#i gave him some more of my art he's probably sick of it by now ahdjsj

[diangelosdays]

next to normal

[skzdarlings]

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

-

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 

Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 

He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 

You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is the only person allowed to call you that. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 

He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 

Another ringlet whips across your face. 

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 

“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 

“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  

He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 

“Sweet?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 

“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”

“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 

“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 

-

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 

You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 

But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 

You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 

“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 

“A book,” you say. 

“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 

“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 

“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”

“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 

“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 

“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  

He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 

“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 

Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 

Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 

He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  

It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 

You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 

You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 

Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  

You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

?!     

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 

That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 

I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 

I kinda clicked on it…? 

I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 

It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 

The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 

You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  

Everything will be fine.

-

Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    

You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 

You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 

You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 

It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 

“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  

A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  

But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 

“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  

You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 

“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 

You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 

There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  

“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 

You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting. 

“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 

“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 

“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 

“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 

He smiled.  You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 

“Sorry,” you grumble. 

“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 

“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 

Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 

No.  It must be something else. 

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 

He kisses you. 

His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 

That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 

It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 

He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   

It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 

You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

You look at each other at the same time. 

“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 

He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 

You are asleep before fifty.

-

You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 

Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 

At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 

You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 

You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   

Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 

“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 

It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 

This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 

He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 

You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 

You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 

Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 

Then he turns up the volume.  

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 

Then you slam the door shut. 

-

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it. 

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet. 

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 

A memory comes to mind. 

You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   

“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 

“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  

Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me

i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 

Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 

You type.  

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 

You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 

I’m just teasing you baby. 

He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     

I see, you write.  Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    

This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 

You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 

Please.   

Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl. 

Please.

Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 

You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 

Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.   

Say my name. 

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 

You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 

Nonsense, you finally write. 

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 

I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.  

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 

You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

-

You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 

Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 

You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 

You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 

You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 

He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”

Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 

“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 

You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   

He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 

-

It occurs to you in bed. 

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 

And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 

But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 

He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 

You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 

The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 

Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 

I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 

You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 

Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 

You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 

I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.

The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks. 

-

He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 

You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 

You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 

His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 

It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 

His heart races under your palm. 

You think you need to see him come too. 

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 

He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 

You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 

-

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 

You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 

But he is still your Hyunjin. 

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 

But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 

“Just… so… ready…” 

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 

You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 

And that is just week two.

-

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 

“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 

-

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 

You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 

You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 

hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too. 

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you. 

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 

Oh?  What about me? 

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 

I know it sounds stupid. 

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to.  my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 

You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 

Yes please, you write, then wait. 

His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 

His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 

He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 

He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 

You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 

He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 

You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 

You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 

[justporo]

The Push and the Pull (There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin)

I'm so deep in my feelings today, just sitting on the sofa being sick. So this is what you get: an angsty, fluffy, deeply corny fic of Astarion and Tav having a heart to heart. (Fueled by Taylor Swift and underlined by a Hozier lyric in the title, we really out here using all the clichés today)

And I'd really like to dedicate this to all my friendly and lovely and caring mutuals and friends here today - those I talk to almost every day now, those who created lovely art for me and those who are just all around so so lovely to me.

Summary: Since Astarion's confession, Tav and the vampire have spent every single possible moment together, getting closer, but guilt weighs on her and so she speaks her mind - about more than one thing apparently.

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Talk about sex and past trauma

