy.

"Wait," you hum as you get to the biggest mirror of the staircase. It's full length. Dimly lit, with neons in the background to give it a vibe that you know girls on the gram will just eat up.

Jeongguk pulls you to stand in front of him ever so slightly. Takes your phone from your hand and slides the screen across to auto-unlock the camera.

Pictures taken together are a rarity, normally always with your other friends. Never just you two. Not since the photobooth in Busan.

He thinks about it often, mainly 'cause every time he sits at his computer desk, he can see them poking out from behind another poster. He keeps them up, a little obscured so that Jimin never notices them, but so he can always feel their presence.

"Should document it," he narrates the choices he's making. "Evidence of our little dating experiment."

It's not what he wants to say. Not what he's thinking. If he were being honest, he'd say 'evidence to show our grandchildren.'

"You're such a romantic," you tease with a roll of your eyes, but naturally find yourself leaning into a pose.

Though Jeongguk once told Yoongi he wouldn't want his relationships plastered all over instagram, he's positioning himself in the perfect soft launch pose. Hangs his arm over your shoulder, tattoos on full display now that his blazer is draped over your shoulders. Covers his face with the phone, and lets you take centre stage.

He thinks he'd quite like to end up on your feed. Not just your story.

The refracted light of a disco ball in the corner of the staircase glitters down on you both, dappling you in pockets of luminance.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" He replies with a smile, tone matching yours as your fingers reach up to link with his. He takes another photo. Switches the camera to record. Looks down towards you. Says, "That I wanna preserve this? That I want to keep this moment forever? That I want something to show future generations?"

None-the-wiser of your rolling camera, you shrug. Smile, looking at you both in the mirror. Look up to him.

"Are you this forward with all your first dates?"

"Only the ones I know I have a future with."

"Oh?" You question, turning your body to face his. The hand that had been slung over your shoulder comes to rub tenderly up and down your back. "You're pretty confident."

He nods, smile soft as his dark eyes just drink you in. There's a giddy feeling in his stomach, and it's not just the alcohol. "Should I not be?"

The familiarity of Jeongguk is only exacerbated as his nose nudges up against yours.

It's tender, and tepid, and he knows better than to be so affectionate with another person in such a public space, but he doesn't care. Felt distant from you when he was across the table; like the supply to his oxygen was being stifled, but now he can breathe again.

You don't resist as he steals a kiss. It's small. Tepid. A punctuation mark for a question that really shouldn't make you feel as head over heels as it does.

"I never said that," you smile, his nose resting against yours as he locks your phone. Will let you find that video some other time. Wishes he was still recording when you say, "I think it's something worth preserving. Think I'll wanna look back on it too."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you mumble into his lips, sinking into another forbidden kiss. "For when we're old and grey and I'm reminiscing over my former lovers."

You're deliberately downplaying how you feel; how you know that there'll never be another lover after him.

If Jeongguk chooses not to see this through, then that's it.

At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, you've determined that no man nor woman could ever compare to him.

His particular cluster of cells is just the right one for you; the right combination of stardust.

If you ever find yourself trapped between sheets with someone else, they'd be nothing more than a misplaced life experience. Not one for the history books. Names wouldn't be remembered, the feeling long-forgotten by the time you're reminiscing.

But not Jeongguk. Never Jeongguk.

It's terrifying to look at another human and know the course of your life is forever changed because of them.

But it's comforting—so, so comforting—when replies, "Former? B, if I'm not covered in your fuckin' glitter on my death bed then I'll... I don't know," he laughs. "Haunt you? I don't fuckin' know. Just take fuckin' former outta your mouth when you talk about us."

"You're so lucky we're in public right now," you sigh a little dreamily.

"Why's that?"

"You're, like, one right sentence away from me getting to my knees."

"Don't say that," Jeongguk groans with a smile. Shakes his head. His nose strokes against yours like it so often does, even closer than before. In fact, he's so close that you can feel his lips as he husks, "Lets get outta here, B."

Shaking your head, you smile. "Ask nicely."

Jeongguk pulls away, and tugs on your hand to have him following you. "You gotta stop being so..."

"So?"

"So you ," he laughs, as you head down the stairs. "Swear you live to wind me up."

"I do," you assure him. "Is it working?"

Leading you down the stairs and onto the bustling city street, Jeongguk likes how much of a menace you insist on being.

