#in his mind they left on bad terms because he ended the relationship out of his own fear/mistrust of georgie

[glitterypinkconverse]

─ ⊹ ⊱ IN THE HEAT OF IT ALL

e-42!miles x fem!reader

summary after having an argument with miles, you get mad as to why he always brings up your plushies while you guys are arguing. so, you threw them all away.

request by @friedturtlewhispers ! i accidentally posted this without writing actual story, so sorry your request got deleted 😭

a/n this is a continuation of the 42!miles headcanon from these headcanons! i’m a sucker for angst so ofc i has to write this 🤷‍♀️

warnings angst to fluff, cursing

“Ma, you’re the one who sleeps with stuffed animals at night.”

You two have been fighting over God knows what for at least 30 minutes, and whenever he brought up the fact that you sleep with stuffed animals at night pisses you off. You scoffed, stuck your middle finger up at him, and went to his doorway.

“Fuck you, Miles.” That was all you said before you walked out of his bedroom, and out his apartment door.

New York at night was chilly, so as you left the building you silently cursed to yourself. You forgot your jacket again, as it was hot during the day but then it cooled down. Luckily, your apartment building was only a block away, so it wasn’t that bad of a walk.

His words still rang through your head. That was his only comeback nowadays ever since he found out. You thought he hated it, for how much he teased you about sleeping with the stuffed animals. But secretly, though he would never admit it, he found it cute that you do. It made him happy seeing you happy, although you weren’t feeling it right now.

You thought actually sleeping with them bothered him, so as your mind was overflowing with rage, you did the petty thing.

You threw them all away.

Well, not really. You just stuffed them all in a bag and put it in your closet. But, it felt like you did because your once overfilled bed was now empty, the only thing on it was your clothes, pillows, and obvious blankets.

Your phone was blowing from texts and calls from Miles. You looked over at it and rolled your eyes. You put your phone on do not disturb, charged it, and then got in bed. All you needed right now was some rest, so you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep. Though, it was hard without at least one thing to hold.

Miles on the other hand, was freaking out. He was pacing around his room angrily, you guys never ended on bad terms. You would always make up, because he knew how important it was for you to have closure. He wanted to make this relationship work, and right now he felt like he was failing it.

“Pick up the phone, Y/N,” he mumbled, silently cursing everytime it went straight to voicemail. He groaned and left his room, saying a quick goodbye to his mom before leaving the apartment.

He walked, practically ran to your apartment where he barged in because you forgot to lock the door. Your parents were out on a work trip right now, so he reminded himself to scold you later on this. But for now, his only priority was to set things right and make it up to you.

He slowly opened your bedroom door, from the light being off he figured you were asleep. That was all until you turned around to look at the light that was entering your room, and groaned when you saw Miles standing in your doorway. “Fuck off.”

He scoffed and made his way towards you, “That’s no way to talk to me, now is it?” He joked, though you weren’t having it.

“What the hell are you doing here, Miles.” You turned away from him, so he couldn’t see the anger that was still looming on your face.

“Whatchu think I’m here for? I’m here to make it up to you. We’re not leaving on bad terms, and I swear by that.”

You didn’t respond, and that left Miles quiet. He observed the position you were in, and noticed your bed looked different.

“Ma, where’s all your stuffed animals?” He asked, concern in his voice. He shuffled around your bed, looking over you and looking at the end of your bed.

“Gone,” you mumbled. He paused in his tracks, looking over at you even though you couldn’t see him. Your back was facing the wall, so he immediately turned you around to face him.

“Fuck you mean gone?”

“I mean, gone, Miles. Like, they’re not here.” He was shocked, you loved those things more than anything. He looked around your room, for any sign of them.

None.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled before hurrying out of the room. You rolled your eyes and turned around in your bed again, feeling slightly bad that you lied to him.

However, Miles was going to the nearest store to get you something. He walked down the aisles of the store, searching for the perfect plushie. He grimaced at all of them, as they all looked unintentionally creepy. He decided on a pink teddy bear, as it looked the most tame and he knew how much you liked teddy bears. He went up to the register and paid for it, then rushed back to your apartment.

You were almost asleep when he barged in once again and sat on your bed. “Turn around.” When you didn’t, he turned you around himself and what you saw in his hands shocked you.

You sat up to face him, you didn’t expect him to buy you a teddy bear. You took it from his hands, admiring it slightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Y’know, I actually find it cute how you sleep with these.” You looked up at him and smiled, then fell into his arms.

“It’s alright, I guess. Thanks for the bear,” he hummed in response, to which you continued, “there’s a bag in my closet, do you think you can get it?” He pulled away slightly and raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you giggled against his chest.

He peeled away from you and walked to your closet, silently cursing when he saw the bag full of stuffed animals. “You’re full of shit, y’know that right?”

You laughed as he threw the bag at you, you throwing one of your pillows back at him in response. “You loooove me though.”

He walked back to your bed and put the pillow you threw at him back on the bed, and laid down with you. “You got one thing right,” he said as you adjusted in his arms.

“Oh, and also, don’t forget to lock your door. Can’t let anyone taking m’ girl away.”

“Go to sleep, Miles.”

TAGS ↣ @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

[nadvs]

imperfect strangers (one-shot)

pairing zach maclaren x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary after a painful break-up, you and zach go no contact, agreeing it’s best to cut yourselves out of each other’s lives. when he cracks and texts you a month later that he’ll be at your college for a game, you lie to yourself that seeing him can’t be that bad of an idea.

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Zach has been dreading tomorrow’s game. And it’s only because it’s at your college.

He keeps going back and forth on if he should break the promise he made to you and himself that he wouldn’t contact you.

He blames the fatigue from a strenuous practice. It’s what muddles his mind and makes him give in.

You two agreed that cutting all ties was best. But he’s just reaching out to an old friend that he might run into. That’s what he tells himself.

You’re sitting in a lecture when Zach’s name flashes on your phone. Your heart leaps at the notification and you hate that it does that.

You were supposed to delete his number, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend.