Wordcount: 2,4k

Song: This is me trying - Taylor Swift

~~~

You laid with Astarion in his tent, all entangled: your arms around his upper body, one leg hooked around his and the other mushed between his as well. And Astarion held you just as desperately. His arms always seemed to drag you in closer as to not allow just the tiniest piece of space between you. His hands were roaming your back, softly caressing it and his face burrowed in your hair, softly nuzzling you with his nose.

Your face was buried in his chest, breathing in his scent: camp fire smoke, forest pine needles and some of the scent he liked to put on with bergamot and brandy.

You wanted to hold him as closely as possible. Wanting to give him as much of this comfort as possible.

Since his confession at Moonrise Towers you had spent every single night together. At first Astarion had seemed a bit surprised when you had come over and told him you wanted to spend the evening and the night with him. Seemingly he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the fact that you actually wanted to spend time with him – with both your clothes on. Despite you assuring him after his confession that you cared deeply for him and were more than prepared to aid him in figuring out what he needed. And waiting, waiting until he was comfortable again for other stuff – or even finding new ways altogether if that was what was required.

But soon he’d been awaiting you every evening to come over, seeming like a kid that was desperate to be allowed to finally leave the dinner table to go play whenever you and the rest set up camp for the night. And so usually during the evening when the whole party retired you spent your nights with the vampire. Talking, detangling his hair, kissing, him massaging your tensed back, joking around until you both almost cried, worrying about what the next day or battle would bring, reading, playing cards with a deck you had pickpocketed somewhere, just getting to know each other better.

At this point you both really enjoyed that your elven nature allowed you to stay up way longer than most other party members – grateful for the extra time to spend with each other.

But the thing you probably spent most of your time with was: holding each other. Laying like this, feeling each other’s bodies, delighting in the comfort to know the other one was alive and just as eager to be held.

Astarion could seemingly  never get enough of having you in his arms. Always pulling you back into his arms in the morning when you tried to crawl out of his tent to start the day. Always groaning and hugging you harder when you started to protest until you gave in – if only for five more minutes. And how could you deny him anyway – this was the bare minimum he deserved after two hundred years of torment and being stripped of the most basic needs.

And also you wanted to imprint the feeling of his arms around you and his body against yours on your mind, wanting to memorise his smell – so to be able to always conjure this sensation and the feelings that came with it: warmth, joy, love.

You hadn’t quite put that last thing in words yet, but you’d known you felt like that for some time now. Your heart swelled achingly whenever you thought about Astarion. Your dearest wish being to keep him safe, help him heal and hold him close for as long as you were able to.

But tonight, you couldn’t shake a feeling of sadness. With all the positive developments in your relationship with the vampire there was this one thing that kept gnawing on your thoughts and lay heavy on your mind. And you felt you had to get it out now.

You pushed up from your cuddling position, Astarion immediately making a displeased noise and face while you leant on your arms to hover above him and look directly into his eyes. And you saw how his facial expression changed from mocking annoyance to worry, his brows drawing together, as he looked at you and obviously saw in your face that something was the matter.

He softly cupped your face with one hand: “What is it, my love? Is something wrong? Have I done something wro-“ “I’m-I’m sorry, Astarion”, you blurted out.

Immediately Astarion’s eyes filled with shock, his lips parted slightly – he obviously immediately thought that he had messed up in some kind of way. So you quickly continued to rip him out of his spiralling negative thoughts.

“I feel like… No… I took advantage of you and for that I feel terrible, Astarion, I’m so sorry. I know this does not changed what happened, but I wanted you to know that. And I hope you can forgive me for that”, you said and sat up, suddenly feeling you needed to be in an upright position to have this conversation.

Astarion sat up as well, leaning back on his hands and looking utterly confused. His eyes weren’t full of fear anymore but now filled with worry: “Love, could you please clarify because it seems I can’t catch up with what you mean.”

“The nights we slept with each other”, you replied immediately, feeling how the words and the feelings in you were desperate to get out. Tears started to well up in your eyes which you angrily started to rub away with your hands. “I treated you just as everyone else did. I don’t want that, I don’t want to use you, you deserve better”, you continued as the tears really started flowing in hot streams over your cheeks.

Astarion sat up further until he was in a cross-legged position and could lean to you to grab your hands that kept wiping away tears you felt you weren’t allowed to shed in this moment.

“Love, you feel like you took advantage of me when I told you I manipulated you into falling for me and now feel bad that you did exactly what I wanted you to do?”, he replied with sorrow on his face and you realised he had heaps of his own guilt.

You didn’t know how to reply so you just kept looking at him. “Tav, I understand what you mean but… How were you even supposed to know at that point?” You started to shrug, trying to say something like you would have had to know better but Astarion shushed you. He moved to cup your cheek.

“My sweet, please, I can’t even say how much I appreciate you saying this but please – leave it in the past, alright? I understand you feel bad for that and so do I for seducing you with ulterior motives in mind.”

You wanted to immediately reassure him that you were over this, but again he made you stay silent with softly lifting his free hand to silence you.

“Let us just agree to leave this behind us, alright? We are here now. Let’s not burden yourself with more than we already have going on, my love. This is a hard lesson I had to learn in life: you can’t undo what has happened, so sometimes it’s better to not let your mind be consumed by it.”

You softly nodded when he looked at you with raised eyebrows awaiting your approval. The tears had slowly subsided, but Astarion’s fingers were still softly brushing over your cheeks.

“And if it’s any reconciliation: it’s been different with you, from the very beginning.” He angled his head and his crimson gaze drifted away softly as he remembered.

 “You were so eager to be held, to open your heart and give yourself to me. And more so, so eager to give back”, he whispered and absent-mindedly a warm smile crept onto his face before his brows drew together again. “And now you are with me. Every single free second you have you spend with me although I can’t… It’s…”, his words trailed off, his hand dropped from your face.

Astarion sighed and lifted his face to the ceiling of the tent. “I know you said you were willing to wait and… not have sex with me until I was ready for it. And the next time I want to fall into your arms, I want to be sure it's without fear, without a slither of doubt, with nothing on my mind but having you, but…” His words trailed off again, his gaze dropping to the floor. You cautiously reached for one of his hands, starting to softly knead it with yours.

After a few moments, Astarion sighed and looked directly at you, red eyes piercing: “The truth is… I want you, desperately. I can’t stop thinking about how your naked body felt against mine. Hells, I get aroused basically every time you’re even remotely close to me. I feel like a giddy adolescent around you at the best of times. Sometimes I can't stop thinking about burying my face between your legs, slobbering at you like a godsdamned dog until you forget anything but my name. Or about wanting to immerse myself in you, lose myself under your hands for I know I would not have to fear drowning. But it all feels so rotten. It’s so frustrating.” He withdrew his hand from yours and pressed both of them against his eyes with a sigh of frustration.

You could only sit there and listen to his speech, your cheeks heating slightly at his confession. And you realised that he was walking around with so much worry and pain and desperation.

“Would you rather I keep more of a dista-“ “NO!”, Astarion immediately exclaimed and stared at you. “Unless…”, he continued more calmly and with a tinge of worry in his voice, “I mean unless it makes you uncomfortable that I’m like a needy youth around you.” You immediately shook your head eagerly. Astarion went back to pressing his hands to his eyes.

“Astarion, I’m…” – you wanted to apologise again but Astarion shortly lifted his hands and gave you a stare that dared you to utter the words, so you just sighed and went on – “If I can do anything to help you, please tell me. But other than that: firstly, I want you too – more than is probably healthy, I’m sure you know that. But - look at me” – you grabbed his hands this time, forced him to look at you for the next words – “I love spending time with you like this. These are the best parts of my day. You’re a delight to be around, Astarion, you’re so smart and witty. I could listen to you talk for hours. If we could just stay here, laying in each other’s arms forever, you can bet your sweet ass, I would!”

You had almost shouted the last words, riling yourself up so much with your feelings for the vampire spawn. And you felt your feelings almost boil over in your chest, so you proceeded with the thought racing through your mind before you got too shy and wouldn’t put it out there:

“I love you, Astarion!”

It came out almost a little forceful and you pressed your lips together after the words had left your mouth. But you immediately were sure that it had been the right thing to do.

Astarion’s eyes widened at you, his mouth hanging open. His eyes jumped all over you, from your one eye to the other, to your lips and back again.

The silence drew out and you started to become uneasy, awkwardly starting to shift around in your sitting position as you waited for Astarion to react with something more than surprise.

“Sorry, I shouted”, you said and bit your lip “and you don’t have to say it back.” ��Gods, stop apologising already, you idiot”, Astarion immediately replied and swung over to grab your face and kiss you – forcefully and passionately.

After some long moments he broke the kiss shortly: “Also I love you too, Tav.” And then he kissed you again, pulling you over until you sat in his lap. “I love you more than I ever loved anything”, he whispered in between kisses.

Somewhen, you leaned back until you were laying there again just like at the beginning of the night. Still kissing. And you stayed like this for a long time.

Much later you broke away, both your lips swollen from kissing, and just looked into each other’s eyes. You pressed your hand against Astarion’s with spread fingers – observing the differences between your hand and his.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?”, he simply hummed and kept staring at you.

“You said I didn’t have to apologise.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll have you know the same goes for you, okay? Because don’t think I didn’t realise you only spoke about me and left yourself out! I mean, yes, you manipulated you, but you fell for me in the end, you clown, and look where all that got you”, you said and couldn’t help grinning. You closed your fingers around Astarion’s hand.

Astarion grinned back: “Right in the best kind of mess I could have ever imagined. And now you’re stuck with this clown.” He moved his free hand to motion towards himself. “And I would argue a much more attractive clown than the average jester.”

You laughed softly at that and moved in to press another kiss to his lips. Then you buried your face against his chest again while he wrapped his arms around you closer.

“Would you mind saying it again?”, Astarion whispered softly.

For a moment, you were confused but then caught on. You lifted your head again to look directly into his open and shining red eyes: “I love you, Astarion.”

His eyes started to shine even more: “I love you, Tav.”

And you grinned at each other giddily until you had to press your head against his shirt and let out a little squeal of happiness and kick your feet while you heard and felt Astarion’s soft laugh rumbling through his chest.

Then you snuggled up against each other until you both lay comfortably and you both drifted off into your trance – while your hearts had yet moved a bit closer together.

[hyqerfixation]

WAITER SAT AT THE TABLE

-art by ringorenji88 on twitter.

OKKK YAKUZA PILLARS WE LOVE..

Kny boys Drabble NOT FINISHED..

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

"oh shit for real? The pillars are here!? " the pianist asked in shock

"yeah u can see them in the vip seating on the other side of the casino"

"oh for fuck sakes, another fight is probably gonna happen some time soon. "

"you bet"

After hearing the two colleagues gossip Y/n placed her old hairbrush back into her bag.

“What the fuck are pillars?” Y/n thought.

The strip club was definitely something,a popular angle wing in the outskirts of the city of japan

But how could she describe this club?

Utter shit

Female hookers only had a little bit to get ready for their customers, and the bartenders had even less time to change into their uniforms and set the stools down before the casino gets ready

Too add on, the club didn't have a wonderful dressing room for performers to get "all dolled up," as many owners put it, so she dressed up in the ladies employees restroom as long with her female colleagues.

____________________________________________

"HELP Y/N I CANT ZIP MY DRESS UP AND I HAVE TO GO OUT ANY MINUTE!"

"ume calm down jesus fucking crist, Turn around ill do the zip."

Y/N zipped up the performers outfit, which was way more flashier then her skutty uniform.

"daki ur late ur supposed to be on stage letter A right now!"

Another performer exclaimed, rushing daki out of the females room.

"OKAY OKAY I'M COMING ALRIGHT" daki turned around to y/n who was also supposed to be out on her shift right now.

"LET'S MEET UP LATER MM K?"

Y/N sighed lightly while giving a suttle smile

"sure" y/n replied on her way to follow daki to the exit.

Y/n exited the bathroom, leaving her aftershow clothes in on the bathroom sink as long as her bag, and began shifting her fingerless gloves.

“I should’ve pretended to sick today smh” she thought.

"hey y/n! What's up w being late all the time. We could've had a smoke break together."

"i would of been here five minutes ago but I was helping your sister "

Y/ns workmate, also known to be gyutaro rolled his eyes as he gave y/n her note pad and biro pen.

"whatever dude, but come tell me when your on your next break so we can go smoke mm k?"gyutaro said

Y/N waved him goodbye as she slowly walked away.

"we could've talked longer if u came on the right fucking time."

"mm k!" y/n mimicked, taking notes how the siblings act like each other.

Y/N walked out of the bar counter and pushed a stool aside her to continue on to taking orders.

Yet while she looked around she noticed all her work mates avoided the back left,also known as the more "mightier side". Was there someone big there? But if it was someone famous there wouldn't everyone be offering to take their order?

It didn't make sense.

Y/N walked towards to back without a ponder. There wasn't anyone to take the people's orders since the waiters scurried to take their orders, as if they were avoiding a certain table.

'whatever this is; i need that bag, so I guess I'm just going to have to deal with whatever hits me.' y/n thought.

High heels clanked on the ground while y/n search for a table to assist, only for-

"y/n! Y/n!"

She turned around.

"sasumaru? What's up with you?"

Sasumaru was one of y/ns closet friends at the casino, besides the siblings. She wanted to be a volley ball player but failed at everything ever since she was put under house arrest.

"I'm begging you to do that vip table! All of us are to scared to do it!"

"Well why, its not like they are gonna try to kill u for getting their order wrong."

Sasumaru laughed sarcastically

"they tried to kill yahaba because he asked if they wanted ice in their drink!" sasumaru exclaimed, rocking y/n back and fourth by the collar.

"whatever, I'll do it" y/n dead panned

"Are u so sure after hearing what I just told u!" sasumaru panicked even more

"yes it's fine I'll just do what they say, no questions, no ice."

Sasumaru stopped and starred at y/n

"Now will you let me go?" y/n asked.

"AAAAA UR SO COOL Y/N!!! SO BRAVE TOO, JUST LIKE ME"

Y/N pulled sasumaru off her and continued to walk to the vip room

'if u were brave like me, u would be walking to the vip lounge' y/n giggled to her self.

"hey babe what's ur number?"

"look at the fat in her back!"

"I would smack that"

Y/N grumbled to her self about these comments, much to her dismay shes pretty much used to the cat calling here. The manager doesn't really give a shit about the treatment his female employees get here.

'tch, whatever. Fucking saddos'

Y/N walked to the vip table, no in closer inspection she saw a group of men.

Rich men.

Rich and powerful men.

How could y/n tell they were powerful? Doesn't the silent tables of men around them tell you enough? What about the employees refusing to serve any where over here? Is that enough?.

"what could I get for you guys" y/n asked carefully, remembering what happend to yahaba.

"finally someone flashy to help us order!" one of the men said. His hair silver white with magenta eyes that popped. Jewellery coated his body with a expensive tuxedo.

"can I please just have some water? I hope that's okay." the other man said, he was way more bigger then the others and had a red beaded necklace on, his eyes were-wait, is he blind?

"CAN I PLEASE HAVE SOME HOT WINGS" a booming voice asked, his eyes were orange and red, matching with his hair.

"shut the fuck up Kyojuro. I want a sex on the beach cocktail" another white haired male asked, his appearance way more scary then the others with his scars that show from his face to where the tuxedo is undone to show more scars.

"I want the same as sanemi!" the male from the start exclaimed again.

Y/N noted all of these

"anything else?"