Drunk revellers line the pavements, so his grip is tight. He's keeping you close. Smiling with every innocuous statement said by you, then glaring at every fucker who looks your way. You never notice. Are too busy knocking into his chest with every step, glitter no doubt embedding itself in the cotton of his shirt.

He won't complain. Will never complain.

Too late for the subway, and with his car parked up still at his place, a taxi is your only solution to get back to your place. A little too far from town, the walk would take just over an hour, and honestly, neither of you fancy it.

Issue is, getting a taxi at this time of night is hellish, too.

"Just stay at mine," Jeongguk insists as you wait by the taxi rank. Thinks it's a no-brainer. He and Jimin live in the city centre. It's the perfect compromise. "We've done it a hundred times over. Are perfectly capable of—"

"No we're not," you laugh. "All I have to do is look at you in the right way and you get hard."

"So don't look at me," he laughs right back, not even caring to protest it, pulling you in for a hug to stop you from jittering around. It's still cold, May yet to greet you both the bloom of a new season. The blossoms of spring wilted away at the start of the month, but it's still not summer quite yet.

"Or maybe you shouldn't look at me ."

"How can I not?" He whines into your hair, pressing a kiss down on the top of your head. "You're so pretty tonight. So pretty all the time."

Pretty, he thinks when you look at him like that.

Pretty, when you do eventually start walking home with him, and the lights of noraebang entryways shinedown on you, colourful and contrasting your silvery shine. Pretty when you giggle. Pretty when he tugs on your hand and pulls you into a sidestreet for a moment or two whenever your teasing gets a little too much.

He'll always say something like, "If I can't kiss you in the next three minutes, I'll die," or, "Is that what you want? My death on your hands?"

And you'll always reply with something like, "You're lucky I don't fancy going to jail tonight."

Sometimes you don't reply at all. Sometimes, you just kiss him. No games.

Just him, and you, and the physical manifestation of the way you feel about him.

The walk back to his place is made far longer than it needs to be. Detours are taken, and wrong turns are deliberately walked down just to give you both more time together. More, more, more is all you ever seem to want from one another.

And yet as you get back to his place, Jeongguk is the one to start arranging the bedding that separates you. Gets all the pillows he can find in his apartment, and begins to make a little nest beside his bed. Keeps the good pillows on his bed, 'cause that's where you'll be, and he wants you comfy.

A boundary was set by you, so as much as he can whine or complain, he'll always respect it.

In fact, if you were to turn around now and say 'fuck it', he'd be the one to reinforce it. Knows you've both had a little too much to drink. Doesn't want you doing anything you'll regret.

"C'mon," he says fondly, coming to stand in front of you at the end of his bed. Cups your jaw and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let's get washed up, B. Teeth, then bed."

The way Jeongguk feels the need to always take care of you is sweet. Tender. Careful. He fears doing the wrong thing so often, that his default is to be overwhelmingly good.

Comfort is found in this routine of yours.

Domestic, it's sort of devastating when you realise how well-acquainted you are with one another's habits.

He finishes his teeth brushing just before you, 'cause he knows you always like to be the last to finish for some weird, competitive reason.

Knows you sleep with your hair up, cause you hate the way it feels around your neck, so gently slides out the pin keeping half of it up. Lets it tumble down as you come to the end of your brushing, but scoops it back before you go to rid your mouth of toothpaste. Says nothing, still, as he ties your hair up with the thin band around his wrist.

Teeth clean, you turn to face him. Let his body press against yours. Encourage it, in fact, then give no resistance as he drags you to the left of the sink, nor when he hooks his arm beneath your ass and lifts you to perch on the counter.

"So pretty," he whispers, tucking back some loose strands he missed. Just you and him, Jimin's already asleep in the room next door. The apartment is silent save for the thudding of your beating hearts, that carry the weight of an orchestra on their base notes. You'll be a symphony, one day. "You know that right? Prettiest thing I've ever seen. Sparkliest, too."

If Jeongguk were to sit down and think about it, he could probably write a fuckin' sonnet.

But he's drunk, and he's sleepy, and you're just so pretty.

Forehead resting against yours, there's no desire for him to take this further. No need for him to elevate this. All he wants— truly —is for you to know he means it. Not just on a superficial level. On a deeply human, richly complex level.

You make him—his heart —feel pretty, too.