Removing him from your life wrecked you, so little things like keeping his contact information and the promise ring he gave you the day of your high school graduation feel like acts of rebellion against the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Zach: Hey. How are you? I’m playing at your school tomorrow. Just wondering if you’ll be watching :)

You reread his text a few times. You know he has a game here tomorrow. You’ve been following his soccer season even though you know you shouldn’t.

On the screen, you see the last messages you exchanged, a little over a month ago.

Zach: Wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.

You replied: you, too.

The night of your break-up was agony. Your video call lasted three hours.

Zach’s eyes were glossy, matching yours. His dark honey hair was tousled and sticking in every direction after he raked his hand through it over and over in frustration.

Your dorm rooms slowly got darker as night fell, neither of you bothering to turn on a light. It was a cruel reminder that you’re not even a timezone apart. Your schools have only four hours between them and you couldn’t manage to make a one-year relationship work over the distance.

Hurtful words were exchanged. You accused him of neglecting your relationship. He told you his extra efforts in school and soccer didn’t mean you weren’t a priority. He said you were giving up on him. You retaliated that you were working harder to stay together than he was.

Somehow, things still ended civilly. You agreed that the distance was too much of a big, ugly, unavoidable wedge driving you apart.

You’re convinced that ending on good terms hurts more than ending on bad terms. It would be easier to hate him.

Your fingers hover over your screen, wondering what you should say. If you should say anything. You realize this means he didn’t delete your number, either. Maybe he’s been holding onto hope, too.

You decide to reply, trying to act casual and in good spirits.

You: I’ll try to make it! Just don’t be mad that I’m cheering for the home team :)

He’s grateful you texted back. He misses you so much that it hurts.

Getting better has been a slow climb for Zach. You two lasted a couple of months of long distance before calls slowly shortened and texts became infrequent. It was too hard juggling everything.

Now, he’s putting his all into school and soccer. It’s all he has left.

When dark clouds roll in on the day of the game, you think about how Zach never liked the rain and you hate that you’re doomed to remember these insignificant things about someone you’re not supposed to be in love with anymore.

You decide not to go to the game. It’ll be too hard watching him play like you used to.

But eventually, you lie to yourself that it’ll be fine and your feet are dragging you to the stadium on campus, your umbrella blocking the raindrops. You join the roaring crowd, sitting in the bleachers.

You always sat behind the opponents’ net. At every one of his matches. Zach is a striker and whenever he’d score a goal, he’d be right in your eyeline.

He would find you in the crowd when he scored, beaming at you before his team swallowed him in a group hug.

But that’s where you sat when Zach was your boyfriend. And he’s not anymore. So you find an empty seat on the side, close to the middle of the field.

You spot him immediately. He’s running down the field, his cheeks flushed.

The same boy who nervously asked you out the second day of senior year. The same boy you gave your first kiss to. The same boy who called you the moment he found out he was granted a full-ride scholarship. Now slowly becoming a stranger.

This is too hard. You need to leave.

But then you watch Zach gain possession of the ball and he’s running fast and suddenly, he collides with a player on the opposing team, sliding in one of the mud puddles scattered across the field.

The crowd erupts in a mournful whine, reacting to what was surely a painful impact.

You’re on your feet, rigid, heart racing as you watch him in the distance. He’s not getting up. Why isn’t he getting up?

You wedge your way out of the aisle and rush to the bottom of the bleachers, hands gripping the cold, wet barricade at the same level as the field.

A medic runs out onto the pitch but when he reaches Zach, he’s slowly standing up on his own. But then he leans over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.

The medic beckons Zach to put an arm around his shoulders and leads him off the field while the referee holds up a yellow card against the other player.

Zach’s hamstring is throbbing in pain as he limps through the wet grass, his cleats heavy, but when he sees you standing at the front of the stands, everything feels better.

He thought you wouldn’t attend. His lips quirk up in a smile. Your stomach twists.

Zach’s coach is trying to get his attention once he reaches the sideline, but he mumbles something to him and disconnects from the medic and closes the distance between you two, his steps short and quick.

“You came,” he says, blue eyes travelling over your face. It’s only been a month but he swears, it feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you.

The bright stadium lights are emphasizing every plane and feature of his handsome face. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin, his uniform muddy.

“You okay?” you ask over the loud chattering crowd surrounding you.

No. He’s far from okay.

“Survived worse,” he says with that smirk that is so typically Zach.

“MacLaren!” his coach calls.

“I’ll find you later?” he asks. Your eyebrows lower in confusion. You know he typically goes straight back to his school after a game with his team. But you just meekly nod.

The game ends in a tie. Zach texts you that he’ll meet you outside in front and takes a rushed, hot shower in the locker room.

You’re standing under a streetlamp outside of the stadium, spectators pooling out of wide doors. The rain is simply spitting now, your umbrella closed in your hand.

When you watch Zach pace towards you, all cleaned up after a shower, a big duffel bag over his shoulder, you’re so happy you came. Even though it hurts, it also feels so good to see him.

“You’re walking totally fine,” you say when he approaches you. “Did you fake it?”

He loves how you make a joke right away because that’s what you would do when you were together and it’s nice to feel like you are.

Zach laughs and pulls you in for a hug and you hate how the smell of his shampoo makes an uncomfortable nostalgia rush through you.

But this is who Zach is. He’s always been warm and affectionate and cheerful.

He notices how tense you are in his arms and pulls back quickly. Maybe giving into the impulse to hold you was a bad idea.

“A yellow was ridiculous, right?” he asks. “That deserved a red.”

You gaze up at him now that he’s so close to you and try not to get enamored.

“How bad is it?” you say, glancing down at his leg. The concern in your eyes makes his whole body feel like it’s been wrung out.

“Just a sprain,” he says. “Didn’t pull anything.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “How long are you out for?”

This feels like a conversation you’d have when you were together. Next, you’d ask if he needs a massage and that would always lead to making love, but that’s not happening this time.

“Next game isn’t until Wednesday, so I might be fine,” Zach answers. You know all about his team’s schedule, even their standings, but you don’t tell him.

A tense silence settles between you now that the small talk has been used up.

“So, this is no contact?” you ask.

Now that the break-up has been acknowledged out loud, Zach is disappointed. He liked having his head in the clouds and pretending like you’re still his.