"how about you darling?" the flashy man asked. y/n internally screamed inside.

"can uzui shut his mouth for ten seconds" the man known as uzui smacked the scar face beside him while the others laughed.

Y/N walked away when they finished their order.

Okay! Maybe they are a little bit imtimidating.

Yeah, especially when she realised she saw them on the news for murder half way through their order.

But it's fine. It won't bother her THAT badly. Would it?.

"what's up with you? You are all shaken up."

"I just realised I was taking the fucking pillars orders"

"Are you fucking stupid? Everyone knew that's why they stayed closer to the entrance."

Y/N clicked her tounge, she knew that she was stupid but she Just wanted some more money! Cut her some slack!

"I did hear the pianist talk about it outside of getting changed. I didn't really deep much into it though."

Gyutaro placed the drinks on a round black tray along with some hot wings.

"I mean it's your problem now, and to be honest if they didn't like you, you would have been dead by now."

Y/N awkwardly smiled, knowing shes fucked.

"yeah yeah whatever."

She grabbed the tray and started to walk back towards the mobsters

I mean are they really mobsters? even though how imtimidating they were, they somewhat respected you.

They respected you way more then other people you are close with.

"look at her body."

"she's hot."

"yo guys should I ask for her number?"

At this point y/n couldn't even hear the things that were said about her. She was too focused about the men on the Vip table. Is she scared? Incredibly. Is she going to act like nothings bothered her about them? Yes. She is.

The platform heels platters the floor, alarming the men on the table.

"I see your back so soon"

The bling guy said, clasping his hands together.

"took her time didn't she." the scarface complained, tapping his finger on the table.

"don't be so rude sanemi."

" and how the fuck am I being rude?!?"

Y/N placed their drinks down, ignoring how her body's shaking from the pillars infront of her.

"so lady! How long have you been working here?"

Y/N paused at what she was doing and looked up to the fire head who just asked her a question.

"just under a year."

Kyojuro nodded and smiled

"that's nice, you look so young though how old are you?"

Sanemi who sat on the edge of the table hanged his leg out

"I bet not a day over 19"

Y/N chuckled lowly, letting her guard down

"I'm 23"

Uzui spat his drink out

"HUH"

Gyomei smiled towards y/n, he felt comfortable around her arua.

He couldnt explain it, she just seems nice to hang around with.

Y/N chuckled again

"do I really look that young? -"

"NO WAY UR MY AGE"

Uzui shouted light heartily, maybe he could have a 4th wife.

"how about she sits down with us? Since u guys are obsessing over her like bitchy dogs."

Sanemi complained, true they were acting like dogs, but he would be lying if he didn't want to talk to y/n too.

"that's not a bad idea!" Rengoku exclaimed while tengen patterned on the the sofa like chair in between him and Kyojuro.

"how about you sit here precious?"

Y/Ns face paled, does she have a choice? I mean she doesn't mind sitting between them she's just worried her boss would think she's slacking off again.

"don't force her, remember she has a job to do." gyomei said to the two, for sanemi to agree

"I'll pay her to sit with me, her job is to get money from customers right? Come sit down with us darling."

Uzui said, while rengoku took a few papers out of his wallet.

"It's fine if you don't want to! We will still pay for our drinks." Rengoku re assured y/n.

Y/N smiled softly, forgetting her worries about any of them.

"cmon girl they will be asking all night if u don't say anything." sanemi grumbled, embarrassed of the two weirdos on the table with him.

"sure.but not for to long"

"BETTER THEN NOTHING!" Rengoku shouted, for uzui to nudge sanemi to move for y/n to get in.

Sanemi stood up and put his hand on her shoulder.

"come on uzui we don't have all day."

"Sorry my fatass Is making it harder to get out, I know you can't relate sanemi" uzui chuckled to make sanemi embarrassed. Y/n chuckled lowly, just to embarrass him more.

"whatever, in you get girl"

Y/N nudged over to Kyojuro, only to smile at each other while ignoring gyomei telling uzui to not body shame anyone.

"It's not my fault he fails at squats" uzui said nudging over to sit next to y/n

Which made her sandwiched between two physco extroverts who wears expensive tuxedos

Nothing else could get worse then it already is.

"so pretty face, what's your name?" sanemi asked, fed up of the name calling.

"I bet her name is really cool!"

"I bet its something snazzy"

Gyomei took a sip of his water and looked over to y/n

"whatever her name is, it would be beautiful."

Y/N was going to answer sanemis question once she had some of uzuis drink, that he offered her.

"my name is -"

"Y/N."

[anpanham]

Hazbin Hotel character thoughts / impressions (Episodes 1 & 2)

1/12/24

UM. what a weird first actual post for my blog for this year... this is long, and i miss making ACTUAL blog posts instead of small threads... And i've explained on my twitter my thoughts on Hazbin / Helluva from a critical standpoint and artist from art separation, yadda yadda yadda---

ANYWAY... Episodes 1 and 2 of Hazbin are (Officially) out now, and i have some thoughts on the characters i wrote down after watching (In bullet points, because most of these are fresh-from-the-brain thoughts i wrote on my tablet from my bed)

(Spoiler alert, Sir Pentious isn't ruined and I AM SO GLAD. my snake babygirl... ilu)

Read on, if you wanna, spoiler warning btw!!!!!

CHARLIE NOTES

-Charlie is good., Charlie is cute, but i fear for her safety, not everyone can new redeemed. she's like steven universe at points i stg 😭 (not a jab but i think it's funny)

-i like how they gave Charlie bags under her eyes a lot, she is a tired princess just like all of us

-She gives off elementary school teacher vibes but in a wholesome way

-Charlie's hair is SO CUTE MESSY..

-PERFECT voice /gen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VAGGIE NOTES

-GIRLBOSS (still, but more)

-Vaggie is still cool, she just loves her gf and is sick of everyone's bs but is still supportive...

-If she doesn't get into a bloody death match with Alastor (and win) i will be disappointed /hj

She doesn't seem to have as much of a temper as she did in the pilot, but seems more dead inside

-Good voice!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANGEL DUST NOTES

-Angel... hm. Angel. he's Angel, for sure. Hi, Angel!

Insecure about a lot, but also YOU CAN BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT!!!!! if vox doesn't kill val angel should. please and thank u.

Also his voice is alright, just need to get used to it a little more

Also i hope he's not too bratty jealous of sirpent / whoever else charlie praises because again, it's ON HIM TO COOPERATE WITH HER CAUSE MORE??? ignoring his other stress sources (Val)

-Waiting for him and Husk to kiss. I know it's coming

-Just fucking block Val's number and rip up the contract (YES i know it goes deeper than that...)

-NUGGS. I SCREECHED IRL /POS

THEY GAVE HIM A HEART ON HIS BUTT!!!!! S TIER REDESIGN

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

ALASTOR NOTES

-At first i was kinda Eh about his voice but it's grown on me, the radio filter is a little more subtle than the pilot but it's still there which i'm glad for

Delightfully passive aggressive

-Weird magic still, there doesn't seem to be any limits to it... we need to know what his weakness is...!!!!! please (maybe that will come later??) ....... i theorize he has underworld contact (Shadow-world, because of the shadow imagery?) , the underworld might be different from Hell maybe? (Where do those fucking tentacles come from, also weird monochrome demons)

-Interesting he was gone for 7 years. 7 is an angelic number. HMMMMMM (sealed away by angels somehow??)

-Punchable (Vaggie please)

-Weirdly enjoyable and not genuinely hateable like some of the other characters, but i also want to see his demise, maybe his sadism is rubbing off on me, but i want to see it badly...

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

SIR PENTIOUS NOTES

-Sir Pentious... u are so good.. probably has some of the best writing so far, maybe... he's my favorite so. hhHHmm

his voice is different but at the same time it's what you'd expect, i like it a lot... so silly, i pat him and his silly hat

-Pathetic old man. You win my heart (50x as much)

-Only one egg spoke so far, i wonder if they'll all have unique voices this time (the Japanese dub of the pilot did that lol)

-Genuinely a joy every moment he was onscreen (Too fucking cute... GRRRR)

-How did he get into contact with Vox? Why would Vox want anything to do with him if he thinks he's a loser? (I guess easy access into the Hotel) ...Fuck em either way (DON'T BE MEAN TO SNAKE MAN)

-Cool temporary stunning hypnosis, maybe we'll see him coil and bite next, the snake attack traits are fun

-His autism vibes grow stronger and it's canon in my heart

-We LOVE a redemption song. please stay in the hotel with everyone, don't fuck it up!!! you're a good noodle.... 😭 The song was genuinely so cute... it's probably going to be the highlight of EVERYTHING for me, besides Nuggs..

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

HUSK NOTES

-i luv u kitty

-His voice is different but captures "Grumpy old alcoholic" perfectly

-His heart needs to be melted...

-Him holding the script in front of the camera was great

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NIFFTY NOTES

-Niffty is a BIG COWARD. you can still love a "Bad boy" who's a redeemed bad boy!!!! just because he's not morally bad doesn't Not make him a Bad Boy. fuck u (i still like you)

-Her voice is really cute, also her nightgown.. though finding out she doesn't have dark bug limbs but is just wearing gloves and stockings surprised me more than it should've... put them back

-Also autism vibes, love it

-She still frightens me a bit

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

V TRIO NOTES

VOX -----

-Seems to carry the team, voice has grown on me

-I can't stop looking at his weird finger claws, they almost look like

he's just wearing things over his fingers, i dig it

-Interesting hypnosis power, i assume Alastor is immune

-Why can't Alastor and Vox just compromise and create a podcast?

-Hates Val (sorry shippers) ,,... kind of expected it since in old official sources it's been shown that he's been abused by Val too

-This isn't a note but everytime Alastor said "THE TV IS BUFFERING~" in their duet, the player kept fucking up 😭

-Decent song, I like seeing him and Al argue

-I surprisingly don't hate him! i'm glad. i wanted to like him (though, it's only been 2 episodes so far...)

------

VALENTINO ---------

-More manchild vibes than i expected tbh

-Voice is alright but his accent is weirdly inconsistent for some reason???? interesting direction

-His manipulation is shown well in the voicemail scene with Angel, he's literally got the "Nice Guy" energy

-Surprisingly didn't order Vox around as much as i thought he would

-Why does he have girl Fizzy bots...

-Die?

------

VELVETTE

-Fashion design isn't something i expected, but then again i didn't know that much about her prior other than she's obsessed with social media

-British is also not what i expected but cool

-Uh. she didn't really stick out to me that much...sorry..... she's fine tho

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ADAM & LUTE NOTES

-Personally do not like how these angels look so menacing, i get that they're technically bad, but... make them look more angelic besides halos and wings??? they could easily be mistaken for hell residents. Also again, i feel like angels should swear less and drop swears in critical / good timed moments, it would be funnier... subtlety is not a thing i guess

-Adam's guitar solo was good tho, not really feeling his character tho, he's just an asshole but that's the point

-Adam looks like the fucking dress meme. I can't unsee it

-Lute is pretty...

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

KATIE KILLJOY & TOM TRENCH NOTES

-Brandon Rodgers

-They sure were there for a second!

-i luv tom

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

All in all...

Episode 1: 6-7/10

Episode 2: 8.5/10

[lizaluvsthis]

Accidental Kiss - (Christmas Eve)

fic - and art (forgive me I'm bad at writing fics)

(Thanking @shygirl4991 for doing an episode fic remake called "Mistletoe Wars" !)

Everyone was really hoping for a mistletoe T.T well that didn't happen. A promise is a promise!

It's winter season, and the crew members had enjoyed the nostalgic feeling of snow. But since they've never get to experience what snow felt before. Now it's a good chance to go out there and have some fun!

-this fic contains language and some sensitive stuff (NOT the one you're thinking about-)

The crunch of snow beneath their feet sounds as they all walked around, the crew looked outside in excitement.

"Woahh its a very nice and cold snowy night!" Boopkins was the first to start as he picked up some snow from the ground and tried making a snowman. "Alright everyone! You can do whatever you want here, make some snowmans, ice skate or whatever types of games you want to play like snowballs. It's up to all of you!" Smg4 announced.

Mario commented same as Meggy

"Mario's gonna make good big snowman!"

"I'm gonna make the tallest snowman!"

The two never expected to have the same idea, and looked at each other. Meggy smirked and Mario also thought about the same idea. "Hey mario you thinking what I'm thinking? Lets start making out big snowman and beat them!" Meggy whispered.

Mario salutes in order to follow Meggy "yes boss!"

Tari is making a cute-duck snow while Saiko tried building her own snowman, which it failed due to her unexperience of snow. Tari comforted Saiko by patting her head.

Meanwhile Smg3 is making his own Snowman Statue of EggDog, enjoying some quiet and peace. "Bark!" Eggdog called. "Hey there Eggdog!" Three picks him up to make him see the full view of the snow statue he made.

"I built this just for my cute little egg! Who's a cute lil dog? Yes you are!" Smg3 rubs eggdog's stomach and pets him, playing dearfully from his lovable pup.

Three puts eggdog down and puts eggdog's mini-sized hat on top of it. "Bark!" He jumps in excitement.

"Hehehe... I bet my statue is more better than those losers-" Three's words were cut off right when he felt a snowball hit his back.

"Hey! Whats the big ide-" Smg3 thinking it would be some of Four's friends that three would like to call- "idiots" he turns around annoyed.

"Hahaha! -Gotcha now Mar- huh?" Four expected Mario would be the person he hit, suprisingly it was three.

But to his suprise it wasn't Smg4's idiots who've hit his back. It was Smg4 himself. "Oh. You."

Three rolled his eyes, just seeing Smg4 right infront of him makes his skin boil. For any other reasons this is just probably him getting "angry" again.

"Oh- uh- sorry about that Smg3 I didn't know it was you. Me, Bob, Mario, and Meggy are playing snowball fight. If theres a possible chance I thought it'd be fun too for you to joi-" Three wasn't having this, he doesn't NEED a childish game to waste his time on.

"No thanks" "aww cmon! Why not?" Four walks closer to Three as his eyes darts down to the ground, aware that Four might've noticed. But he didn't.

"B-because it's pointless, on such a stupid game you guys had to pick that sh-t of a junk. Wow." His response were cold to Four, receiving those messages. Four felt bad to his friend.

Smg3 flinched as soon as Smg4 puts his right hand from his shoulder, this startled him. "Dude, you definitely have to join us- besides you've barely enjoyed christmas from these past few years. How about giving it a go?"

Smg3 stayed silent, not even facing his ex-rival. "It's christmas. We all deserve to have some fun! Even you..." even if Three didn't look at him, he knew that four was giving that "look".

Those blue eyes that matched from the color of the nightsky, gazing upon the color of wine. The color of blood that gave the matching of purple when theh meet. Purple butterflies form, starting to surround them with this tension.

This made three felt sick from his guts.

Three knows. He knew how much of a coward and a b-tch he was for admitting Smg4 was his friend, how else could he say no? They almost died. He. Almost died.

"But I understand you now. You're really scared, aren't you?

You're scared you could lose it all at any time.

But I've met your friends man.

No matter what you make, they...

WE... will always be here to have fun and laugh together"

Three could barely even remembered what he told him back on the castle, does he really meant all of the things he said to Four?

Is this also the main reason why four has felt sympathetic towards him? He wasn't sure.

Sure they made good laughs, they've been enemies for so long and now that the two had went through lots of stuff. The two had developed something that they were never sure about it yet.

Love.

"I still remember what you said..." four decided to break the long distant of silence. This lit up three's eyes, he wanted to say something... anything at all... but he kept it close, wanting to hear what his friend has to say.

"You remember when I was stuck and possessed by a goddamn keyboard from that old castle...?" It was four's turn to look down and face his hands, twiddling his thumbs.

Three didn't respond but just stood there, waiting the following words as he listened.

"I never thought I could say this to anyone else just to you... I... heard you reaching out on me... I know its all classic and cheesy but in all seriousness... did you meant all of that...?" Smg3 took a step back.

"I know its been a few months since we never talked about what happened there, with all of the monster attack and sh-t" "I did."

Three turned to look at Smg4 with his eyes locked onto his. "I did meant it, I meant everything what I've said. You were the onl- the reason why you're having so much fun with your friends. I told you all of that because I admitted it."

But its not only just for their friendship...not only for his friends...

"But I understand you now..."

If three wouldn't be such a d!ck, then this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't drive him insane nor putting everyone in danger.

You're an idiot Three...

...

How many years has it been ever since they called their truce? How many years did it came for three to wait? How many? He didn't answer.

Because on what other choice could he take? He'd been an enemy of Smg4 and always WILL be his enemy. Even tho he wanted to forget those days that he's tried to kill smg4 that never worked.

Smg4 was a superior, he was a star, a golden child, the big f-king attention from the top of the stairs to where everyone would admire. He is the Lord of Memes, and him? Three? Was the Lord of the Dead-Memes.