And so even though his nose nudges against yours, lips trembling, he doesn't kiss you. Won't sully his words with overwhelming physical passion. Instead, he lifts you. Carries you to his room. Sets you down on his bed without a single word.

Crazy, how a touch so tender can send you reeling; wanting. His silence is maddening.

It scares you. Worries you that maybe he isn't saying anything because anything he does say will upset you.

It prevails as you turn away from one another to get changed. He strips to his boxers, and you adopt a shirt of his that's been tossed over the back of his desk chair. No different to usual.

But as you settle into bed, and listen to him do the same, it's his voice that breaks the barrier. Bulldozes the wall you had begun to put up around yourself in an act of self-preservation.

"What do you even like about me, B?"

Barely a whisper, it's almost like he's scared of being heard; as if whatever answer you give will devastate him.

So fixated on everything he likes about you, he's beginning to realise that he can't really work out why someone like you would ever go for someone like him.

He's unestablished. Unstable in his career. Has barely finished school. Has no money, or at least not enough to provide you with any of the good stuff in life. Not yet, at least. 

You had to spend an eternity listening to him whine about an ex that has proven herself to be pretty fuckin' awful. You live with the knowledge of all that he's done in pursuit of her. How desperate and pathetic he was.

The monsters that go bump in the night in Jeongguk's room live inside his head. They lie to him; tell him he's unworthy of the things he earned. Whether it be the business he's setting up, or the girl he's been fawning over for months, everything just appears a little out of grasp.

Like a donkey chasing a carrot, he runs and runs. Pursues his desires but can never reach them. He's asking for a lifeline, now. Is desperate.

"In what way?" you ask.

You'll give him a list as long as Jimin's Dionysus bar tab, if he wants. Can think of a million little things you adore—but you're scared, too. Vulnerability has never come easy to either of you.

It's a little ridiculous by now, how you both manage to let the devils on your shoulders worm their way into your ears and corrupt your brains. In the dark of night, it's easier for them to creep in. Less light to reflect upon the glitter that would typically keep them at bay.

"You know what way."

It's true. You do. Of course, you do.

Talk is cheap, you always think. Actions speak louder than words, or so has been the case for Jeon Jeongguk since the moment you met him - but it's words he needs now. Words that will soothe his brain. Words that will wrap around his insecurities.

Insecurities that are exacerbated by the fact you don't want to share a bed with him anymore, and the way your touch has become something that's withheld until he proves himself.

He doesn't even realise the way his mind is chalking up this new rearrangement. Doesn't understand that the slightly sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach is anxiety.

Change is never easy, but he knows it's often good. Even with this in mind, Jeongguk feels pretty awful. Maybe it's just the alcohol wearing thin. Maybe he just needs to sleep.

He never wanted things to change. Wanted things to stay exactly how they were. He told you this. All he wanted was the security that you wanted him, too—but now there are rules, and boxes to tick, and a change in a dynamic that he quite frankly thought was perfect before.

With these changes comes a physical distance, of course, yet it's manifesting itself emotionally in a way that you really should have predicted.

He's clingy . Always has been. Always keeps you close.

And now that he can't, he needs something to fill the space left by your prohibited touch.

A similar pang of discomfort washes over you; matches his dis-ease.

"So many things," you start, because it's hard to pick just one.

He stays silent. Knows you're working through your thoughts. Feels embarrassed to be asking for such attention, but he just needs something, anything , to remedy his brain.

The distance between you seems to grow in the silence, much like it did in your apartment when he showed up with his last birds.

Together, you're like an elastic band that just stretches and stretches and—

"Can I come down there, Gguk?"

You're stretching, still. The silence is empty around you as he tries to find the right response.

He gives up. Begs, "Please."

And so— ping .

You snap right back.

Pulling his bedding to the floor, you build an even bigger nest. Snuggle up beside him. Give no resistance, as he pulls you closer. Gets you beneath the same duvet. Shirtless, Jeongguk remains warm to the touch, and your hands remain gentle on his skin.

Both of you take a second to indulge in the closeness. Your leg hooks over his hip, his hand stroking up the back of your thigh as you do so, but it's not taken beyond the simplicity of what it is.

This isn't about sex.

It's about intimacy; about his heart, and how he foolishly felt like glitter had been replaced with shards of glass.

Remedied, Jeongguk can breathe again.