“You texted back,” he teases, his eyes glinting in their usual playful way.

“Back,” you emphasize, pointing to him, finally cracking a smile. “You started it.”

“We can be friends, right?” Zach says. “It’s weird not talking to you.”

Being friends hurts. You both agreed to that. But he’s here already and things feel so good with him, so you ignore your instincts.

“Sure,” you simply say. Your short response throws him off.

“Nice campus,” he says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I was gonna give you a tour when...” When he visited as your boyfriend. You never made it that far.

It was unlike Zach, the way he started to flake on promises to visit or call. You gave him grace, but you eventually reached your limit.

“You can give me a tour now,” he says, pushing the conversation into easier territory. He always had a knack for that.

“You sure you can walk?” you ask. He misses that tone of voice of yours. When you’re worried about him.

“Come on,” he says with an exaggerated scoff. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of baby.”

In reality, he always loved being babied by you.

“When are you guys heading back?” you ask. You already noticed the massive branded bus you assume he arrived on parked in the stadium lot.

“I drove up by myself, actually,” he tells you. “I’m gonna go see my family later.”

Your college is only half an hour away from your shared hometown. You nod and turn, silently beckoning him to walk with you.

“How are they?” you ask.

Zach shrugs, looking down. He’s always been close to his family and they always loved you, so telling them you broke up was almost as hard as the break-up itself.

“Mad at me,” he admits. “I told them it was mutual, but…”

“Yeah, your mom texted me,” you say.

“She did? What’d she say?” He sounds surprised.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you if she didn’t tell you herself.”

His mom’s message went into just how perfectly you fit into their lives, how upsetting it is that Zach let you go, how happy you make her son. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t make him happy anymore.

You remember so clearly how she ended the message. I hope this is just a temporary bump in the road.

“Come on, tell me,” he urges with a joking tone.

“Zach,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry - I, um - we shouldn’t get into this, right?”

His smile fades. With a deep breath, he nods and looks at the ground again.

“Right,” he says.

Like always, Zach gently complies. You naturally took on a more dominant role in your relationship, leading while he happily followed, even during intimacy. It’s what you bring out in each other and falling back into your roles feels effortless.

“How much time do you have?” you ask, checking your phone to see that it’s merely minutes past six.

“Couple of hours,” he tells you. “You hungry?”

You know if you tell him you’re not, he’ll feel bad dragging you to a restaurant.

“There’s a place I think you’d like,” you say.

You’re soon sitting across from each other at an on-campus eatery, talking to each other like friends, covering safe topics like classes and dorm life.

It’s not exactly easy, but you were together for so long that holding a conversation with Zach is second nature.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he finally asks, pointing to your plastic-wrapped sandwich. He’s almost done with his food, while you haven’t taken a bite.

“Later. I’m not hungry.”

“What?” Zach watches you from his side of the table, heart thrumming at the adorable way you shrug.

“You wouldn’t have gotten food if you knew I wasn’t going to eat.”

“Oh, my God,” he laughs.

“You know I’m right.”

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You both awkwardly straighten in your seats, bodies firming as far apart as possible. Your knees pull together. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” Zach’s voice is low, eyes focused on the table. The term of endearment he used to always use for you just slipped out.

You feel stupid for thinking this would be okay. It’s way too hard to pretend like you don’t love him. You collect your bag and umbrella off the table.

“I should go. It was good to see you,” you mumble.

“You’re leaving?” Zach asks, a slight whine to his tone.

“This was a bad idea,” you say, avoiding eye contact, words quiet and rushed. “You should go see your family.”

You rush out of the building into the dark evening, the cold air pressing against your skin, hot tears welling in your eyes.

Zach’s leg is aching as he jogs behind you, but he’d do anything for you just talk to him, at least look at him one more time.

“Wait,” you hear. “Please.” The desperation in his voice is what gets you to slow down, letting him close the rest of the distance.

You’re standing on a pathway between a building and a courtyard, chewing on your lip, grateful nobody else seems to be around.

When Zach catches up to you, his chin dips as he studies your face, raising his hands inches away from your cheeks just to promptly lower them.

Your eyes are just as wet as they were the night you broke up.

“What?” you mutter.

“I’m sorry I called you that,” he says, breaths shallow. “Old habit.”

“We said no contact,” you tell him. You swallow hard. “We should have stuck to it.”

“Are you mad at me for texting you?” His stare is deep and so painfully sorry.

You’ve been on the receiving end of this look so many times. He was always on the sensitive side, needing reassurance that you weren’t upset with him.

Despite everything, you’re not mad. Your heart is broken, but you’re not mad.

“No,“ you say, “But we can’t be friends, okay? After what we… I just can’t.”

“So, nothing?” he says. “We’re just nothing now?”

“It’s what we agreed on,” you respond resolutely. “Just because this is easy for you doesn’t mean it is for me.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Zach puts a hand over his heart. You scoff at this, looking down, gently wiping under your bottom lashes. “It’s not.”

He puts his hands on his hips, grimacing.

“Why’d we break up?” he asks, voice thin.

“Zach,” you breathe. Just like that, the wound you’ve been working on patching up splits open again.

“I love you,” he says, hot tears building in the corners of his eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you say. The fact that you don’t say you love him back breaks him. “Do you not remember how bad it was?”

“We made each other so happy,” he retaliates.

“We weren’t even a couple by the end,” you say. “You got too busy for me, remember?”

“Don’t,” Zach mumbles. “I wasn’t too busy for you. You stopped trying.”

“We’ll just talk in circles,” you sigh, frustration bubbling inside you. You had this talk so many times. “I don’t have another three-hour conversation in me.”

He still has bad dreams about that night.

“See?” he says with a frustrated shrug. “You gave up.”

“You used to act lucky that you had me,” you say, your temper flaring. “Then I became a chore. Would you fight for me if I made you feel like a chore?”

“I’d fight for you no matter what,” he says.

“You’re not listening to me.” At this point, he’s being selfish by talking this to death. It’ll end the same way.

“As soon as it got hard, you left,” he says.

“As soon as it got hard? I tried for two months, Zach. You were so busy and got so distant and-”

“That didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you,” he counters. “There’s so much pressure on me with soccer and my scholarship.”