Smg4 had such an opportunity to do alot of stuff with posting his memes (creating memes or bunch)

Three was sure that four didn't have those affectionate feelings towards him, even tho he came out as bisexual. He wasn't even sure anymore if Four was still looking for a new partner that'll interest him.

Would he even like me back even after...?

Forgetting about this, smg4 could sense Three's feelings inside of him having the urge to blow. Sure they're both cosmically linked to each other. What about it?

What concerns Four is Three.

"You're not telling me anything else at all are you...?"

"Why the hell do I need to tell you everything? You completely RUINED me" ouch. (Touche...) said by four. But in other words, where could Three have been feeling this sentimental emotion from the other parts?

He can't do anything else but to do something.

"I forgive you" Smg4 closed his eyes smiling sadly at Three, wrapping his arms around his back. In a cold weather outside, Three could feel Four's chin resting on the back of his shoulder. Between the two's burning sensation from the body heat, Three didn't mind him at all.

After a few couple of minutes, Three breaks the hug four gave him and covered half of his face. (Not trying to feel embarrassed from this)

"Thats enough- I'm worried that your stupid idiots would've ended up seeing us both like- like this!" He crossed both of his arms and huffed. He could still feel Four's warm body press from his back. Turning red.

"Aww man- It was just starting to get comfortable! You sure you don't want that again?" "No! I'm never enjoying that sh!t ever its f-king gay" Four frowned at Three in a way that made him feel so bad, a way that made him feel soft around him. GOD HE HATED IT.

"You can do that after..." Smg3 sent Four to having butterflies by giving him a pleasant smile. Smg4 blushed, his heart beating and racing, his cheeks fumming out smoke. He panicked "oh boy haha- oh man is it- is it getting hot in here or maybe you are..." (SHIT.)

Cursed by four. Three raised an eyebrow in confusion. (Did he just FLIRT AT ME?!) the audacity. He had never heard smg4 flirt to him like that.

Wow. That was smooth as hell.

Three had enough of it. "WHY YOU..." he got to the ground and started making a snowball and throws it to Smg4's face.

"Don't you talk like that to me it's cheesy! I hate it!" (Lie)

Smg4 smirked "you sure~ cause I'm convinced that you're lying, I know you liked that~" he laughed. "You're still a tsundere three even after all of this" he wept a tear.

"N-NO I'M NOT A TSUNDERE YOU BAKA!!!" Smg3 starts throwing snowballs at Smg4. "Hey! Its not fair!" He tried covering himself in order to not get hit on the face by the snowballs.

"I'M NOT STOPPING BECAUSE YOU'RE BEING- A COMPLETE- IDIOT-" he heard something... something jiggling... on top of his head there was... a mistle toe...? He stopped for a second.

"Ran out of snowballs I see?" Smg4 noticed Three looking upwards, followed by Four's contact.

"Is that- supposed to be... a mistletoe?" Three and Four looked at each other "oh god..." "f-ck."

"I umm- I'm not sure about this... this is super f-king gay four well played but stop it-" "stop? What do you mean stop? I didn't place that there!"

"If you didn't then who?!" This is making him feel terrified. Three wanted to kiss Four ofcourse, he was too scared of what will happen after that. He might ruin his friendship with four and all and he didn't want that to happen because Smg4 is all that he even had, he ever needed, all that he wanted.

"I uhh... I have to go-" Smg3 started backing away not even turning, Smg4 looked at three upset. "Wait- Smg3!" Three accidentally slips from the ice on the floor, causing him to lose balance.

Four attempted on helping three's situation by approaching forward, immediately landing Three's lips to his.

A few seconds later, Smg3 pulled himself away in need of air. Wow. What an experience. "I-I- Smg4?" He opened his eyes to meet four's again.

"SH!T! WHAT HAVE I DONE?! NOW IT'S COMPLETELY RUINED!" Smg4 took a whole minute to proccess whatever happened back there. Damn. It took too long to realize- Three has best taste...

Wait. What the f-ck?

"Smg3 its o-" Four tried calming him down. "I COMPLETELY DID RUIN IT! I- SH!T DUDE! SH!T SH!T SH!T!!!" "Smg3-" "Everythings supposed to go how it always were..." "Three-" "I don't want you to see me as a friend I-" "You don't w-" "And I can't even admit this stuff BECAUSE I'M SCARED THAT I MIGHT LOSE YOU TOO!" "SMG3!!!"

Smg3 is filled with tears caught by Four's attention. "You're never going to lose me again..." "how can you be so sure?"

"Because of this." Smg4 smiled at him and gave his fated ex-enemy a second kiss, it lasted longer than the first one and boy to tell you something.

It was a dream come true.

Three didn't even pull away, but closes his eyes. Waiting for a next miracle...

-UMM END? IG?

NEXT PART (Purposely on Purpose)

[lovethatmakingcoffee]

So!

how many more content creators are going to be accused of being called a pedophile with no hard evidence, a police warrant, anything physical and it's by an anonymous tweet from some stranger online who would rather tell social media than I don't know... HAVE THEM GET ARRESTED BY THE POLICE?!

How many more creators, huh?! How many?! How many more YouTubers, twitch streamers, singers, animators, artists?! How many of you are gonna jump on them???? And it's so easy if it's a guy, right? So easy! And no matter how they react, whether it's calm and calculated, shutting down their channel as a whole, or answering immediately yet obviously angry about it- they are always ALWAYS GUILTY. what happened to innocent until proven guilty? And eo is this person? That they are willing to fan the flames and accuse someone of something so terrible online??? Who are u?????

Why do this now? Why do it how at the HEIGHT of Forever's popularity? Why not do it before so he was never on the qsmp or even long before that? Or in the middle at all???? Why now? That is my question? If this is all true, why now? And why use social media? Why not go to the police if he really did a crime? You are accusing someone of a very terrible thing. Why not do it properly instead of searching for Internet clout? What're we supposed to do? The only thing we can, huh? Cancel. Because that's what u want. Is to cancel him. When he was obviously so loved by the masses yesterday. When he had all those cruise pic photos showing how good his life was. Yeah, I don't think u want him arrested or lynched. No, u want to cancel him. Making me wonder if there was ever a real çrime.

Which I wonder quite often with these cases.

And GUYS. HEADS UP! You know whose next? Hm? It'll probably be Wilbur, probably being said that he approached some underage girl on tour or whatever. Or maybe it'll be quackity or hell, even Philza! Oh, Etoiles got cancelled not so long ago, let's cancel him again! Oh what about Bagerha or Cellibit? Let's throw Charlie into the mix. Ironmouse will be hard to cancel cause she's been locked inside of her room all her life and has a very dedicated fanbase, but I'm sure you bastards will find something.

So mhm, everyone is nexted because antis have proven it to be so easy to get rid of someone they don't like. Gone the next day. All of them are suspectable to it. Cause u know why? Cause they are stupid humans who have said stupid shit! And you will just take anything they said and did and run with it!!! Every time! So it's only a matter of time until someone new gets targeted. And depending on how tough skinned they are, they will disappear in a matter of seconds.

Let's just throw all of qsmp away while we're at it! No more eggs, no more community, blah blah blah! Something problematic will happen and you all will jump on it and say 'oh, I never liked them anyway'. Which is such a lie! Such bullshit, u are all bullshitters.

And I know for a fact that y'all aren't saints. We have all said disgusting jokes. Race, lgbt, whatever! We've all done it- don't lie! Here, I'll go first. I joked about a school shooting the other day with my friends. There, cancel me. I gave you the ammunition, now take your fucking shot.

This happens every god damn time someone u enjoy gets popular too fast. They get called a pedo, or a racist, or a transphobe or anything easy to spark the mob. I have seen it time and time again with creators running away because theyve been chased off their respective platforms. I saw an artists make the most beautiful art ever, get accused of being a pedo by one person, everyone joined in for some reason and chased her away. I will never not be bitter about that. I HATE ALL OF YOU WHO DID SUCH A THING AND IF I EVER GOT MY HANDS ON YOU I SWEAR TO GOD. But I am sick of people 'finding' or bringing shit to light or whatever and then just post it online! Like fuck! If he really did a crime! Arrest him! But he didn't, did he? Cause that's the fucking game we are playing rn.

Such hypocrites, it's fascinating. Literally yesterday you were kissing this mans feet and exhaling him, but one anon person saw that and chose violence. And you just.... changed your minds???? Like that? Like a switch of a button? Crazy, actually crazy, and childish.

How come everyone flips and flops so easily on the internet??? How is it so easy for you????? And how can u other supposed fans just accept it so easily??? I will never understand and I will bite and claw at all of you. You all loved him 24 hours ago and now with the bare minimum of evidence you flip? You all would be terrible on jury duty. I hope none of you ever get on jury duty.

Anyway, I'll probably get a ton of backlash from this post and delete it later, waking up in the morning with tons of hate. But I don't care. Prove him guilty. Get the hard evidence that he is a pedo and I will believe it when I see it. Have him be in damn cuffs. Get the mugshot. If that is at all true! But I'm not putting my life and art on pause for conveniently timed discourse.

Maybe I'll delete this post tomorrow. But now I'm fuming at all of you.

And yeah, as for me, I had a shit disgusting last year, qsmp and especially forever was one of the few things that got me out of it and calmed me down. And you guys are going to be talking about how wrong and problematic the things he said that was (what was it?) 8 years ago!!! Then guess what, I love a very problematically spoken parent that would make all of you quake and vomit the moment she opened her mouth. But also, that woman saved me from being homeless. For giving me a place to stay after being DEPORTED. So, if u need a little kindergarten lesson today, internet, is that people will say all sorts of horrible cancelable shit, but it's what they actually do, that really matters.

Goodnight.

[adriennebarnes]

Say It Back

Masterlist

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Hispanic!Reader

Summary: After completing the “there’s a frog in my hand” couple trend, Y/N wanted to see how would Xavier react if he says “I love you” but Y/N doesn’t say it back

Warnings: Boyfriend!Xavier, I guess sad!Xavier, fluffy

A/N: you don’t have to read There’s A Frog In My Hand before reading it but if you want to, cool. I’m also trying very hard for the Hispanic reader not to be from a specific Latin American country. There’s also spelling errors probably

Y/N was scrolling on TikTok when she saw a video where when the boy was leaving a room, he said “I love you” to his girlfriend but she didn’t say it back. Y/N sent the video to Enid. A few minutes later, Enid texted her back.

Enid: Do you want to do that with Xavier?

Y/N: Seems harmless enough, kinda wanna see how he gets.

Enid: Okay, good luck!

Y/N turned her phone off, she started to think about how we was going to do this. She won’t record it in case it takes a bad turn, this will just be a little…experiment. She’ll do it tomorrow, right now she’s going to visit Xavier in his art shed and bring some food. When she went into Jericho, she bought ingredients to make empanadas de queso and also alfajores for dessert. She put some of each on different containers to bring to Xavier just in case.

Y/N on a sweater and her sneakers to walk to the art shed. She knocked three times. “Xavi, amor, I brought food.” Y/N said. She waited a few seconds and Xavier opened the sore to his shed. “Hi love, you made these for me?” Xavier asked, kissing her forehead. “Yeah of course, I get worried that you don’t eat when you’re here. I would have made something more filling but I figured empanadas are easy to eat.” Y/N said.

Xavier opened the empanada container and took a bite. “These are really good. Did you put any of your healing stuff in it? I’ve been sneezing a lot lately.” Xavier asked, taking another bite of the empanada. “That’s because you’re always out here, it’s so cold! But yes, I used my magic to bless the food so hopefully your sneezing will stop and you won’t get sick.” Y/N said, kissing his cheek.

Y/N is a healer, she can heal people using magic. She either uses her magic directly on the person to heal them or “blesses” the food with her magic and heals them through food. When she was around normies, she discovered she could use her magic through food when she did a said a small incantation, the same one used to heal people, when stirring the soup she made for her friend. Her friend’s fever was gone and she looked so much better minutes after finishing the soup. With normies, she uses food, with outcasts, it’s directly unless they want the food option.

“Thanks love.” Xavier said hugging her. He finished 7 empanadas and ate 3 alfajores. Y/N ate the rest of the alfajores. “I feel so much better now, thank you. I’ll just finish up this painting and then we can go to my room. Maybe you can spend the night.” Xavier said, looking at Y/N with puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah of course, querido, I would love to spend the night, I love you.” Y/N said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. Xavier smiled into the kiss, “I love you too.” Xavier said, he pulled away from the kiss to continue painting. Y/N sat on one of the stools. “Just for future reference, would you like to taste more Hispanic food? I could make some ropa vieja, that’s filling, or arepas, pupusas, maybe ceviche, carne asada, I gotta practice my cooking too.” Y/N said, playing with the bracelet Xavier gave her.

“Anything you make will be delicious, I’m happy to try any dish you make. We’ll talk more, I just need to finish this and then we can talk as much as you want.” Xavier said, looking at Y/N. Xavier turned back to focus on his painting. 20 minutes later, Xavier was finished and the both of them made it to his dorm room. “You can use one of my shirts as pajamas if you want.”

“Okay, sounds good. Did you by the skincare products I recommend? I really don’t want to walk back to Ophelia Hall and get mine.” Y/N said. Xavier went to the bathroom and showed Y/N his skincare shelf full of products she recommended. “Aw, you do listen to me.” Y/N said, kissing Xavier’s cheek. Xavier gave Y/N one of his shirts and when Y/N went to change on the bathroom, the hem of the shirt reached about mid thigh. Y/N tied her hair with one of Xavier’s hair ties and washed her face and did her routine with Xavier’s products. Y/N got out of the bathroom and saw Xavier on phone.

“I’m all done.” Y/N said. “Perfect, let’s get to bed, I am exhausted.” Xavier said, he went to the bathroom to change, brush his teeth, and washed his face. When he got out, Y/N was already under the covers. Xavier laughed and walked to his bed and lift the covers. “Move over, honey.” Xavier said and Y/N scooted over to Xavier can fit. Xavier positioned himself in a way that Y/N could lay her head on his chest and his arm was wrapped around her waist. “Goodnight, angel, i love you.” Xavier said kissing her forehead. “I love you too, flaquito, goodnight.” Y/N said and they drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Y/N woke up and checked her phone. It was 7:15 am, she was with Xavier, it is the perfect time to try that TikTok video she saw. She waited until Xavier woke up on his own. “Good morning, love.” Xavier said, kissing Y/N. Y/N laughed, “good morning Xavi. I gotta go back to my dorm to get dressed, okay?” Y/N said getting off the bed.

“It’s Saturday, we don’t have class today, can’t you just stay here and ask if Yoko can bring you a change of clothes?” Xavier asked holding Y/N’s hand. “No I can’t, she’s probably still asleep.” Y/N said. “Okay fine, go change and then come back, okay? I love you.” Xavier said. “Me too, bye.” Y/N said. She was about to leave when Xavier stopped her.

“Baby, i said I love you.” Xavier said with a little pout. It almost made Y/N say that she loved him too but she had to stay strong. “I know, Xavi, me too, but I gotta go.” Y/N said trying to get her hand out of his grip but Xavier stood up to look her in the eyes.

“Honey, i love you.” Xavier repeated. “I know you do, but I really need to go.” Y/N said but Xavier is not budging. “Why won’t you say it back?” Xavier asked sadly. “It’s nothing Xavi.” Y/N said, looking at him, touching the side of hi face. “If it’s nothing, then why are you not saying you love me too?” Xavier asked.

Y/N stayed quiet. “Are you mad at me or something? Was it something I said last night?” Xavier asked, playing with your fingers. “Of course it’s not, flaquito, I’m not mad at you.” Y/N said. Seeing Xavier look sad made Y/N’s heart hurt, she hated seeing him like this. “Well it must’ve been something I did because you won’t say you love me. Was it because I paid more attention to my painting instead of you? I’m sorry about that, okay? But if I don’t paint, I can’t sleep. I should have paid more attention to you and what you were saying, I’m sorry.” Xavier said, kissing Y/N’s forehead.

“It’s not that, cariño, it’s..” Y/N was interrupted by Xavier. “Then tell me what is it that I did! If it’s that bad that you won’t say that you love me, I promise I will never do it again. Just please say it back.” Xavier said, leaning his forehead against Y/N’s. She couldn’t take it anymore and said it.

“I love you, mi Vida, I love you so much, okay.” Y/N finally said, kissing him. “Thank you, I love you too, angel. Why weren’t you saying it back before?” Xavier asked, hugging her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I saw a TikTok of this girl not saying I love you back to her boyfriend. I kinda wanted to test it out. I didn’t record it though, it was just for me. I’m sorry though.” Y/N apologized.

“It’s fine, angel. I will get you back though when you least expect it, so be careful. Now can we spend the morning in bed? I think you owe me that for what you out me through.” Xavier said getting back to bed. “Of course, flaquito, we will stay in bed all morning.” Y/N also got into bed, leaning against his chest. “I love you” Xavier said, “i love you too” Y/N said kissing him.