"I like your work ethic," you eventually whisper, brushing back a few strands of his hair, the darkness of the room not obscuring your star boy entirely. He adjusts slightly. Strokes your hip. Nudges his nose up against yours—not for anything other than for the fact he can. Doesn't kiss you. Lets you talk. "You work so hard, Gguk. So hard."

He stays silent. Asked for compliments, but doesn't really know how to respond to them.

So you give him more. Slide your hand up his throat, until his ear rests between your thumb and index finger, nails softly scratching his scalp.

"I also like your hair," you admit, because you're touching it, and it comes to mind, and because you don't think you tell him enough.

"Wanna grow it again," he mumbles, ever critical of himself.

"If you want to, you should," you tell him. "But it always reminds me of when we met when it's like this. I like it both ways."

"Your memory is good," he sort of derails the conversation.

"I remember 'cause it's important," you tell him—then decide to put the carriage of whatever fuck this is back on course. "I remember 'cause you're important, Gguk."

"Even back then?"

"God, especially back then," you insist. "You were so kind. So kind. Kind when you didn't have to be. Barely knew me and yet you made me feel so safe."

"Anyone would have—"

"No," you firmly interject. "Not just anyone. I went to a lot of bars last spring and not a single barman was making sure their punters were getting water. Only you. You go above and beyond for people. It's admirable. I like that. I like how kind you are. God, Gguk, the list is endless."

"Endless?"

"Endless. I like so much about you. So much." And you're not sure if you should continue listing out things, because you fear saying a little too much. Worry that the true nature of your feelings is a little too much for the freshness of this new endeavour. "I just... you're the best person I know. Truly."

He takes a second to fully digest your words. Appreciates them. You. The way you're willing to meet him halfway, and stop him from going off the deep end.

"Will you stay down here?" He whispers against your lips. The delicacy of such a touch leaves you a little breathless, even if it's not his intention. "No funny business. Just wanna be with you, B."

If anything, the lack of Jeongguk's desire for anything physical only makes you want him more. It's bizarre to be in such a state of yearning for someone right in front of you.

It's not like you're particularly in the mood, or deprived, or anything like that - it's just the perfect example of why cultivating intimacy is such a disaster for you. Makes you realise why it's always so impossible to stay away from one another. Sex is never just sex. Not with Jeongguk.

Cut from the same cloth, it's a shared language; one that you only ever speak together.

Nodding, you say, "I'll stay."

Together, you curl into a position more suitable for sleep. He takes the position of the little spoon, 'cause facing one another is dangerous, and so is having his dick to your back. Neither of you are stupid.

At least, you like to pretend you're not.

In the night, you twist and turn regardless. Change positions half a dozen times. Wake up with his arm wrapped over your waist, your body tucked up against his. He's the big spoon now.

"Ignore it," he grumbles into your hair when he feels you begin to stir.

"Impossible," you sleepily hum into the pillows, needing absolutely no confirmation of what he's talking about. Can feel him digging into your back. "Too big."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, and presses a kiss to the back of your hair. Tightens his grip around, to say a silent morning.

"Mhmm," you confirm. "You can add it to the list of things I like about you."

"Fuck off," he scolds, but you can hear the smile in his tone.

"In fact, put it at the top of the list."

"The top?!" He protests—yet he's holding you ever tighter, still.

"Mmm, maybe just behind the free drinks at Dionysus."

"Don't remind me of work," he whines.

"You in tonight?"

"Mhmm," he regretfully mumbles. "Got a meeting with the bank first, though. Busy day."

"Want me to get going?" you ask, reaching up to grab your phone from the bedside table. Checking the time, you ignore all the texts from Danbi wondering how it went. Will just tell her later. Truthfully, you're not even sure how it went. "It's just gone nine. Want me to get outta your hair?"

"Meeting isn't until one," he tells you, but does add, "I've got some things I need to sort out beforehand."

"Say no more," you offer, stretching yourself out and away from his grasp. He whines and he moans, because he's Jeongguk, and of course he does. You tease him, and tell him not to miss you too much, because you're you, and of course you do.

But all Jeongguk does in your absence is miss you.

Spends most of his time in his bank meeting ignoring the clerk. Will read the paperwork later. Is still frustrated with the situation at hand, still yet to find a solution to his problem. Still yet to tell you about, 'cause he doesn't realise a problem shared is a problem halved. Will keep the bank issue tucked away. Nothing for you to worry about.