“I know and I tried to be there for you but I only added to that pressure,” you say. “Keeping up a relationship was too much work.”

“No, babe, I-” He winces. “Sorry. Just… Don’t you remember how good we used to be? How the summer was?”

You try not to think about it. The summer before college was perfect. You spent all your time together. You gave each other your virginities. You were sure you’d be together forever.

“I remember saying we’d find time for each other no matter what,” you mutter.

Guilt floods him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Zach says.

“I know you are.”

He apologized so many times and nothing changed. He said he’d drive up to visit you. He never did. He told you he’d call you. Then he bailed more than half the time. That wasn’t the man you knew. You could feel him falling out of love with you.

“I thought we could get through the hard times,” he says. There’s that unrealistic idealism of his. You shake your head.

“My best wasn’t enough for us, Zach,” you say.

“Yeah, neither was mine, apparently.”

You nod, throat aching from your tears.

“Go see your family. They miss you. And don’t tell them we saw each other,” you suggest. “It’ll just give them false hope.”

Zach both loves and hates that the last thing you say before you walk away is something protective and considerate about his family. But your kindness is one of the many things he fell in love with you for, so it’s no surprise.

An hour later, you’re curled up on your bed, watching a comfort show with the lights off when you hear a knock on your door.

Zach’s heart is pounding in his ears. He still has your address from when he sent you flowers as a sorry for flaking on a video call you two had planned back when you were still together.

All he did since you left him standing by the courtyard is sit in his car and think and cry. He feels like an idiot for ever making you feel like a chore.

When you pause your show, turn on the lights and swing open the door, your body goes cold. His eyes are red and puffy from crying.

“Did you stop loving me?” he asks. “I need to know.”

You take his hand, the first contact you’ve had in months, and pull him into your room so that your neighbors don’t hear your private heartbreak.

The door shuts behind you and you stand across from him, trying to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t let you, his cool palm pressed against your fingers.

“Did you?” Zach urges.

You glare up at him, cheeks burning from how many tears you wiped away.

“No,” you admit.

“Then why aren’t we together?” he pleads. “You just have to remember why you love me.”

You let him continue to hold your hand. The contact feels so good.

“I never forgot,” you say.

“Then tell me,” he urges. “Tell me why.”

“I…” You look down.

“You want me to go first?” he says. “I love you because you bring out the best in me. I love how when we joke around, we annoy the people around us and you never care.”

You huff a chuckle. Too many times to count, you’d send each other into a fit of laughter, leaving your friends or families confused over what was so funny.

“You went to every single one of my home games in high school,” he continues, “even though I know you hated it.”

“I liked it,” you counter. He smirks. You always had such a big heart.

“Try for me. Please,” he says. “We’ll make it this time.”

You’re silent and it scares him. You could be seconds away from telling him to leave.

“This is why I love you,” you say. “You’re so optimistic that it’s irritating.”

Zach laughs, still holding onto your hand.

“What else?” he asks lowly.

“You’re funny and sweet and…” you say through tears. “When you care about someone, you care so hard. That’s why…”

You loosen your hand out of his grip. His heart feels like it’s been wrung out.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you didn’t make time for us. It felt like you stopped caring. Like you stopped loving me and you didn’t know how to tell me.”

“I never stopped loving you, babe, I swear,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to deal with everything.”

Zach didn’t anticipate how hard keeping up with classes and practices and games would be, especially with the weight of his scholarship looming over him. He failed making you a priority. He knows that.

“It was hard and it only got harder when we broke up,” he says a little quieter.

You frown and Zach cups your face with his hands. His thumbs slowly rub over your cheeks as his gaze penetrates you.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” he says, words rushed. “I just want you to know you were never a chore. You were the best thing in my life. I messed up.”

The way your lashes flutter as you blink away tears makes what’s left of his heart crumble.

“What’ll it take?” he asks. “I’ll drive up here every weekend. We’ll talk on the phone every night. I’ll text you all day and I promise I won’t flake.”

“That’s crazy,” you say with a soft laugh.

Although he’s the more passive of you two, he’s determined that he’ll make it with you. He can’t picture a world where you’re not his and he’s not yours.

“I’ll do it.” You meet Zach’s eyes and you can tell that he wholly, sincerely means it.

“That’s not what I need,” you tell him with a small smile. The love in your gaze is exactly why you always felt like home to him. “I just need the you who kept promises and made time for me. When we were together, you were present. Like this.”

“Anything you need,” he says eagerly, head bobbing with quick nods, making you giggle. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You revel in how his long thumbs drag over your skin, gazing at you through desperate eyes. Being so close to him causes a gentle heat to trickle through your body.

“You can do more than that,” you reply. He smiles and exhales sharply in excitement, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

Zach’s stomach tightens the second he feels the softness of your lips and the taste of your tongue. He slowly dips to kiss your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of you that he has smelled so many times.

His hands trail down your waist and over the curve of your hips, pulling you as close to him as possible, gripping just tight enough not to hurt you.

You always loved this about him. He makes you feel so cherished.

Your hands are in Zach’s hair as his hot mouth smacks on your skin. His body curves against yours perfectly, a piece completing the puzzle you missed being a part of for so long.

You can feel him growing hard against you and you lower a hand to rub him over his jeans, making him groan against your neck.

“Already?” you tease in a whisper. He chuckles, missing your touch and your voice and how hot it is when you taunt him.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Zach groans. You smile. He hardly ever swears, usually reserving it just for moments like these.

His fingers dip below the hem of your shirt, his skin warm against yours. He feels you nod, granting him permission.

As soon as he pulls your top off of you, he groans in delight when he sees that you’re braless. As he leans down to kiss you again, you push his jacket down his shoulders. He promptly and impatiently tugs it off, followed by his shirt, earning a laugh from you for his enthusiasm.

You gently push him backwards, straggling to your bed together. Zach lies down, desperately reaching for you as he watches you lean down over him.

You straddle him, kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around you tightly as your bare chests press together.

His love for you consumes him, driving him to pull back and kiss you all over, puckering his lips over your cheeks and your nose and your forehead.

“Babe,” you laugh.