I was thinking since Y/N calls Xavier nicknames like flaquito, Xavi, amor, and all, imagine if she calls him by Xavier instead of his nicknames. I feel like Xavier would be so confused, wondering what did he do, should I write that?

[smigglescultture]

(THIS IS SUPER CRAZY LONG BTW SRRY) I was thinking about it a lot last night and here's the thing:

I don't like random acts of violence. Obviously, I have some sort of fixation on mass shootings but typically I don't like people such as TJ Lane or Nikolas Cruz and especially Salvador Ramos. People who kill just for the thrill of it. I do not like them. That's why I do not like serial killers or their cases.

And look, I'm sure if I got into the nitty gritty of each case, I would understand the perpetrators more. In fact, I know by all angles I might look like Im a hardcore AL stan or whatever, but it never started like that. And still isn't. I think he was an incredibly smart, and funny boy who seriously could've become something in his life, but what he did was utterly disgusting and I will never be able to just put that past him, even if I do agree and maybe even look up to some aspects of him. I'm not a nihilist in the belief that everyone deserves to die. And especially not young children.

However, when it comes to Columbine specifically, its almost like every moral inside me is just pushed into the back of my mind. And maybe that's because I relate so deeply to these two assholes, or whatever, but I have to admit that I feel very guilty for the way I think about this case. And it wasnt an instant thing, I knew I felt eaten up with guilt from the second I joined this community.

It started with Zero Day, I made a tik tok account (DONT EVER DO THAT, TRUST) and suddenly I see all these people who at the time I considered freaks, have mass killers as profile pictures. I started to just block all of them, I used to repeat to myself how awful it was, replay in my head what those people did, and how their victims felt. It was like a compulsion to combat the obsession I was falling into which was the fact that, I was sickly interested in the whole thing. I dont even remember what kick started it, when I became what I considered a "degenerate", but, oh, did it happen.

I would be angry, furious, sick and disgusted with myself for even thinking of D&E. But the more you start to worry about the intrusive thoughts inside your head, the more they come. So the more swallowed up by guilt I felt. The more shame I was consumed by. I thought I had hit a rock fucking bottom. I remember the first time I ever saw that library picture of E&D, and I had never felt such shock and surprise in my life. I was so shocked at what I saw, I briefly mentioned (AND SHOWED?? DONT DO THIS BTW IM DUMB) it to my friends...and my parents. Who all just brushed it off, "yeah, theirs some sickos in the world". Which was easy for them to say, they weren't the ones becoming "sick".

All of that to say that, that picture was the nail on the coffin. The way I look at it now it was like I was on a rope desperately trying not to fall into the water, the community, but my arms couldn't take it anymore and I gave in. Slowly but surely those thoughts about E&D weren't painful and shocking to me anymore, I read Dylans journal and that was really a point of no return. I felt seen, the more I read it, the more time that has went on, it's like reading pages of my own life. I remember writing in my own journal that, even still I was ashamed for reading it, to relating to it.

I mean obviously, this fixation consumed me. I tried to put it into anything I could. Dinner table politics? Boom, mass shooting. My speech and debate script? Boom, mass shootings. My essay for school? Mass shooting. Art work for school? Mass shootings. And none of this has gone away or even flickered, and most times I'm completely okay with that.

But I am sometimes still constantly shameful. I think to myself, "if there ever is a mass shooting, you will sacrifice yourself first to repent for your little obsession" Even though I've lived in America all of my life, I have now become so obsessed about thinking where a shooter could be, especially at school. Not paying attention? Im probably thinking of a way to escape a shooting. Not just casually either, like, vivid imagery type shit. The worst part is that me and my brother go to the same school. I still feel guilty about my "fixation" with guns and mass shootings. I fear that as punishment for this, he would be the one to die in a shooting, not me. And he's my world, he's my best friend, he's the one who told me to stay away from here, and he's the one who still loves me anyway.

That's why I stray away from info posts about the Columbine victims. You'd think maybe it would be some compulsion to make up for my constant thinking of the killers, to learn about the killed, but no. It makes me feel even worse. I do care about those kids. I think it was a tragedy. Nobody should've died, they were all victim's to life and America and God himself maybe.

But what breaks my heart the most, the thing I will never get out of my head, is that one of the boys who died that day, shares a name with my brother. The first time I ever learned that, (which I do hold strong opinions about why certain victims get more "fame" and why that pisses me the hell off, but different post) I could've just fucking puked. I don't want to outright say his name because god forbid my brother ever stumble onto tumblr, but the reason why they killed him, the awful things they said, it makes me so angry. That poor fucking kid, he didn't do anything, nothing, not even indirectly. It makes you forget the empathy you held for E&D cause why would they have said those things or done that. They knew damn well he would've never, ever, not once, been someone who caused them pain. But this isn't a deep dive into why they did this shit.

All of this to say, I really hope you don't see me as just another edgelord, alpha male (yeah right, sure that was going through all your heads) "kill em all" kind of dude. Yeah, I don't care for humanity. Yeah, I am obsessed with gun violence. And no, I don't focus much on victims online. I relate too much to two goons who thought that everyone was against them. That's why I repost so much about them, cause I see them in me more than anything else. I do not "like" random acts of violence, I just like the comfort of knowing I'm not so out of my mind.

[multific]

If He doesn't Scare You, No Evil Thing will

Cruella!Helmut Zemo x Reader

Words: 5.5K

Summary: Helmut Zemo, the best designer, a cold and manipulative man. You, a barista, a kind and gentle person. Nothing common between you two yet fate had its ways to toy with you.

A/N: None of the above pictures are mine, all rights go to their owners, especially the beautiful work of art by @enstatia which inspired this whole story.

Baron Helmut Zemo is the best fashion designer in the entire world.

He was rich, smart and elegant. He was adored by some and hated by many.

He wasn't a gentleman, he was rude and cunning, and he always got what he wanted. In the name of fashion, he had done many terrible things.

The Sokovian noble born became a well-known name in the entire world after his first collection.

Most people knew him for his famous furs, others knew him because he liked to crush the competition, literally.

He always said, fashion isn't kind, so why should he be?

You were always fascinated by fashion, even if you didn't have a taste for it or the money to afford it.

But Zemo's collections always stood out for you, you spent many many hours looking at his clothing. His taste and creativity were beyond everything you could ever imagine.

But you will never be able to afford anything of his, working in a coffee shop certainly didn't give you the paycheck of your dreams, if you were honest you barely made enough to live but you dreamed big.

You let out a long sigh as you were getting ready to close the store finally. A long shift and you were the only one remaining to close it all up.

Just as you were sweeping the floors, a man came rushing in, he was heaving, he clearly had a run, but who would run in a suit like that?

"We are cl-"

"PLEASE! I need a double espresso urgently."

"Sorry, Sir."

"I NEED that coffee or my boss will kill me! Please! I pay extra, double, triple whatever but I need that coffee." he was desperate, probably a new started who was trying to impress their boss.

"Okay." you ended up saying. "But! This is the first and only time! You have to come next time during open hours!"

"Thank you! THANK YOU!"

You made the coffee as best as you could in your tired state before handing it to him.

He really did leave a nice tip for you and was soon out the door, running.

You shook your head and closed up.

The next day, everything went normally. Customers came, left, some leaving you nice tips.

Then, when you stood behind the bar, he arrived again.

"Hello. Coming this time during normal hours." he laughed lightly. "Look my boss really liked the coffee you made for him, so I'll have to come here regularly from now on, maybe even more than once a day. So, I'll always order the same, double espresso, like you made yesterday and for me a cappuccino."

And just like he said, he came to the store every morning at 7:50 sharp, ordered the same thing every time and occasionally, he arrived in the afternoon.

"I do see why Boss likes your coffee, the cappuccino you made for me was amazing."

He was your first regular customer. He told you he worked for a big company and had a husband and a german shepherd. He was talkative as if he didn't have anyone to talk to about these things during the day.

Then, one day, he didn't come in the morning.

It was strange coming from someone sharp.

But, you went on with your day, and just as you were ready to close, the front doorbell sounded off.

It gave you deja vu.

"Sorry, but we are closi-" you stopped immediately when you noticed the man in front of you.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

The leading man in fashion, in this little store.

"I didn't have my espresso today, you see my assistant got sick."

That explained a lot, like how he was always so dressed and in a hurry.

You didn't know what to do. To deny him coffee would be a death sentence.

He sat down at a table like it was the most casual thing.

You made him the coffee, just like you always did.

"Anything else I could get you?" you asked as you placed the mug in front of him.

"No, thank you." as he picked up the mug his hand brushed against yours.

He was much nicer than people made him in their stories. Maybe he was having a good day, you didn't want to poke around, so you left and went back to whipping tables and cleaning the floor.

When he finished, he left you a good tip and without another word, he was off.

Everything happened so fast, you wondered if it was even real.

In the end, you convinced yourself that it couldn't possibly be Baron Zemo, and you just moved on.

The next day, the assistant guy didn't come nor did Zemo so you really must have been imagining things.

However on the third day, just before closing time, both arrived.

"We are still in time right?" asked the assistant, whose name you just remembered being Bucky. "Can I also get a slice of that chocolate cake please?" he asked as he ordered while the Baron sat down. You knew better so you acted like a professional and served them both.

And while they talked about work, you cleaned the tables.

"Y/N." you heard your name being called, nearly making you jump. "Can you help us?"

"No need to bother her, James, I know what I want."

Bucky rolled his eyes as you walked over, you looked at the drawings in front of them.

Two beautiful suits, one dark with fur around the neck, white with black dots, reminded you of dalmatians, the other suit just as beautiful, dark green with gold embellishments. Both are similar styles for a very very rich man.

"Which one do you think is better?" you looked at both of them.

"Both look really nice."

"You have to pick." said the Baron and you picked up both papers.

"I like this one better." you said placing the dotted one back on the table. Zemo had a smirk on his face while Bucky huffed. "But it's missing something." you said as your eyes were glued to the paper.

"Boss said the same thing." said Bucky before taking the other drawing and putting it away.

"Is it for a man or woman?" you asked as it wasn't clear from the drawing, your question was for Bucky but Zemo answered.

"It's for me. It will be made out of fur, real fur, but as you said, it's missing something. And I'm not going to the fashion show with an incomplete piece."

Then you remembered something.

"Do you have pencils?" you asked and Bucky nodded, he gave you the box of coloured pencils.

They both watched you as you did something.

You showed them both.

You added red gloves. Ones that were missing on the fingers.

They both went silent. Completely silent and you knew you messed up.

"I-I'm sorry. I ruined it." you were about to place it on the table when the Baron grabbed it and looked at it.

"He loves it." said Bucky. "He always has that face when he loves something.

"Incredible! You have an eye for fashion!"

"I really don't, Sir. I just-"

"Come with me to the fashion show in Rome! I need your eye, your talent is impeccable."

You tried to refuse, you really did. But it was hard to argue with a Baron. And in the end, you had to go. Because who were you to say no?

You told your boss you are sick, so you won't be able to make it for two weeks.

You couldn't believe you were going to miss work, but the nice check the Baron put into your hands was twice as much as you made in three months.

"For your time." he said when he placed it into your hands. And you nearly doubled over at the amount written on it.

"This is too much."

"Not at all. It's barely anything for your time." he said as he left.

You learned he loved to have the last word.

And now here you were, looking into your wardrobe, realizing just how poor you were.

You didn't even have decent clothes to wear to work let alone to the biggest fashion event!

Then the packages arrived.

Clothes, some were so new they weren't even announced just yet.

And a simple note that the delivery guy handed you as Bucky carried the boxes into your tiny apartment.

'Wear these. H.Z.'

A simple message, you couldn't question it. Then you realized you never even tell him your address let alone your sizes to be able to send you clothes.

"Bucky? How did you know where I live?"

"Oh, easy, Boss told me, he had a feeling you wouldn't have any dresses for a fashion event, so he sent me along, you should try them on."

He sat down on your couch sipping a glass of wine.

Just where did he get the wine from? And how did his boss know where you lived?

And again, you couldn't say no, so you tried everything on. If you were honest you were impressed and also happy to have Bucky there, you had a great time.

Then, the day came.

But instead of Bucky, a driver came to pick you up. It was a luxurious car which drove you to the airport.

You didn't even dare to talk to him, but you do remember his name when he introduced himself, Frederick.

He looked like the kind of intimidating guy who was actually really sweet and kind. But you rather not push his buttons.

"Here she is." said the Baron as you got out of the car, a luxurious jet awaiting the two of you. "James sadly couldn't make it, his husband had an accident and he wanted to stay with him. But fashion doesn't wait so it will be the two of us on this trip, I hope that is okay with you."

"Most certainly." you said as he lead you into the jet and showed you where everything was.

You weren't sure why you were even there, because he liked your idea of red gloves? Because you made good coffee? Why were you there?!

"I can almost hear you thinking, how about we do something creative instead of your worries." he thought you were scared of flying. You weren't. But it was a better excuse than the fact that you had a very handsome and rich man sitting right across from you and it made you nervous.

He placed a couple of drawings in front of you, all with women's clothing this time, gorgeous gowns and suits.

"Which one should be the centrepiece of my show?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair, watching you closely

You looked at him for a moment before looking at the table, why was he asking you? He must have one already.

Collections don't come out unless you have one, do they?

You looked at him as he was sipping some champagne before your eyes moved across the drawings.

Was this a test? It had to be. He had to be toying with you. Or it could be genuine, but you had your doubts.

You picked the dress you liked the most and he nodded.

He didn't comment or ask anything, he just simply nodded and left it at that.

---

When you arrived in Rome, your breath was taken away. This lifestyle. This level of luxury that came so naturally for him was something you never even imagined.

You got a room in the most expensive hotel, your room was more like an apartment. The view was gorgeous.

And again, you asked yourself, what were you doing there?

Then the phone in the room rang, and you picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Darling, let's go and get something to eat, you must be hungry from the flight." It was Zemo.

"Oh, sure."

"Let's meet in the lobby, 10 minutes?"

And sure enough, ten minutes later, there he was, standing in the middle like a King in a gorgeous deep wine-red suit. While you had jeans and a shirt on... great. You should have changed.

As he turned and saw you, he did make a face, he hoped you didn't see, but you surely did.

Half of the things on the menu, you couldn't even pronounce, so you stuck with something you knew, hamburgers and fries. It also worried you that you couldn't find the prices.

Zemo got something very Italian. By the sound of it.

It looked really nice, some nice pasta, cheese, but your burger, oh, your burger was everything.

It was so delicious, you nearly went blind eating it. And the fries were beyond this world.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself, is your room appropriate?"

"More than that. I have a huge balcony, I can see the Colosseum from there!"

"Glad to hear that you enjoy it. What about the dresses? I sent you a couple, do you not like them?" his brows furrowed as he pointed at your top.

"Oh, they are beautiful, but I just wasn't sure when to wear them."

"Whenever you see fit. They are yours after all." he said that but he clearly didn't mean it. He wanted you to wear those dresses, it was clear.

"They cannot be mine, they are way too expensive." you argued as you thought he only gave them for the trip.

"I made them just for you, they only fit you." you really didn't want to believe him.

But you went along with it.