When work rolls by, he's checking his phone every few minutes. Earns himself some not-so-subtle side-eyes from Yeonjun. Loses 50k in a bet with him over how long he could go without checking his phone. Jeongguk is adamant he hit the fifteen-minute mark. Yeonjun was timing it. Was eight.

As the week progresses, your schedules aren't aligning. Alongside work, you're prepping Tae's next art show, and becoming painfully aware of how unsustainable it is—especially because the new curator is just as shit as you were warned they would be.

You're not just burning the candle at both ends; it's been dumped in a wax burner. Wick intact, it's the wax that's melting away.

Something's gotta give, and regretfully, it kinda feels like Jeongguk has been the sacrifice.

Stress is becoming well acquainted with you both.

He tries filling his empty space with the gym. It always used to work. Jiyeong still ignores him whenever he turns up, and it suits him just fine, but she has started at least looking ambivalent. The daggers he used to get never cut him particularly deep, but he didn't like the scratches on his skin for merely existing.

Still, his head is full of you—what you're doing, how work is, how he wishes you'd show up at the end of his sessions like you used to do, coffee in hand. Doesn't get why going on dates now means that you don't just hang out like normal.

So he hits personal bests, and has no one to tell when he leaves, shirt sticking to his back, eyes dark. There's a near-permanent ridge between his brows, testosterone up but his drive to do anything about it way down.

He gets coffee by himself, and smiles when the girl at the counter flirts with him like she always, but internally spends the entire interaction telling her to get fucked. She's a nice girl. Jeongguk's sure she's really nice, in fact, but he's so frustrated with everything that he can't even take pleasure from the acknowledgement that he's desired.

Doesn't want it.

Just wants you.

But you're busy, and so is he, and the one evening he thought you might be free to hang out, you had pole with Danbi, so he even finds himself resenting that. It's at that point he knows he's going mad, because what lover of the female anatomy would ever hate that?

He sends you pictures from his bed, and you send him pictures right back, just as innocent as they are illicit. Just shoulders. Lips. Rumpled duvets, that are only really disturbed on one side. Allusions to that fact you'd rather be with one another. Declarations of your yearning without anything tangible.

It's just under a week until Yoongi and Seoyeon's big day, and he worries that you guys will be in an awkward state of limbo. Doesn't want to have to face all your friends and act all normal while you're still in this clumsy stage.

There's a very real fear within Jeongguk that the first date just wasn't... right . That you've had time to think, and know that he isn't suited to you. That his insecurities or neediness have somehow made him unattractive, to you. That you're biding your time until you can figure out a way to let him gently.

And yet come Saturday—

"Thought I was gonna die," Jeongguk desperately husks into your lips, hips pressed to your tummy, your back to your apartment door. He's not even taken his shoes off yet, and for some reason, you're stripping him of his jacket. "Swear my brain doesn't work without you."

"That's, like—" His kisses never let you get more than a word or two out. "—probably not—" God, he's insatiable. "—healthy, babe."

And then he's groaning. Telling you not to call him that. Kissing you even harder just to get his desire out of his system—but it never fuckin' eases. Never does with you.

Just like you'll never stop calling him by the names that make him weak. You like him like this. Like his neediness. He never needs to worry. You know exactly who he is. None of this comes as a surprise.

For now, though, you've gotta reel it in. You've a date to have. One planned by you, this time. One that'll strip you back to who you are—no external pressure to perform, no big need to get it right.

Just you, and him, and little paint (but, sadly, a lot less boobs).

"C'mon," you smile, pulling away, realising maybe you shouldn't have taken his jacket off him (even if it did mean you could get your hands up his shirt in the midst of your makeout session). "Let's go."

The hold that Jeongguk has on your hand as you lead him up the stairs of your apartment block rooftop is loose. Barely there. Just enough. A whisper of a touch; everything that needs to be said.

It tightens in the small enclosure just in front of the door that leads to your roof.

Just you and him, the winding flight of stairs beneath you is empty. Mid-afternoon, it won't be long until the sun sets.

You love this time of year for that very purpose. The setting sun is always far brighter, far bolder, far keener to welcome in your favourite time of day. The longer the stars are in the sky, the more at home you feel.

Jeongguk's always been a bit of a night owl, too. It's fated, perhaps, that he should find himself in a permanent state of yearning for the brightest star he's ever known. It's always the middle of the night when he's with you. Always his favourite time of the day.