“I’m so sorry I made you so sad,” Zach says between kisses. “I’m so sorry I let you walk away.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say as he continues to pepper soft kisses over your skin. “We’re never fighting again, okay?”

“Never.” You always say this after a fight. It never sticks, but you both love pretending it will.

You thought you were destined to experience these shared quirks through memories only. But now Zach’s here in your dorm room, panting beneath you, holding you like he might die if you pull away.

You feel him buck his hips forward, his hands squeezing your waist. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip.

“You want me, hmm?” you purr, the power you have over him filling you with excitement.

“I need you,” he whines. His breath is warm against your cheek. “So bad.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, rolling your hips. The sensation of you grinding on him is so perfect. He couldn’t ever feel another girl like this and he wouldn’t want to.

“I wanna taste you,” Zach says. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Take my pants off.” You shift to kiss him, smiling against his lips as he pushes your bottoms and panties down with eager hands.

You kick off your clothes and shuffle to hover over his face, your naked core inches away from his mouth.

Zach’s hands hook around your thighs, beckoning you to lower your hips, hungry for you. You inhale sharply once you feel his hot tongue press against your folds.

He knows you well, knows where to lick and suck to earn moans from you. You look down at him, his eyes closed as he laps at you, fingers dug into your flesh.

“That’s so good,” you say. “You’re so good with your mouth.” The praise makes him suck even harder. You tremble as you slowly roll your hips on his face.

“I love how you taste,” Zach says, muffled. “I can’t live without you.”

You throw your head back, pleasure flooding your body at the sensations and his words. You put a hand in his hair, lightly tugging as he works his mouth with slow, hard movements.

You start to breathe harder, tension coiling in your stomach.

“Can we…” he asks. He’s starving to feel you from the inside. You look down to meet his striking, needy eyes. You know exactly what he wants.

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Please, yes, yes.”

“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you coo. He nearly rolls his eyes from the pleasure of hearing you talk like this again.

You put him out of his misery when you pull his pants and briefs off of him. You sit on your knees above him, taking his length in your hand and earning a groan from him.

“Where’d you hurt your leg today?” you ask, stroking him up and down. “Want me to massage it?”

“I just want you to ride me, babe, please,” Zach shudders.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you?” Your eyes are locked on his as you caress him, rolling your wrist.

“You are,” he says, whimpering at this point. “Please let me feel you. I miss you.”

Your body remembers Zach’s perfectly. As you sink onto him, sitting up, every muscle in your body loosens. He dips his head back, lips parting, jaw sharp.

“Shit,” he groans as you squeeze him in your soft heat. “You’re perfect.” His hands run over your thighs, your hips, your waist. He pulls you down so he can kiss you again.

“So big,” you whisper, noses nudging together as you rock slowly.

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says, his voice gently shaking. “Even if you don’t want me.”

“Zach,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s crying again. “I’ll always want you.”

You drag a thumb under his eye, cleaning away a warm tear. He nods, looking at you with a sorrowful gaze.

“Do you promise?” he asks.

“I promise,” you say. “My sweet boy.” He trembles at your words. You kiss him again, your pace starting to quicken, the pressure of him inside you so nice.

Zach swallows hard, forcing himself to believe you. Breaking up shattered him. He can’t go through it again.

“Hey,” he says against your lips.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” You’ve loosely talked about the future before, but he has never said these words to you out loud. Your heart numbs.

“Do you promise?” you whisper with a smile. The coil in your core tightens again, making your breath shake.

“I promise.” Zach feels you clenching around him and he can’t stop himself. His muscles tense and he tightens his jaw as he feels himself reach his peak.

“There you go,” you praise as he shudders beneath you. The drunk look on his face is what makes you climax, joining him in his euphoria.

He’s heaving beneath you, your skin taut and warm and sticking together. You shift to rest your head on his shoulder and he finds your hand immediately, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you say, your heart burning.

Zach holds your hand inches away from his face, a finger tracing down one of yours.

“Do you still have it?” he asks, afraid of your answer. You look at your ring finger, where you used to wear his promise ring.

“I couldn’t get rid of it if I wanted to,” you say. He shifts to meet your gaze, his eyes still glossy. “It’s in my dresser.”

“Will you wear it again?”

“Of course,” you say. “And I’ll get one for you, too.”

The thought of having a constant reminder of your love for him on his hand makes his stomach flip. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he beams at you.

“How’d I play today?” he murmurs. Zach would always ask your opinion on how he did after a game. Tonight’s no different.

“Amazing,” you say. “I… I’ve actually been following your team. I know we said no contact, but…”

Zach’s elated that you cared enough to follow his progress.

“I’ve been checking every social media account you have every day,” he admits.

You giggle and he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose into your hair. Suddenly, the memory of your argument outside rushes back into your mind.

“Wait, did you go home?” you ask.

“No, I just… sat in my car,” he tells you.

“What? Zach,” you say, voice heavy. “Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“I never told them I’d be in town,” he confesses. You shift to look at him again. “I knew that when we saw each other, we’d… realize we should be together. And I knew I’d only want to spend the night with you. I’m sorry - I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

Zach’s undying faith in your relationship melts you. Even after a messy break-up and a month apart, he believed in you two making it.

You nod, pinching his cheek, making him smile again.

“We could go now, if you want,” you offer. “They’d be so happy to see that we’re back together.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud makes Zach’s heart leap.

“Next time,” he says, squeezing you tight. “Right now, it’s just you and me. And eventually, we’ll be sleeping in the same bed every night and there won’t be any distance at all.”

You can’t wait. Neither can he.

(continuation blurb)

author’s note: i started this blog with the intention to write for rafe only but my friend showed me the zach maclaren light and for that @juniebugg i owe you my life 🫡

[askdiscordwhooves]

This update was drawn by me, @jitterbugjive

I want to address one thing that I KNOW some people are going to complain about because they've already complained about if it would happen, and that’s The Doctor and Derpy getting together in the end. I understand the concerns. This is in no way meant to say ‘your abusers will eventually change for the better if you just say the right things to them’. This isn’t that kind of story. These are special circumstances that DO NOT EXIST in real life where the abuser was under MAGICAL mind control. That’s not who he actually is and when he’s himself he’s not remotely an abuser. He is safe from having a relapse, the curse is gone and over with because the core Discord was killed while the fragment left over in their universe has been reformed.