You knew better than to argue with Baron Zemo himself.

Later that evening, you sat out on the balcony, taking in the view then suddenly something hit you.

"Did he say he MADE them just for me?" sudden realization hit you like a train.

---

The first day of the fashion show, you felt really out of place. Even with the beautiful dress you had on, you didn't feel comfortable at all.

You were nervous as you entered the car and you were even more nervous when you realized that there are paparazzi.

"Take deep breaths, don't look into the flash and you'll be fine. And smile." Zemo said as he put his arm around you and guided you through the crowd. People were trying to ask questions but he only waved and smiled.

And then, you were inside.

The first show wasn't Zemo's. It was a woman's collection. Filled with colour and texture. Not really your style, but you just sat there, not making any faces. There were too many cameras watching, if they caught you at the wrong time, your life could be over.

"What do you think?" asked Zemo as he leaned over and into your ear. You were in the middle of watching another oversized coat walk down the runway.

"Not my favourite. Everything is too big, it swallows them." you said honestly, turning to him, hoping no one heard you.

"Quite right, My Dear." he said before leaning back and continuing to watch.

About three more collections later, that day was done.

And the fact that you didn't like anything... worried you. Zemo asked every time, how you like it, but you could never say a good thing.

How can someone be exhausted after such a day?

All you had to do was sit and smile occasionally when Zemo introduced you to people.

Oh, the number of men and women who could kill you with their eyes just to be standing next to the man who kept his arm around your waist.

He always introduced you as a friend, but the looks you received from people were not meant for a friend. They saw you as a threat.

But now, you were back at the hotel, sitting on the balcony, still in that gorgeous dress as you enjoyed your view.

You promised yourself that morning that you are going to enjoy your time here. After all, who knew if you would ever be able to make it back to Rome anytime soon or ever in your life for that matter.

"Darling?" the voice came from the room and it made you jump in your seat.

"Zemo?"

"Here you are. I see you do enjoy the view." he sat down next to you in another chair, looking at you, not the view.

"It's beautiful. How did you get into my room?"

"It is breathtaking. I came to ask if you are ready for dinner, I see you didn't change." he just completely ignored your question.

"I like this dress. And yes, I'm ready for dinner." you said as you looked at him, eyes shining but he didn't smile, he simply nodded and guided you to the dining hall.

Dinner was as delicious as the day before. You were a bit more daring regarding the food you ordered.

"Tell me about yourself." he suddenly said. Now you were glad you didn't have any food or drink in your mouth.

Why would he be interested?

But he genuinely looked like he cared, and what harm would it be to tell him?

Not like he really cared, he probably just wanted you to ask the same from him and after you told your story, you did ask him.

But he dodged the question and instead told you how tomorrow will go down.

A three-day fashion event. Was that too much or too little? You weren't sure.

But your second day was much like the first, except it was longer.

The day before Zemo made you promise that you'd wear the pink dress he sent you.

Much like the day before, he came to pick you up in the morning, complimenting you while he looked like a nicely wrapped box of bonbons.

The man looked way too good for his own good.

He sat in the car with you, looking out the window, you enjoyed the view.

"Hopefully today we will see something we actually like. What would you like to see?" he asked.

"I want to see yours." you said without any hesitation.

"Hm, you do have good taste." he said just before the car stopped.

Another day without seeing any interesting pieces. You did see one thing, a kind of duo chrome gown, it looked promising, but the back of it... horrible.

You made a face which amused Zemo. He did notice how hopefull you were and then you saw the back.

And now you learned that Zemo's collection will be tomorrow, the last day, the grand finale.

You were about to get dressed when there was a knock on your door, a woman came in with a gorgeous dress, you recognized it from the sketches Zemo showed you on the plane.

"Miss, Mr Zemo send us as he was required before the show. He sent us to get you there, we have a car ready."

The fact that you had to go alone scared you a tad bit. But you did understand why he would be there earlier.

You felt like a Goddess honestly, the dress was perfect. You can imagine him in his room, perfecting every detail before sending it over to you.

You knew he wouldn't give out anything less than perfect from his hands.

---

"To us." he said lifting his champagne, "To the perfect show." he said as you clicked your glass against his. You smiled as you lifted the glass to your lips.

"To you." you said. "Your amazing collection."

"Precisely." he said and nodded. "Wouldn't have been able to do it without you, Darlin’."

And then you suddenly realized.

It was your last day there, last dinner with him and you knew you were going to miss him.

You'll have to go back to the life of a barista. And you were okay with that. You never expected this to happen, so even the fact that it did give you a reason to go forward.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked when the waitress left after she poured you two glasses of wine.

"Go ahead." he said as he lifted his glass.

"Why did you invite me? What is your real reason? Because I'm still confused by it."

"Beauty is something I always thrived for. I always wanted to achieve perfection. With my clothes especially. When Bucky mentioned this new shop with the kind barista I didn't think much. But he started to mention you more and more. And then I went to see you for myself, you took my breath away. You inspired me as a muse would. Something I have never had. I always worked for myself, but now, now I create for you, Darlin’."

You still didn't want to believe him. You weren't that beautiful, you weren't even thin.

"I-"

"I know you doubt yourself. I see it in your eyes. But there is nothing to doubt. Your beauty is extraordinary. You might not see it, your body, and your curves would drive any man crazy, including me. And your personality, you are shining my Darling. Like today, in that dress, I couldn't stop looking at you. Breathtaking, you always look breathtaking but when I see you wear something I made, it does something to me."

You were not sure if this was some weird kink of his. Picking up unsuspecting broke women and then living a fantasy through them. But the way his eyes shined told you he wasn't lying nor was this a weird kink. Adoration is what you saw. But then, why didn't you believe him? Why couldn't you? Could it be what he said before? The way you doubt yourself, it can be getting in your way.

"I'm not that special."

"You don't see what I see. Do you think I get everyone on a plane to Rome because they thought of adding red gloves to a suit? You are exquisite, and I planned on seducing you. I'm not really good at the love department, but you are special."

Seducing you? Love? Well, the black suit he had on certainly didn't help your situation. He looked way too delicious for his own good. You couldn't think straight.

"Are you serious or are you playing with me? Is this some game rich people play?"

"No game, Darling. I'm serious about my feelings." this is when the waitress arrived with your food. He studied your face. "You do not believe me."

"It's hard to. It's hard to believe that a man of your level would ever be interested in someone like me. I'm a simple woman, a barista while you are the best fashion designer in the entire world."

"Do titles bother you that much?"

"When it's this huge, yes. What will people think? You with me? Me with you? They will think I blackmailed you, that I'm a golddigger or something."

"Don't be silly, Love. I do not care what others say about me. My work speaks for itself. But if you really are not interested, I'll understand."

"It's not..." you looked around, no one was paying any attention. "It's not that I'm not interested in you. It's just hard to process your declaration of love when your face barely moves."

"I trained myself. So I wouldn't get wrinkles."

Of course, he did.

"How can I prove myself? How can I prove that my feelings are true?"

"I don't know, honestly."

"I brought you on many dates. Every day, I saw every lunch, breakfast and dinner as a date. Even if you didn't. Which now I realize you might not have. I should have told you from the beginning, but I needed to know who the angel who made those amazing espressos was. And I really found an angel. I watched you as you worked, cleaned the store when you were ready to close and I walked in."

"I need to think." you said honestly.

"Of course, I never expected you to be ready with an answer. But please know, I am serious."

Rest of the dinner, you spent quietly, eating and trying to think.

Why did he have to look so delicious in his suit?! It wasn't fair.

Your mind couldn't even register that evening or the next morning, nor the flight nor when you stood in front of your apartment while Zemo's driver got your suitcases out. You arrived with more than you left with.

You turned and looked at Zemo.

"Thank you again for the opportunity and the amazing memories." he only nodded once before you walked away from him.

Zemo had a cold heart. His industry and past made him this way, but he could feel his cold heart break into millions of pieces as he watched you walk away and the door closed behind you. He got back into the car and headed home, home into the cold mansion where he lived all alone.

You couldn't even unpack. Your suitcases have been in the same place as you left them days ago when you arrived home.

So many thoughts yet your mind was blank, and your heart hurt.

But why was it hurting so badly? The look in his eyes as you said goodbye. It was as if he was a different person, not the kind Zemo you saw at the shows, not the Zemo who laughed with you as you looked at all the dresses and discussed them at dinner.

It was the cold and old Zemo who walked into your work many days ago.

Today was your day off.

You haven't seen or heard about Zemo or Bucky at all. You figured they were busy after such an amazing show.

You pulled out your phone and smiled as you looked at all the photos you took.

During many days you and Zemo went around Rome, being tourists he guided you through the streets as if he was living there for years.

How did you fail to see the look in his eyes? He took so many photos of you at your request and then you stopped at one.

It was a selfie of you and Zemo. You remember how grumpy he was but you ended up getting a picture where he was in the background.

Then photos of the last show, his show.

You took many photos of him.

And then, as if someone poured cold water all over you.

He was wearing the suit. THE SUIT, with the red gloves.

"You picked this one out." he said when you complimented him. At the time you only laughed it off not believing him.

And you realized your many mistakes.

You were too blind to realize what was happening right in front of you.

You fell in love.

You fell in love with him and you didn't even know it.

Now, the place on your waist where he always had his hand felt hot, burning. You couldn't believe how stupid you were.

How could you ignore his feelings? The way he looked at you, the way he held you and walked with you.

"I wouldn't have anyone else by my side, Love." he said one day and it all came crushing down.

You wanted to yell. Scream.

How could you done this?! Who cares about titles? Who cares about who he was.

All you cared about was him.

The way he looked at you, the way he smelled and the way he cared for you.

You rushed out of your apartment and got a taxi.

Only when you stood in front of the building you realized you had no idea what you were doing. You walked in and the receptionist gave you a look.

She probably had a strong feeling towards the crocks you wore, the sweatpants and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt.

"How may I help?"

"I'm here to speak with Helmut Zemo? I have an urgent matter." she gave you another look.

"Sure, I'll call security."

"No, please I'm serious, can you at least call him? Or his assistant? Bucky Barnes? They know me, I promise."

She only raise her brow as security started to walk towards you.

"Ma'am, please." one man said and you really didn't want to cause a scene.

"Please, just call Bucky at least, I really-"

"Y/N?" all of you looked at Bucky who just exited the elevator. "What are you doing here?"

"Mr Barnes we are about to get this lady out, I apologize for the scene."

As the bodyguard grabbed your arm Bucky almost growled at the man.

"HEY, let her go. I really don't think your boss would appreciate you touching her and you," he continued pointing at the receptionist. "You throw people out without confirming if we expect them or not?"

"Sir, sorry but I didn't think-"

"Exactly, you didn't think, but you wouldn't know so, I suggest you do your job properly from now."

"Yes, Sir. I apologize."

Bucky got you into the elevator as he looked at you. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk with Helmut."

Bucky smirked. "Oh it's just like a romantic movie, the heroine realizes her love for the cold hearted man and rushes to confess to him." Bucky said with a dreamy voice. "But wait! What are you wearing?!"

"I was home! what am I supposed to wear at home?"

"You need to change." he said as he pushed a different button on the elevator. "Hair, make up and dress."

And again, you knew better than to argue with Bucky.

About two hours later, you felt and looked like a completely different woman.

"Much better."

"I don't even want to know how much the clothes cost."

"Then don't ask. He's free now, probably in his office mopping."

"Why would he be cleaning?"

"Not that kind of mopping. He is sad because he let you go. SO ROMANTIC."

"Bucky." you said as you went up the elevator, top floor to finally do what you were ready to do 2 hours ago. "I'm nervous."

"Don't be. You wouldn't even have to say anything just go in, kiss him and boom. Wedding." you wanted to laugh. "Good luck." he said as he stopped in front of a huge door. He knocked before rushing off like a child.

"Come in." you heard his voice inside and you slowly opened the door.

He was sitting in his chair, his back to you. "What do you need Bucky, I told you I don't have the dresses, I don't even have ideas."

"Looks like you lost your muse." you said, your heart hammering in your chest.

"I did but why are you saying that?" did he really not realize that you were not Bucky?

"Why don't you get it back?"

"I told you I-" this time he turned and noticed you. He was, of course, wearing a suit, he look at you as if you were a ghost. "Darlin’? Am I imagining things?"

"No, and I'm sorry for being so blind. I came to tell you that if you want to, I'd like to try... us." you watched as he stood up from his chair.

"Are you serious?"

You nodded as he took steps towards you. He placed his palm against your cheek, leaning down to kiss you.

A kiss to make sure you were real, a kiss to finally mend and melt his heart.

When he pulled back, you smiled at him.

"You look stunning."

"Thank Bucky."

"Of course."

"But I do want my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt back!" he couldn't even comprehend what you just said. He was way too happy to fully process it.

---

That Christmas, you were already living with him.

You had a rather difficult time finding something for him as a gift, but then you came up with the perfect one and with the help of Bucky, you got just the thing.

You couldn't wait for his reaction to see it.

You smiled as you opened all of your gifts, clothes, jewellery, and a trip to Japan. Everything is absolutely amazing.

"Thank you, Babe, now, it's your turn."

"We said nothing serious." he said motioning towards the huge box you had in your hand which you just brought it.

"I know, open it."

Helmut looked at you and then at the box. He opened it, and then immediately looked up at you.

"What-"

You reached into the box and pulled out the small puppy and handed her to him.

"You can name her, she is a nine week old-"

"Dalmatian." he finished your sentence as he took the puppy from you. The puppy immediately started to lick his face. You smiled.

"You like her?"

He looked up at you and nodded.

"I thought I already had the best present be you, but this is amazing. Thank you, Love."

You pulled out your phone and took many many photos of him and the dog.

"What should be her name?" you asked as you watched the puppy sleep while you and Helmut cuddled on the couch.

"Cruella De Vil." you laughed slightly.

"Of course, you'd pick a name like this." you shook your head. "Cruella it is then."

You leaned over to give him a kiss on the lips as he pulled you even closer before another movie started on the TV.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​​ @paola-carter​​ @stunkbiggu

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

            DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | Cillian Murphy x Reader - Part 2

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. Note: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternative universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake! Warning: mentions of blood. Part 1 - Cillian Murphy Masterlist - Part 3

It was an unofficial tradition at your university that every year during the first week of class, the students would go to pubs together in order to get to know people. That way someone in their first year could meet people from other years or other degrees and make new friends easily. Sometimes even the teachers would go. 

Since it was your last year, you didn’t feel like going, you already knew how it was and how it would probably end: with someone throwing up. Your friends had been insisting the whole week leaving you with no option but to accept to go, at least for a while. 

You were late. Your flatmate Brad had been using the shower for what seemed like hours and now your friends were waiting for you at the front door of the pub. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, Valerie and Olivia. Valerie was studying chemical engineering and sometimes could say hurtful comments in regards to Olivia and your own career choices, both related to the art world. Olivia studied fine arts.

Nevertheless, the three of you hugged each other, almost falling to the ground. 