Could be seven in the morning, but as long as you're beside him? Favourite time. Could be midday sunshine, but if you're there? Favourite time . Could be a time like right now, mid-afternoon, not a star in the sky, and yet? Favourite time.

You're midnight.

Not in a way that invokes fear or suspicion, like the midnight streets of a busy city, but in a way that invites mystery and intrigue. You're midnight in the same way that Dionysus is; fun, a little ridiculous, and always a good time. Midnight, in how you shine. Sparkle. Midnight, in the way that Jeongguk thinks you must be a dream.

It's the only way to explain how he's stumbled across another human so perfectly out of key. So perfect for him. Immaculate in how you radiate everything Jeongguk desires; flawless in the way you align with him. Body, mind, spirit. All of the cliche things, with none of the cliche.

Though still gentle with his touch, Jeongguk becomes a little more domineering than he had been. Takes control of the position, knowing that the plans beyond the weighty steel door are all yours.

It's not like he minds giving up control. Gladly does it. Just doesn't want you thinking that he takes any of this for granted. Doesn't want you to think he's just going along with what you want, because it's easy. Wants to prove to you that all of his choices right now are deliberate.

That he's intentional. That he's choosing you , not just the path of least resistance.

He pulls you back, and your body naturally turns to face his, like a tide rolling in or the sun setting beyond it. There's silence as you're dragged towards Jeongguk, with only shy giggles to accent your movements when he gets your back pressed to the door.

"No funny business," you remind him as his nose nudges against yours. "We haven't even started date number two. It's the rules, Gguk."

He simply shrugs. Nudges your nose one last time before sinking his lips down into yours—and the way you accept him so willingly would suggest you really don't care all too much about that damn rule.

"Rules are made to be broken," he assures you, lips brushing yours with every mumbled word.

"I'm gonna think you only care about the sex," you warn him softly.

You won't think that at all. You've known him for long enough now to understand how he works; why he doesn't sleep around much. Sex, for Jeongguk, is an extension of himself; how he feels.

So yeah, while Jeongguk might chase his own pleasure during sex, it's never the goal. Not really. It's a nice by-product, sure, but it's not the reason he fucks.

Just like kissing is a declaration for you, the way he gives himself up is a declaration for him. A way to speak his words without having to say anything at all.

He shakes his head against you, lips still pressing down into yours. Groans a little as he pulls away. Rests his forehead on yours, and says, "I fuck you because I care about you. Stupid."

"Calling me stupid isn't gonna make me believe you," you tease him, rolling away from his grasp. Quite like it when he calls you dumb names like that. Makes everything feel so much simpler, like a childhood romance, or something dumb like that. Lowers the stakes. Still, you're pedantic, and he knows this. You'll be bratty, always. "Was working in your favour until you said that. Shame."

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes. Smirks. Relents. Isn't holding your hand anymore and misses it, but knows you need to unlock the door. Says, "You didn't let me finish."

"Finish?" you laugh, twisting the door handle and pushing the door open. Jeongguk's hand comes to press against the metal above your head, helping with the weight of the door.

"Mhmm," he says as natural light pours into the small enclosure, following you as you step out onto the rooftop. "Was gonna say stupid hot . You're stupid hot ."

"You are so full of shit."

Maybe he is bullshitting you. Maybe he's the stupid one. Maybe none of it matters, because the way his hands come to settle on your waist as he follows you in the open space makes you feel all silly inside. Goofy. Stupid .

Oh, how you hate it when he's right.

And when Jeongguk sees what you've got set up on the rooftop for the pair of you—paint, and canvases, and the promise of something sweet blossoming beneath clementine skies—he has to stop himself from blurting out something equally stupid, like 'you're so perfect, ' or, 'I'm so in love with you.'

Instead, he just smiles. Presses a kiss to the curve of your neck. Husks, "We both know how this ends, B."

"Different this time," you tell him, walking in tandem with him over the blanket and cushions that he recognises from your apartment. "Last time you were in denial about how much you like boobs."

"True."

"And so now I don't need to convince you they're the greatest thing on planet Earth."

"What if I just look?" he chances, flopping down onto the surprisingly comfortable surface. "Promise I won't touch?"

"Nope."

"You're so mean, Disco Ball."

"You love it," you tease, coming to lounge by him.

He doesn't say it. Doesn't need to. You both know his little laugh, and the silence that follows means one thing and one thing only.