 Real abusers are not under any kind of puppetry or mind control when they do what they do, and no not even getting drunk counts as this because when someone is an abusive drunk they’re still choosing to get drunk when they are well aware of what they do when under the influence. If The Doctor did any of this abuse on his own terms, I wouldn’t have let them get back together. I’m an abuse survivor, I know better than that. When you try to compare completely fantasy scenarios that can’t happen in real life to.. Well, real life, you’re kind of reaching at straws at that point. Besides, this relationship wasn’t automatically better just because he returned to normal. Both of them suffered damage and trauma and both needed to navigate around it to be able to trust one another again. If there’s any kind of comparison to make, it’d be more like a loved one suffering a psychotic episode and doing horrible things they’d never do in their right mind. And some people are able to understand and forgive, while others are not. The pain of having a psychotic episode and saying and doing things that hurt people is really hard to overcome, it’s hard to trust yourself and it can be hard to make amends. But a psychotic episode does not dictate who a person is. It just doesn’t. And that’s the closest thing to reality this story is. I tried to handle this as best I could, because in my line of work recovery is the most important thing and I understand that someone coming out of a bad episode needs support and compassion (Unless they’re a terrible person in general) and there have been extreme cases where perfectly good people end up going as far as murder- even murdering their own children, but their loved ones are able to reason that they were sick and they are going to suffer great pain upon realizing what they’d done, and they are going to seek help. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who did terrible things in a psychotic state, and that’s within your right, but it doesn’t mean people who can forgive are any less valid. Listen, if a husband can be capable of not blaming his wife for killing their kids in a psychotic state (a very real event that happened rather recently, simply google “wife psychosis news killed children husband forgives” and you’ll find it), it's perfectly reasonable that someone can forgive someone who was under magical mind control.

If you are in a physically abusive relationship, you need to get out of it. The likelihood of this person changing for the better is extremely low, and you can’t cling to the idea of the rare few people who manage to work through these kind of things. Those are very special circumstances and in my opinion if there’s a relapse into violence after making genuine efforts to change, that should be the end of it once and for all. It shouldn’t be happening to begin with, it should not be tolerated. You matter, you deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. Never let anyone tell you or make you feel otherwise. Please take care of yourselves, and DO NOT use this story as a basis for how to manage your own relationships, no matter how much you might think you see yourselves in it. This is fiction, and the scenarios in this story do not happen in real life. If you can’t discern reality from fiction, that is all on you, not me.

[euphoricfilter]

im in LOVE w your yandere ddlg fics… can i request one w namjoon? 🫣🫣 i feel like he fits the ddlg concept so well ugh

𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦:

pairing: yandere! namjoon x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || established relationship au ||

summary: if namjoon’s life were a book, he thinks the day his eyes set on you, it had been the start of a fairytale. where he is the prince, and you, his princess.

word count: 5.5k

tags/ warnings: disgusting amounts of fluff, buff bf namjoon, reader is definitely an ipad baby, she’s also very very spoiled, and very very shy, ddlg themes, non-sexual dom joon, descriptions of murder, a few references to literature, smut in the forms of: unprotected sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), dom! namjoon, sub! reader, he’s girthy, size kink, cockwarming, belly bulge, dick riding, female masturbation, fingering, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, lots of praise, and she’s a bit of a pillow princess, aftercare

notes: i agree!! he fits this concept so well!! and thank you for reading my other works babes! and here i present my last post of 2022! if there are mistakes, no there aren’t you didn’t see anything

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You were Namjoon’s fairytale dream. A distressed princess locked in the wicked witch’s tower— that was this corrupt world that the two of you lived in.

Him, your knight in shining armour, sweeping you off your feet and dressing you in pretty dresses and jewels just like a true princess.

Truthfully Namjoon liked the classics better, words articulated like poetry and feelings forever carved into paper with ink. Little pieces of each author weaved into each book they’d ever written, secrets between pages and fantasies hidden behind flowery words. Hours upon hours of knowledge stacked up in Namjoon’s mind, useless little things that no one had ever cared to ask him about.

Perhaps romance novels were his guilty pleasure. That sickly feeling you get, reading about two people so in love that you have to sit back and realise that your own life is nothing more than a slow burn. Where truly, you’re the side character that is left and forgotten, watching the people around you— the main cast of the story, fall in love and find their god-awful happiness that you can only dream of.

You see, Namjoon had learnt how patience was a virtue. He’d waited year and years for that love story, for the perfect, pure, unadulterated adoration for another human, like in all those romance novels.

Countless flings and unexplainable anger from all the women who had shattered his heart over and over again had led him to you. Had steered him towards the right path. Perhaps like the yellow brick road, him being Dorothy and you, Emerald City. His final destination.

You’d always been awfully shy. Something Namjoon completely adored about you. Something he knew you were a little insecure about; among other things.

His remedy to your doubt, fucking you until all you knew was his and your names. Fucked so dumb you could only cry, clinging onto him like he weren’t the wolf and you weren’t little red, pure white dove chomped and chewed in his jaws like Carol Ann Duffey had described— you locked in his claws as he ripped away at tattered old clothing.

Past relationships had ended on bad terms for you, similar to himself, because it seemed no one had ever taken the time to read into you properly. Hadn’t taken the time to map out your story on paper and analyze you; the perfect specimen, the apple of his eye, a goddess among humans and his pretty little princess.

So soft and so pretty. Something a little sick, twisted, in his mind that he’d been able to lock you away in a cage like a bird, delicate little wings snapped in two where escape was impossible; thoughts of a life without him nothing more than a breathy whisper in the wind.

“Which one do you want today, sweetheart?” Namjoon’s arm laces around your shoulder, tugging you closer into his side. Your Mary Janes tapping gently against the tile floor.

You peer into the display case, fingers tightly clasped around the sleeve of his hoodie; an anchor for your fraying feelings, anxiety creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t rush you, simply raising an eyebrow at the worker behind the counter who gets angsty at your thoughtful pondering. Line of customers slowly building behind the two of you; and Namjoon can hear a few impatient mutters.