Once inside the pub, you followed your friends to the bar to order your drinks. Olivia insisted on inviting a round of shots to celebrate. When Valerie asked what you were celebrating she just blushed and giggled. She has met another guy, you thought. 

Each minute the pub was getting more and more crowded, as well as suffocating. You looked around the sea of faces that changed color when the lights shined on them in a futile attempt to recognize someone.

Olivia pushed you to the bar to order another drink while you waited next to her. A thin boy got too close to you making you feel rather uncomfortable, so you glanced at him with an expression that said put that hand closer to me again and you lose it. The guy seemed to understand and gave you and your friend an apologetic gesture. Before turning back to Olivia you thought you saw a pair of blue eyes, but a second later they were gone. 

“Let’s go to the toilet, I need to pee!” screamed Olivia. 

You nodded and pushed her in said direction. After queuing for approximately fifteen minutes it was her turn. You reached for her drink. 

“Give it to me while you go”.

“Nooo, it’s miiine!” She was clearly too drunk, so you tried to take the glass from her hand before she could spill it over someone. In the middle of your little tussle the glass and its contents fell to the ground, causing it to shatter and the sticky liquid to splash all over your legs and shoes. 

“Fuck”.

Before you could react, Olivia was bent down picking up pieces of broken glass. She let out a surprised scream and put her hand in front of your face, showing you a large cut which was bleeding too much for your liking. Let’s say that you didn’t like blood, it made you feel sick. 

“Fuck” you repeated, looking away. 

With shaky hands you grabbed your friend and left the restroom, heading to the last place where you saw Valerie. Leaving the two girls together, you rushed to the bar pushing through the dancing bodies to ask the bartender for some napkins . Yor turned around, trying to locate your friends but it seemed that they had vanished. 

Once, you had read that if you are looking for someone in a very crowded place the key to find them was to remain in the same spot. And so you did, but a few minutes later you thought that you might look quite ridiculous, standing in the middle of the pub like a statue, with a handful of napkins. So you decided to call them but none of them answered their phones. When another person pushed you, you decided that it was time to get some fresh air. 

The back door of the pub was almost as crowded as the inside, with groups of young people smoking. You tried calling again until Valerie answered.

“Where are you?” you asked looking around like a lost child “I can’t find you”.

“ We left. I just dropped Olivia off at her house”. 

You remained silent for a moment. “You could have waited for me, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, you disappeared..."

"I was looking for something for Olivia's cut!"

Valerie sighed exaggeratedly at the other end of the call. "Y/n, please, stop being so dramatic. Bye.” And she hung up.

You were looking at your phone as if the device had offended you in a terrible way. “I can’t believe it” you whispered. 

A hand on your shoulder almost made you jump. You turned around ready to fight another unpleasant guy but instead, you found yourself looking into a pair of blue eyes.  

“Are you alright?” asked Mr. Murphy. No. It’s Cillian. Just Cillian, you reminded yourself. 

“I’m grand” you answered through gritted teeth. 

“You don’t look like it, actually, you look rather pale…”

A group of people left the pub laughing loudly. They seemed to be having fun, good for them.

Cillian put a hand on the small of your back to guide you in the direction of a park a few meters away from the back of the pub. You could feel the warmth of his hand though the thin fabric of your blouse, making you nervous. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to being touched by others, but feeling something was new.

He made you sit on a bench and then he sat next to you with the fabric of his jeans brushing against your bare leg. A leg which was algo very sticky thanks to Olivia’s clumsiness, or drunkenness. Thinking of the incident made you recollect the blood and you felt a wave of nausea that you tried to keep under control by taking deep breaths.

“What are those for?” asked Cillian when he realized you wouldn’t say anything. You followed his gaze to the napkins clutched in your fist. 

“Oh, these were for my friend Olivia, she cut her hand with a broken glass and was bleeding pretty badly.”

Cillian seemed concerned. “Is she okay?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so.”

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow and made a little gesture for you to continue explaining it. 

“Valerie, another friend of ours, took her home while I was looking for something to stop her bleeding. I just wish they could have waited for me, you know?”

You saw from the corner of your eye that he was nodding in agreement. 

Suddenly, you couldn’t contain the nausea any longer and felt the urge to lean forward in order to empty all the contents of your stomach onto the asphalt. Cillian reached out to hold your hair out of your face. When you were done, you wiped the corners of your mouth with the napkins while he caressed your back in circular motions. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked quietly, getting a little whimper as an answer.

You got up to throw the dirty napkins into a bin. When you got back to the bench Cillian had just finished talking to someone on the phone. He put the device back into his jean's pocket and got up.

“I’ve called a taxi,” he informed you. Great, you thought sarcastically, what an amazing impression you made on him, now he wants to run away. He frowned a bit. “I can tell the driver to drop you off at your house, if you want to, of course. Don’t feel obligated to accept but since your friends have left, I won't feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

You tilted your head to the side, thinking. He was being nice to you, out of pity, maybe. After all, you were just in your twenties and he was a grown man in his middle forties. And he was also your teacher. It crossed your mind to refuse but the alternative was to walk for almost half an hour and you weren’t sure you could make it in your current condition. 

“Sure.”

You walked together to the main street to wait for the taxi, which didn’t take long to arrive. Cillian stepped forward to open the door for you and waited until you were settled in to sit next to you. The driver started driving after you told him your address, your house was closer than Cillian’s. 

During the whole drive you avoided looking at him, instead you watched the city through the window but you could feel his stare on you. The taxi stopped in front of your building and you took out your purse to pay but Cillian covered your hand with his to make you stop. 

“Don’t worry about it, y/n.”

“I like to pay for my stuff” you muttered.

“And it was my idea to call a taxi. Also you live on the way to my house, so no problem. Have a good night, y/n.” He said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You started to blush, at least it was dark and he couldn’t see you. 

“Thank you, Cillian. Have a good night too, see you at the university.” You said, grabbing the door handle. 

Almost without realizing it, you craned your neck and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled so good. After that, you got out of the car and walked quickly to your building door, there you saw the taxi drive away while you were trying to open the door. 

Once inside your flat, you registered what you had just done.

[dragonwritersblog]

Lover

Funnybunny Week Day Two: Cuddling . Jax knows when his girlfriend Pomni needs to be taken care of and he'll always be there to help, especially when she's sick.

Read on AO3

Day two! This week is already so much fun and I already love what everyone is doing so far with their own art and writing! You guys are awesome! Enjoy more fluff! <3

.

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my Lover - Lover by Taylor Swift

.

To be honest, despite the fact that Pomni had a bone chilling, lung rattling cold right now, she looked too fucking cute wrapped up within the comforter of Jax’s bed.

The rabbit sighed as he watched her struggle within the blanket cage he had trapped her in, to make sure she didn’t escape and make her cold worse. She had a bad habit of ignoring her needs from time to time, so Jax made sure to take it upon himself to ensure that she was getting the proper rest and care his adorable girlfriend deserved.

She had stopped struggling by now, the blanket now loosened around her shoulders as she snuggled up further beneath his sheets. Jax sat himself down beside her as he nursed a bowl of soup within his hands. 

“You’re enjoying this too much, I can tell,” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, little lady,” he snickered, “Don’t worry, I’ll spare ya the teasing for today. Now come on, this soup will help with those sick bugs of yours.”

“Why would anyone even put this in the coding?!” she whined, “We already suffer enough being here! Why make us sick?!”

“I wish I had the answer for that sweetie,” he shrugged, “Unfortunately it's just another mystery in this weird hellhole.” His smirk fell when she let out a pitiful groan. Guess Pomni was the type of person who really felt everything when she was sick. As much as he liked to playfully ‘bully’ his girlfriend, he did feel bad at how horrible she felt. “Okay cute stuff, let’s try and eat some soup, okay? It’ll help a little.”

Pomni sniffed and nodded. She opened her mouth, letting Jax feed her each spoonful of the delicious chicken noodle soup he had made for her. Was it real? Probably not, but it didn’t stop Jax from putting his heart and soul into it to make sure that Pomni loved it. 

Soon, the soup was done and Jax put it on the bedside drawers beside them. His ears sprung up when they caught the sound of sniffles. Whipping his head round, he saw Pomni’s eyes water as she tried to rub any tears away before he could see. He took her hands away from her face, cradling them in his own larger ones as he shifted to lie beside her, pulling her close and letting her head rest on his fluffy chest.

“I hate being sick,” she cried, muffling into his fur.

“Oh sweet girl,” He pressed a kiss on her brown hair, “I know.”

“Hold me, please?” she sniffed, giving him the saddest yet cutest kitten eyes he had ever seen on a person. How could he say no to his girlfriend’s adorable face? “Aw, hon,” he cooed, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, “You don’t even have to ask.”

Jax shifted a bit more, pulling the covers over him as well so Pomni could get closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I didn’t know I could get this emotional while being sick.”

“Hey, hey,” he gave her forehead a chaste kiss, “There’s no need to be sorry when you’re ill, okay? All you need to do is rest and I’ll be there to take care of you.”

“You don’t have to,” she ran her fingers against his fur, “I’m sure you have better things to do and I could get over this on my own.”

“I know,” he told her, “I’m here because I want to be. You can’t get rid of me that easy, little lady.”

He felt a smile slowly crawl on his lips when he heard her giggle, at least he managed to cheer her up a little bit. “Stay?” she asked one more time.

He nuzzled his nose against hers, “Like I said Pomni. You don’t even have to ask.”

Jax pulled her face into the crook of his neck and swung her legs over his lips, letting her grip onto him like a koala. He continued sifting his fingers through her soft short hair, the gentle scent of her soap wafting into his nose. Pomni was a scent he wished to never forget.

“I love you,” Pomni whispered lazily, “You know that right?”

Jax took her chin in his fingers, lifting her head up to face him, “I do. I love you too Pomni.” He stroked her cheek, watching as she melted into his touch.

“I’m gonna nap for a while,” she slurred, her eyes threatening to shut, “Is that okay?”

Jax chuckled, her cold must have been knocking her out harder than she thought, “Yes sweetie, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Great, goodnight,” she gave him one last dopey grin before promptly falling asleep right then and there on his chest.

“It’s the afternoon, but I’ll give ya a pass on that,” he knew she couldn’t hear him, already deep in slumber.

And when she would wake, he would be there. Even when she recovered, she would wake up to him. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

As long as Jax was waking up next to Pomni in this life and the next, he was happier than he ever would have dreamed of being.

[solar-tl-27]

HEY

Whoah I’m posting

All by myself ??

Woah woah woah woah! I am here to show SOME art!

A while ago the announcement of the next pokemon game came out! And with my favorite region returning there was only one thing I could possibly do!

Hyperfixate on my own oc lore in the Pokémon universe so much that once again i’ll only be disappointed by the game in the end lol. So…. Let’s talk about them!

This will be a collection of some of my older art to finally end up on the most recent art i just finished so if u don’t care about Pokémon plz scroll down and appreciate my art ( ToT )

Ok so! I always make original characters to be my protagonist is Pokémon games so when x& y came out i created a character named colette

A woman in her mid 20’s that I totally 100% didn’t oc x canon ship with the villain (i did)

A looong time skip later pokemon sword shield came out which led to the continuation of the colette storyline!

With her daughter Pandora and her friends! Causing the creation of joshua & sapphire (the original image is definitely created with bases so credit to pokemon for the original art & selenaede for the bases)

(Draft didn’t save here so aha sob)

They have been through several versions since then, all slightly different over time

You had pandora: a smart and elegant young girl and the protagonist

Joshua: the nerdy one but also the one that helps everyone no matter what

Saphie: the one who likes cute things and fashion

They were pretty basic characters and evolved but this is theee base line of their characters up until their last design

Just 3 teens on an adventure

BUT NOW

Timeee skip babyyy the return of Colette’s home means i wanna drag her daughter there!

The teens are now young adults! Trying to figure out what they wanna do in life and i can FINALLY MAKE BIG CHANGES TO SOME OF THEM

Let’s goo!

Their outfits are loosely based on the pokemon xyz legendary Pokémon but i also wanted them to be able to stand on their own!

They are now young adults trying to figure out what they want to do with their life and having a change of scenery so

Let’s get into it!

Saphie

Saphie’s finally got his cute accessories back!! He’s finally got a cutesy outfit which suits his style and iiii finally got rid of the side shave going for a complete adorable vibe for him instead. With bows, beads and a new cute hairstyle he’s finally ascended to adorable! He’s easily home sick and going with his friends on this journey sure is a big change. Someone who’s unsure of his future but knows he always has his friends to rely on!

Joshua

Joshua is definitely still the nerdy one, he’s got the clearest vision of what he wants his life to be, not always understanding his friends but always trying to be supportive. His style is definitely the one that changed over time, leaving the nerdy studious look behind to try something new!

His friends definitely chose this outfit for him and it’s actually the closest he’s been to his oc predecessor as he was actually recycled. Sadly that art has been lost to type but, before he was joshua from this group he was joshua a character who was definitely a lot more edgy and artistic. I wanted to bring that back with this design and I personally think i did his original design justice.

Pandora

Pandora always changes the least, her design has always been clear to me in ways but i did want to try new things. Finally deciding i cant choose between the 2 eye colors she’s had I decided i don’t have to choose SO I JUST GAVE HER BOTH. Putting her into something that’s just her style but also trying different colors she’s now more confident and determined, she’s on this journey to learn more about her family and try to choose what direction to take her life in.

Proud to see her friends figure out who they are but also sometimes feels like depending on what choices she makes could have them drift apart. Having to remind herself to have fun on the trip as well she’s probably the one who’s choices will make the biggest difference in what her life will end up being. A true protagonist with issues to deal with and secrets to uncover!

Thank u forrr looking at my little art post!

Now! I have a secret for all my winx people

Guess who’s back in the building again teehee

Ok bye bye!

[proship-angelbunny]

Hi, can I ask you how you came up with Percy and what inspirations did you use to create it? And also, some facts about Alastor x Percy, for example about how they started dating

Oh hello anon, I’m happy to know people are so enthusiastic about my little guy!! Here’s the story on how I made Percy. So I knew since I watched ep 1 that I wanted to make a oc for shipping with alastor, and since I’m a big fan of age gaps I knew they’d probably be a young character (plus shota/kodo characters give me sooo much gender), which led me to the concept of a young boy getting groomed into being Alastor’s plaything. That morphed into the kid being Al’s adopted kid (because I figured it would be way easier for him to have unfettered access to the child then) which led me to killing off/removing Percy’s birth parents so they wouldn’t interfere with the grooming I mean totally healthy and normal relationship! Originally I had it were Percy killed his parents, but that felt a bit too edgy for my liking, plus having him be a orphan allowed me to make him even more traumatized and neglected (because historical orphanages weren’t the best..) which would explain why he ran off any trusted alastor. The bit about him being a yandere for another boy actually came from a asmr my friend Lyra sent me (link here)! Honestly the hardest part of making Percy was getting his design right, I had bits and pieces picked out since the beginning (rose covering/replacing one of his eyes, rabbit features, possible doll/stuffed animal imagery) but getting them all to work together and feel right was a challenge. That was until I rediscovered my old blog @r0tt3n-rabb1t and realized how perfectly the creepy cute/lovecore/doll vibes fit Percy’s character (plus the contrast of him looking so incredibly innocent but being a sick little yandere was too intriguing to pass up) so I made a mockup for them in gl2 and now I’m just looking for a opportunity to commission actual art of them (I’ll post his finalized design soon, just want to make some finishing touches :3)