Yeah, he thinks to himself. Suppose I do.

[themysticaldrumstick]

I think my mc accidentally smacked E with a school door while running late so they just lay on the ground holding their nose while this tiny, energetic fluffy blond haired girl is just blabbering and apologizing a thousand times over their head. Then the next day they come to find E with half burned cookies as an apology.

I'm feelin a lil silly today, so you get a drabble, you lucky goose(jk).

----------------

"Fuck-" You curse loudly, stumbling past the person, almost slamming into them in your hurry. It was eight-fifteen, to be exact, and you were late. Very late. Mr. Bobbs already had your ass in a stitch for losing your grade, and now this? It was basically a recipe for disaster and this was not a risk you were willing to take.

The person falls, unable to regain their balance-- all their books falling down on the ground, along with a box of cookies. Their glasses tosses from the impact, away from their face, and a low groan escapes them.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"Oh my God!" You remark, eagerly helping them up, as you cringe mentally-- wincing at the little bruise against their arm from the friction of their fall against the floor. Your foot taps anxiously-- a mix of regret and shame pooling in your stomach.

"I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot, sometimes, I can't believe it--" You try to explain, but they waved you off, picking up their glasses.

"All good. I'm not dead." They reply-- you're somewhat surprised at how.. rich, their voice sounds. They seem similar to you in age, obviously a student, judging by the books on the floor, but their voice? It just sounds so.. mature. You don't know whether you're turned on or weirded out.

Either way, you don't care. You cannot care because Lucifer out there, is waiting to murder you, four classrooms away, and not to sound abnormal, but unlike usual teens your age, you really, really love your existence.

"I'm really sorry." You repeat, blabbering apologies nonstop, impatiently in your hurry. They open their mouth to respond, but you're too desperate to care, so you ignore them and run, waving a hand back, as you yell, "I'm sorry again! See you later!"

And needless to say, of course, you end up in detention because Bobbs hated anyone with boobs.

However, it does seem like a blessing in disguise because you seem to find out who you had bumped into earlier, from all the gossip around. Their name-- rather common, their face-- rather unremarkable, but it seems to click something for you. You also hear that some friend of theirs(apparently, who loved cookies) was supposed to get a box from them but didn't.

You bite your lip in guilt when you remember the cookies that crushed against the floor because of that fall. Maybe it's the sheer will that drives you, or the prospect of meeting a hot stranger your age, that your hormones really seem to respond to-- you bake that night.

It's messy and chaotic, and you end up crying on your kitchen floor, feeling like a total failure for messing something that's supposed to be easy. It comes out all burnt, the harsh smell of vanilla and salt coming from it. You scrunch your nose. It's disgusting but, it's the only option you've got.

But, they pleasantly end up surprising you when a large smile curls up on their face as they accept the box of burnt cookies from you. Just from the sheer kindness of it.

You're embarrassed, but they don't seem to mind, as they take a bite of the cookies. "It's.. interesting."

"It's burnt." You mutter, looking away with a sigh. "Baking isn't my forte."

They raise an eyebrow, leaning close-- your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but they seem more inquisitive than flirty, so you push the thoughts away. "Then, what is?"

And, that.. was, well, the beginning of your friendship with your ex-partner. Not very compelling, not very interesting, not very thrilling. And even if you hate them, now..

..You cannot deny one thing.

They definitely knew just how to steal your heart back then, even if they pretended that they couldn't. Even if they pretended as if they were clueless. E knew it all.

And they knew it all too well.

[sangheilihoes]

Confessions Pt. 1

Warnings: Angst

🫵 @ladysaturnsdust @bloodhaven99 @wyyvernn @konnisart @psybrepunk @heiress-prime @haytham-loves-chocolate @demigoddessqueens @memoriesofafallen @amefuyuu @grandmaster-haytham-kenway @dairsmuids @anli-rambles 🫵

A/n: feels rushed but whatever. Hope you enjoy 🩷

Haytham had been pining over you for weeks, maybe months. You've been friends with him for awhile now, having already known nearly the full extent of what hes gone through, over drinks and vulnerable moments, so he naturally already trusts you. He wanted to make his ever growing feelings known but each time he walked toward you, he panicked, suddenly realizing that you never looked him that way and to ruin such a close, trusting friendship is too hard to bear, so his thoughts were never said aloud.