“Strawberry, please” you fall back into his side, weight solely dependent on Namjoon holding you up.

Your boyfriend turns his attention back towards the barista, fingers carding through your hair.

“One americano, a hot chocolate and one of the strawberry cakes, thank you” he turns his attention back to you; watching as you rock and forth on your heels.

“Why don’t you go and pick a table out for us, darling?”

You hum, fingers tugging at his sleeve mindlessly once more before you’re scampering towards a table by the window.

Namjoon feels his cock twitch in his pants as you bend over the table slightly, collecting the discarded straw wrappers that had been left on the table; and he watches your skirt raise a little up your thighs, supple skin taunting him.

He doesn’t bother with whatever the barista tells him, pushing his card across the counter as he watches you; legs bouncing anxiously as you grip the hem of your shirt, finally taking a seat.

He waves at you as he waits at the end of the counter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee thick in the air and Namjoon worries about the impeding headache you’re sure to have.

“Here you go, pretty” he places the tray in the middle of the table, tutting when you go to grab your mug of hot chocolate. You simply fall back into your chair, eyes trained on Namjoon’s hand as he places your drink before you.

“Thank you” you smile up at him as he pulls out the chair beside you.

“You’re welcome” he coos, dragging your chair closer to his own, his neck craning to kiss your temple.

Your smile is shy though your attention is quickly snatched by his fingers that dig around the pocket of his hoodie.

He pushes his phone to your side of the table, hand laying heavy on the back of your neck as you pick it up.

“I’m gonna get a new high score” you tell your boyfriend, turning to give him a determined smile as your tap tap tile game loads.

“Yeah?” he asks, eye smile so pretty you get lost looking at him for a moment. Only snapping out of your own little reverie when he blows on your hot chocolate. “Drink up” he reminds you.

You nod, delicate fingers picking your mug up by the handle, and you watch as Namjoon brings his own coffee to his lips for a taste.

“Good?”

You nod, “Good”

Namjoon’s thumb continues to brush over the back of your neck as you hunch over the table, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you load up one of the songs of your game.

Your mouth falls open when Namjoon’s fingers dig into the back of your hair, tugging your head back.

He watches as your lips close around the forkful of cake he feeds you, endeared smile on his face as a little bit of the cream clings to the corners of your lips. You don’t seem to take much notice as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

Your lips part after swallowing, tongue peeking out to lick at the pad of Namjoon’s thumb before he’s slipping it into your mouth.

“Yummy?” he asks, and you fall back into your chair— game suddenly long forgotten as Namjoon’s thumb lays heavy on your tongue.

You nod, fingers itching for the fork. Your boyfriend simply tuts, “Let me do that for you” his thumb slips out of your mouth, soon replaced with another large forkful of strawberries and cream.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Namjoon’s attention is quickly snatched from his laptop when he hears a gentle knock on the door of his home office.

You always seemed to count a few seconds before you opened the door, always mindful that he was often busy; even if he’d made it clear that he was never too busy for you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he closes his laptop, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not in bed” you whisper, still lingering in the doorway. Frilly-socked feet shuffling anxiously against the carpet.

Namjoon thinks you look like a dream, eyes heavy with lingering sleep, thin strap of your silk nightdress slipping off your shoulder as you curl in on yourself. Always ever so shy, even after years together.

He’d taken his time pampering you that evening. An hour spent in the bath where’d he’d lathered your body in thick suds of soap, sweet smelling like roses that had sat in the summer sun all afternoon, skin warm like petals that had basked in the golden rays of light. Silent promises of a love that will last forever, until he takes his last breath, until the world ceases to exist and his love can longer be— traced under light fingertips that knew your body better than you ever would.

You squirmed as he’d rubbed lotion into every inch of skin your body had to offer— body his temple, your soul his goddess that he worshiped like you were his only purpose in life. Each breath he took, every step he’d continue to take, everything for you.

You’d laid spread across his lap as he’d worked any knots out of your back before dressing you up pretty for bed. Flimsy silk nightdress tickling your skin, brushing against bare thighs, where Namjoon’s hands had the freedom to roam your body until you’d been giggling at him to stop.

His favorite pastime, brushing your hair before bed; his hands those of Rumplestiltskin, each strand treated like intricately created golden thread, gentle as he tugs each knot until perfect.

He’d been there when you’d fallen asleep, bones jelly after he’d fingered you to an orgasm and mind nothing more than cotton candy softness as you’d tugged your precious little bunny to your chest. A gift he’d given you your first date together; and although you claimed you never had favorites , it was always his bunny that remained in your arms as you slept.

And truly he thought tonight he would finish up the last of the project he’d been given, the rest of the week yours; his time cupped in your hands to use however you pleased. The smile you were sure to give him each day after work, worth the pain of a single one nighter.

“I have some work to finish up, why don’t you go lay down, and I’ll be there in a little while” he tilts his head, gentle smile toying at the corners of his lips.

Your lips mould into a pout, “No” you shake your head, voice pulling out a little whiny “You have to come with me, Joonie. Right now”

“But I’m busy, darling” he coos, rolling his chair away from his desk. Legs falling open and he wonders how long it’ll take you to crawl into his lap.

He watches you thrown yourself to the floor, falling to your knees with a dull thump, and he worries they’ll bruise. You don’t seem to care, too pre-occupied with the start of your bubbling tantrum to care about any future injuries; you’ll be sure to milk all of your boyfriend’s sympathy when you he patches you up later. Crying until he’s kissing it all better, and maybe he’ll buy you a gift for being so brave.

He’d seen you scrolling through a few shops online earlier in the day before dinner, rosy-red blush painting your cheeks at a few items you’d hopefully saved.

You hiccup, stuffed bunny clung to your chest as you shake your head. “No, no” you sniffle, “You have to come now” your legs kick a little underneath you.

It was no secret that Namjoon liked to spoil you. Truthfully, he didn’t see the issue— what else was he supposed to do when housing a little princess? If you wanted something then who was he to say no?

Especially when you looked up at him through wet lashes, tears clinging to your cheeks like freshly fallen rain would the petal of a flower.