As for how they started dating, it wasn’t the typical sweet and innocent love story, oh not at all. To quickly summarize, Percy had just ended up In hell after brutally butchering his orphanage’s residents (mini fact that Alastor actually originally owned the orphanage Percy grew up in before his death) Percy is still pretty heartbroken over his last darling’s rejection and somehow finds out that alastor is a absolute creep/utterly obsessed with his own son (like collected Percy’s baby teeth and used underwear + other fun yandere thing) and is of course freaked out by it (because reminder he’s a LITERAL CHILD) he makes the stupid decision to confront his father about it (or more accurately Alastor catches him snooping) and Percy gets punished severely (leading to the rose replacing his eye) once Percy wakes up from the blood loss (because HIS EYE WAS LITERALLY RIPPED OUT) he finds himself getting cuddled up by alastor (who’d been flirting/grooming Percy to fall for him since like day one) and is so mentally broken/traumatized/manipulated that when alastor makes a move Percy doesn’t stop him..and that’s how they fell in love!! <3

(More rosecest stuff under the cut because golly it’s getting long)

Alastor is absolutely the dom in the relationship, he’s overprotective and so incredibly jealous (do NOT look at Percy for too long or you WILL be killed) and just generally a all around hard/scary dom

Percy’s demon form was actually created by alastor using his eldrich powers (he somehow bound Percy’s soul to it while the boy was alive which permanently secured Percy as his/that he would end up in hell, and gave alastor so much more power over Percy then he has with any other owned soul) Percy is also a lot weaker then most sinners for that reason (and it keeps him trapped and helpless)

Rosie does know about their relationship and is totally cool with it! (Percy actually talked to her about it a few times before they were official of course Alastor listened in on these talks)

Alastor tries to keep the more..provocative parts of hell hidden from Percy to keep him dependent away from all those dirty perverts who’d surely do something awful to him <3

These two are H O R N Y they can’t keep their hands off each other when alone, there’s a 9/10 chance they’re making out/possibly getting intimate as soon as the door is shut

Did I mention they’re kinky as hell (pun completely intended)? I mean Percy does call alastor daddy for a reason… ;) /hj

No one in the hotel knows about their relationship, Angel and husk has a sneaky suspicion something’s going on but neither of them has seen anything…yet

Percy does attend overlord meetings with alastor and Rosie, he really tries to pay attention but poor baby isn’t cut out for politic

Percy does have to deal with some fun side effects from being a rabbit/doll demon, mainly his face is incredibly easy to break (skin is the same as real porcelain) and easily upset stomach (because rabbit tummies aren’t the best) oh and mating season, but that’s for a different post Thankfully he can eat meat with no real issue and him and Al often go out and try any butcher they can find both their selection of meats and the demon running it

[jpitha]

The Dreams of Hyacinth 5

First / Previous / Next

Nick comes back to reality slowly. He's on a bed and he has a thundering headache. He opens his eyes, but then squeezes them shut immediately. Sight just hurts too much right now.

"He's awake." Nick hears Selkirk talking to someone.

"Good. He's going to feel like he went on a two week bender for the next day or so, but he'll be fine. He took to the surgery like he was a natural, we gave him a few... bonus features. It's probably why his recovery is slower." That's Jameson.

"Bonus features? Jameson, bonuses from you are rarely freely given." Eastern is awake too, she sounds groggy, but a bit more awake than Nick.

"Eastern, I told you, I want you to find my daughter. It's in my best interests to give you all the tools you need."

"Uh huh. And I suppose we know the price to be paid if we fail."

"You know the price Eastern. Educate our mutual friend if you think he needs it." There's a whirr of Jameson's chair as he moves around the room. "Oh, Selkirk, don't think I've forgotten you."

"No thanks Jameson, I don't need to be stuffed full of electronics."

"Nah, you know it won't work on K'laxi, your brains are too different."

"I emphatically do not want to know how you learned that."

"You're right. You don't." There's a rustle of paper, a bag maybe? "Here. This is a K'laxi sized coronet. Put it on your head, top part between your ears, bottom and back down the rear of your head, and you should be able to interface with the same stuff as Nick and Eastern."

More rustling. Sounds like the bag is being opened. "Why didn't you just give them this Jameson?"

"The access isn't as fast. But this way, you'll feel less left out of their conversations."

"Don't assume you know me Jameson. I know where I stand between them."

"Sel, what do you mean by that?" Eastern sound groggy when she asks the question, just must have been dozing.

There is no answer. Jameson whirrs around again, probably towards the door by the sound of his voice. "That's my cue to leave. You three work it out and... I'll be in touch."

Nick heard the whirr of Jameson's chair as he wheeled himself out of the room. The door behind him closed with a soft click.

Nick tries opening his eyes again. It hurts, but he manages to keep them open this time. He looks to his left and Eastern is in the bed with him, but she's sitting up. He didn't know they were in the same bed. "Meghan?"

Eastern glares at him. "It's Eastern now. I wondered if you'd remember that. I know I was dreaming it, but it looks like we were dreaming together."

Nick squints against the pain. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better boyfriend."

Eastern smiles. "It's alright Nick. I figure you just needed practice."

But Nick was already asleep again.

Some time later, Nick wakes up, thirsty and sore. He looks over, and Eastern is asleep, snoring quietly.

He looks around Eastern's bedroom. The walls are a pale blue, and they're covered in photographs. It appears to be mostly pictures from Luna. He casts his gaze around the room, and sure enough, in a nice frame on her dresser is her photo of Empress Melody and her partner. It looks like Eastern has kept the photo from her visit.

Sick of lying in bed, Nick gingerly tries getting up. Other than a nasty wave of dizziness that passes almost as soon as it arrives, he seems to be fine. He shuffles into the bathroom off Eastern's bedroom and uses the facilities, washing his hands and drinks a tall glass of water.

As Nick walks around the small apartment he marvels at how much Eastern has put her mark on it. Art on the walls, furniture, even things like how she has plastic flowers arranged on a table near the door makes Nick think of her. He walks by the kitchen and sees dirty dishes in the sink. "That won't do," he thought to himself, and busies himself washing. The warm water is soothing on his hands, and the regular motion allows his mind to water as his body takes over the tasks.

Nick wonders what he has gotten himself into.

Back home, he was an easygoing "go along to get along" type of kid. Not really a delinquent but no honor student either, Nick stuck mostly to lifting snacks from the bodega on his street and stealing shows and games from the local network. It wasn't crime, not really. When his parents died, he used all the money he got from their estate to buy a ticket as far from Parvati as he could. When he got to Hyacinth, Nick figured that he could get a job nearly anywhere.

Three weeks after he arrived, he was flat broke and started stealing.

It was so easy. Back home petty thievery was a huge problem. Lots of young people, not a lot of jobs and plenty of time for them to work on and refine their technique. Nick found that almost nobody on Hyacinth took even the most basic precautions against people stealing things.

He eventually found buyers for his stuff and gained a very small reputation as a reliable thief. It was around then he met Eastern. She was also a thief like Nick, but her methods were much more... like her. Eastern preferred to work a distraction. She'd come in loud and brash and cause a scene and while people were running around distracted, she’d grab the merch.

Nick and Eastern worked well together. Eastern would cause a distraction and Nick would come in, boost the piece and walk out before Eastern was even done yelling and causing trouble.

Selkirk came onboard when they started getting asked to boost more digital things; apps, softs and vids. Nick understood the basics, but he was out of practice and security on Hyacinth was different than Parvati. Eastern knew Sel from other people and she set up a meet.

Selkirk was the first K'laxi Nick ever really knew, and for the first couple of weeks he was completely infatuated with her. She was smart and clever and sarcastic, insulting Nick and Eastern, but doing it with a legitimately funny joke, and she never really seemed to cross the line into making it hurtful.

As he finished the dishes and wiped down the counter, Nick thought about how lucky he was. He had two good friends in a place where friends were thin on the ground. Sure, they were neck deep in some serious stuff, but Nick began to wonder if together, they'd be able to pull it off after all.

Dishes done, he slowly walks into Eastern's living room and sees Selkirk asleep on the couch. Carefully, slowly, he settles into the couch next to Selkirk. It's not much different than sitting in the bed, but it's different enough that he's comfortable.

Selkirk yawns hugely and stretches. As she does, her hands brush against Nick. Seemingly while still asleep, she stretches out and puts her head on Nick's lap.

Nick looks down at Selkirk and smiles. He absently strokes between her large, expressive ears. She sighs in her sleep and snuggles against him further.

"Nick, where are you?" Eastern uses her newfound abilities to reach out to Nick on their personal connection.

"I'm in the living room, come on out." Nick is surprised to find how easy using the link is once it's been established.

Eastern slowly walks out of her bedroom into the living room. When she sees Selkirk resting on Nick's lap she raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Gingerly lowering herself onto the couch she looks at them. "She seems comfortable. You too ever get together?"

Nick shrugs. "Couple of times." The K'laxi have been known to the humans for more than a century at this point. They get along famously. If humans and K'laxi didn't date, it would be more surprising. "I don't know though. I thought the dates went well, but nothing came of it."

Selkirk mumbles, "If you were better at reading body language you would have known I was waiting for you to initiate."

Nick is so startled that he nearly flies out of the couch. His hand stops stroking Selkirk's head.

"No, keep doing that Nick, I like it." Nick put his hand back and continue stroking between her ears. "I'm sorry Sel, I never realized. I thought you weren't interested."

She stretches again and snuggles into Nick's lap further. "I was waiting for you to make the next move. When you didn't, I figured you were still holding a candle for Eastern or something."

Nick chuckles sadly. "Hah. I mean, yes, I was left in a lurch when Eastern declared me boring and left, but there was room in my heart for you Sel."

Selkirk mumbles into Nick's lap. "Someone as hot as her, I figured I never had a chance anyway."

Eastern looks at the two of them, and nods to herself. She gets up and plops down onto the couch, and leans into Selkirk. "Sel, I never knew you felt that way. I walked away from Nick because I thought he was boring. I thought he would make me boring. I thought I wanted more excitement in a partner." She leans against Selkirk and shuts her eyes. "It turns out that boring can also be nice too. Nick is good looking, easygoing, and a thoughtful partner."

Selkirk nodded in Nick's lap, "He's a bit oblivious though."

Eastern laughed and snuggled into the two of them. "That he is. He couldn't even tell when a hot K'laxi was into him and practically shouting about it."

Selkirk lifts her head off Nick's lap. "I know! It's like he was blind."

Eastern smiles and nods. "Well, that's why we love him, right? He's so kind and loyal and just the right amount of dim."

Selkirk nods.

"Well, tell you what Sel." Eastern leans in and nibbles on Selkirk's ear. She shudders in pleasure. "I think you're pretty great too, and I also think Nick is pretty great. I have enough room in my heart to love more than one person, do you?"

Selkirk sits up. "Are you sure Eastern? I won't accept a relationship that's Nick and Eastern and over to the side is Selkirk. We're all equal."

Eastern looks at Selkirk and kisses her. "Equal partners, in more ways than one. I promise. We do so well together for business, I know we'll do well together for... other things."

Selkrik looks at the two of them. She leans over and kisses Nick on the mouth. "You're a bit dim." She leans the other way and kisses Eastern as well. "And you're an asshole. But, Ancestors, that's who I'm into. So yes. If Nick is up for it, I'm up for it."

Nick looks at the two of them. "So I'm going from no girlfriends to two girlfriends? Yeah, okay. I'm game to try. I want to make it clear. I'll probably fuck it up, and I won't do it on purpose, but I'll probably hurt your feelings. I only ask that if I do, you tell me, so I know and can do better next time.

Selkirk buries her head into Nick's lap again and he strokes her ears. "Deal." she says, muffled by his lap.

Eastern leans into both of them and sighs contentedly. "Deal." She closes her eyes.

After a moment, they're all asleep on the couch together.

First / Previous / Next

[kaltacore]

Some time after the Blight ends, they're invited to Redcliffe. There's going to be a statue in their honour, the letter says, made by one of the best Fereldan artists — and it needs their approval for some reason. A formal one, of course. “At least they didn't pay Orlesians. Let them stick to their fancy chateaus,” Alistair says jokingly, but he seems excited — and Keeris, well, not that much. She doesn't tell him about it anyway. He deserves to feel like a hero for once. Statues and celebrations and all.

It's nice to see Redcliffe rebuild though. It's nice to see anything rebuild — no more darkspawn and barricades, no more walking corpses and burning roofs. Former wastelands are green and full of blooming spring flowers that cover the ruins of something that cannot be restored anymore, completely destroyed houses and fallen mill wings that no one had time to take away; it's a beautiful sight. She'd better stay here instead of going to the castle. She's, frankly, sick of the castles — and they are probably sick of her.

People inside are still friendly, though. Cheerful even. Keeris sees the shade of nervousness crossing Eamon's face when he shakes her hand, but it's not unexpected, really — he couldn't be that fond of her, not after what happened at the Landsmeet, she's aware of that.

The Fereldan sculptor, on the other hand, is very proud and just can't stop talking — about the greatness of his project and how honoured he is to work on it and set the Heroes of Ferelden in stone. Before he bows his head, he gives her a brief look, a strange one for sure, almost terrified — Keeris doesn't know what to make of it nor she wants to try.

Then, he shows it. The art, the concept. It's a big, big piece of paper full of little sketches and drafts and one glorious drawing of a statue in the middle of it.

For a moment, no one says a word.

“What is that?” Alistair asks and his voice sounds genuinely baffled. There are tones of anger in it, loud and clear. Keeris slightly squeezes his hand.

She's not surprised at all.

The statue is a man and a woman in Grey Warden uniforms standing in pretentiously heroic poses. A man resembles Alistair very well, with the same features and even the way he holds his shield. It's almost like him, really, just lifelessly stony grey.

A woman is slightly shorter than him: her features are smooth and pretty, her braided hair is long and wavy, scattered by the wind, and her ears are flat. Her face is so strangely, unfamiliarly bare.

Oh, it does make her angry, furious even. Just a little. Even if she shouldn't care.

She shouldn't care, a girl with vallaslin and sharp features and sharp ears and hair too short to cover them.

“Somehow,” she says calmly, looking Eamon straight in the eyes, “I didn't expect less from your kind.”

They argue. Alistair and Eamon, mostly — she herself wouldn't waste time on it nor she thinks it would change anything, but now they can't go away and loudly shut the door.

Eamon says something about his gratitude. Something about the gratitude of his people and how they all cherish both of them here. Something about the cruelness of the world around. Something about the vile, vile people, who are obviously not there, but they will come and they will not tolerate an elf standing in the middle of their beautiful human town. They will not let it be.

Of course, they won't. She saw the alienage in Denerim. She saw what Anora did to it after she gave her a crown and was proclaimed a friend. It always ends up like this. All the promises and gratitude — they never matter. She learnt it the hard way.

“Then,” she says finally, “Don't make it. Don't place it here. If not for my people's sake — don't lie to your own at least.”

Nobody dares to object.

They leave in awkward, unpleasant silence: no farewells, no partings. They don't even stay for the night at Redcliffe. Alistair keeps repeating he's sorry, that he never wanted it to be this way, that he was sure his uncle would do better than this — Keeris laughs with just a little bitterness in her voice. He shouldn't be sorry. She was the one who took his statue away, wasn't she? He promises they will get a nice, proper one. Maybe somewhere in Amaranthine.

Another letter comes, informing them it is going to be a griffon. A beautiful creature, a symbol, a compromise, it says. None of them respond.

When they get to Redcliffe a couple of years later, there it is, standing in a square. No faces, no names and no shameless lies.

People here still recognise them. They wave their hands when they pass by and promise to buy them a beer if they happen to be around. An elven servant in the crowd blesses her path with Mythal's name. A young girl throws her a flower crown.

They do not put portraits in the archives of Weisshaupt after all.

At least there is no woman who never was.