He hadn’t expected to fall so hard but you filled a part of him he thought he’d lost long ago. You were smart, almost too smart, you could read him when no one else could, you were also inquisitive, eager to learn any and everything. There was also an eye for detail he didn’t have, you could notice a heart shape where he saw nothing. You had a mouth too, you weren’t afraid to speak up if a plan didn’t sound good or if you felt disrespected, the both of you got into arguments because of it but he never got mad, only mildly annoyed. And by gods, you were beautiful. Eyes that seemed to make his heart beat faster when his own met them, hair that made him want to run his hands through, to feel the soft locks run in between his fingers, to smell what shampoo you used and the prettiest lips he wanted to kiss, to feel.

Haytham never loved life, finding it too cold to love but with you, the sky seemed more blue, the trees more green, the flowers and his heart bloomed. No, he would never love life but he would love a life with you, as much as he tried to deny himself such a luxury.

When he had yet another restless night, his sleep filled with nightmares of losing you, dressed simple trousers and a billowy shirt, with his gun on the side. he left his home. He didn’t know where he was going nor did he care but fate somehow lead him to your door. His shaky hand knocked softly, unsure if you were even awake at this point.

‘Well, no going back’ he thought to himself

He waited for you to answer for what seemed like an eternity but was no more than a minute.

“Who is it?” You asked from inside

“It’s just me.” He responded

You opened the door, surprised to see Haytham standing there, looking almost… lost

“Is something wrong, Haytham?” Concern lacing your voice

“No. I… I need to speak with you. Please?” His voice wavered

You let him in without another word, the warmth of you your home inviting compared to the cool night. You were nervous; he looked like he hadn’t slept, his body was slack, hair was down and messy, something clearly wasn’t right.

“Ok, Haytham, cut to the chase, what’s going on?”

“I apologize for disturbing you, I just needed someone to talk to.” He sounded emotional.

Stepping closer, your hand coming to rest on his arm. This wasn’t Templar related was it? You briefly considered grabbing a bottle of ale.

“Y/N… I’m scared.” He finally confessed

“You? Scared? Of what?” You could laugh but he was serious

“You. You scare me, Y/N.”

...Wait, what?! Haytham Edward Kenway? Scared of you?! ‘Am I dreaming?’ You thought

“Why? What did I d-”

“I’m scared of losing you.” He cut you off, his confession knocking the wind out of you. You went to ask why but once again he cut you off

“I have nightmares of losing you; whether it’d be you leaving or dying, I don’t know which is worse. I’ve been so scared to tell you how I feel. You’re my closest friend and I don’t know what’d I do without you.” He paused, taking a deep breath then making eye contact with you.

“Y/N, over these past couple months… I’ve noticed my feelings go from friendship to something deeper. You’ve awaken something long lost in my heart. You’ve been there through finding my sister, losing Jim, Birch, everything. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t tell you. You have more a soul than I ever could. Not even the gods could compare to you.”

“Haytham…”

“Y/N, I’m in love with you and I’m scared. Scared I’m going to lose this friendship, going to lose you. And I can’t.”

All you could do is stare at him in shock, your face burning. You swore he could hear your heart beating. Suddenly his face fell.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that. I’ll leav-”

“NO! Don’t leave! I-I-” You started but the words couldn’t leave. You had started growing feelings too but never said anything, thinking it would pass but it never did, if anything, they grew. You took a deep breath

“Haytham, I feel the same. You mean the world to me and I’d give anything to not lose you, even if it means not telling you how I feel. You’re such a hardass but I’ve seen the other sides, the softer and vulnerable, it only makes me love you more. And to know that you trust and care about me means the world. Thank you for telling me.”

The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, there was a spark in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” He asked, heart beating out his chest.

“Please…” You responded. Leaning in closer, feeling his body press against yours, his arm coming to wrap around your waist and his other hand coming to cup your face, pulling you toward him. Your hand that held his arm was now wrapped around his neck with your free hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Haythams lips met your own in a sweet, gentle, tentative kiss. Finally affirming your shared feelings. He felt fireworks go off in his chest, what he imagined your lips to be couldn’t hold a candle to how soft they really were and how perfectly his locked with yours.

Reluctantly, you pulled way, coming to see how dazed and in love he looked. He looked at you like you were the only thing that existed. Suddenly, you found his lips on your again, this time more feverish, desperate to have you and to make up for lost time.

“Stay here, I want you with me.”

“Anything for you.”