“Don’t cry” he frowns, heart clenching at the utter distraught on your face; cheeks glazed in saline tears and eyes watery, another miserable cry ready to slip past your lips. “Come here, my precious little baby”

The sob you let out is pitiful, bunny’s fluffy little paw held so tight in your hand as you push yourself to stand. Floppy ears soaking up your tears as you wipe your cheeks.

Namjoon’s hand’s curl under your thighs as you push yourself into his lap, a new wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.

“oh dolly” he croons, “You’ve been fussy all day, haven’t you? What’s wrong?”

Your arms wrap around his neck, face tucked tightly into his shoulder as you choke on another sob. Bunny tucked between your chests.

His thumb is gentle as it brushes over the top of your thighs.

“Tell me what happened” he rests his cheek against the top of your head, mean little smile pulling at his cheeks as your sobs fizzle to little hiccups.

“Work” you whisper, fingers threading into his hair, tugging rhythmically as you mouth at his neck.

“What happened at work?”

You whine, pushing your body flush against Namjoon’s. His hands wander, grabbing your ass as you rock forwards; bare pussy brushing over his pyjama pants.

“There’s a— there’s a new guy” your hips falter and Namjoon holds in a groan as your weight settles right over his cock.

Namjoon hums, “What about him?”

“He—“ a breathy moan drips off your tongue as his fingers dig into the meat of your ass.

“He what, darling? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong” he murmurs, fingers mean as he tugs your face away from his neck by the back of your hair.

Your mouth falls open, and Namjoon watches your eyes glaze over, though this time it’s not tears; and he wonders if you can see how ruined you look in the reflection of his glasses.

“Tell me” your thighs clenching at his tone.

You whimper, “He said a bad word, can’t say it”

Namjoon’s head tips backwards, “Go ahead and say it, baby. I won’t get mad”

“Promise?”

He smiles, endeared “Promise”

“He asked me on a date” your fingers grasp onto the neckline of his shirt, and your boyfriend hums, “I said no, because I have a boyfriend”

“And?”

He watches as your bottom lip quivers, breath hitching in your throat. “Said you didn’t need to know, could be a quick fuck in the back room”

Namjoon’s jaw ticks, “What’s his name?” his fingers skim over your jaw, your hips jutting forward. “Name, darling”

“Jimin” you breathe, “Told Nana, and she said she’d talk to him”

“Yeah?” Namjoon hums, “I’ll sort him out, okay?”

“Okay” you nod.

“Well done for telling me, darling” he smiles, an attempt to ease any lingering anxiety you had. The last thing he wanted was for you to hate work when you enjoyed it so much.

Your hips rut forwards, Namjoon pulling your nightdress up around your hips, watching as your bare cunt drags over his slowly hardening cock.

You lean forwards, lips brushing over Namjoon’s jaw as his hands guide your hips. You moan as the head of his cock brushes over your clit.

“Feel good, darling?” Namjoon’s breathing is heavy, one of his arms tucking under your thighs as he hoists you further up his chest, his free hand tugging his pants down.

Your hand travels between your bodies, tips of your fingers brushing over Namjoon’s slit, precum oozing out the tip as your hand runs down his length.

“Up you get” he helps you, head of his cock running through your slit as you roll your hips forwards.

You bite down on your bottom lip, watery whines bubbling up your throat with each nudge of your boyfriend’s cock running over your clit. Arousal seeps past your folds down Namjoon’s length.

You hold his cock against your cunt, Namjoon’s fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave bruises, but you didn’t seem to care all that much as your hips roll forward.

“Inside Joonie” you whine, tongue laving over the skin of his neck.

Namjoon takes a hold of the base of his cock, and you use his shoulders as leverage, chair wobbling under your joint weight as you line up his cockhead with your hole.

Your fingers run through your folds, wetness soaking your fingers as you circle your clit gently, Namjoon helping you as the tip of his cock brushes over your hole. And you let out an involuntary whine as the stimulation.

Your arms wrap around Namjoon’s neck, head of his cock splitting you open as you ease yourself down an inch before you’re pulling off slowly.

“Your pretty little pussy is so small” Namjoon groans. Flared cockhead pulling your pussy taught as you try and ease down lower.

You breath gets stuck in your throat, Namjoon’s fingers gently thumbing at your clit as you clench around his length. Slowly starting to stuff each agonizing inch into your cunt.

You whine as you reach the hilt, hips rutting forward messily. You moan at the lick of please that wracks through your body with each slow drag of Namjoon’s thick cock against your walls.

Namjoon pulls your face away from hiding by the back of your neck, tugging you until your lips mould into one, tongue pushed into your mouth, fresh minty toothpaste coating his tastebuds.

You start to bounce in his lap, childish impatience starting to take over as you chase after an orgasm. Always a little greedy when it came to your own pleasure, using Namjoon to get yourself off before you ever allow him to chase his own release.

“That’s it” he moans, unabashed in his arousal.

Namjoon uses his legs as an anchor, holding the two of you in place, ensuring the chair doesn’t tip over as the back of your thighs slap against the top of his own.

You moan as his thumb continues to brush over your clit, a ring of your arousal gathered at the base of his cock with each jittery raise of your hips.

“Doing so well for me” Namjoon groans, “Always such a good girl, yeah?”

“Mhmm” you nod, bunny tumbling to the floor. Long forgotten as you feel the precipice of your pleasure slowly boiling away in your stomach.

“Gonna cum for me?”

Your thighs shake at that, deep groan of pleasure shooting straight to your cunt as you continue to ride Namjoon like it were the last time.

“Go on, cum for me”

Namjoon’s hands find themselves perched under your ass, aiding you as your legs start to grow tired. Muscles in his arms bulging as he drags you up and down his length.

“So small, could use you as my own little fleshlight. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he groans, mirth swimming in his eyes.

Meanly, Namjoon pinches your clit and that’s all it takes for searing hot pleasure to wash over your body, thighs shaking at your release.

You hiccup another sob at the burning arousal as Namjoon continues to ram his cock back up inside you, thick rivulets of your slick coating his balls as he chases his own release.

“Too much” you cry, hands wrapping around his wrists as his fingers dig into your hips.

“I’m close, hold on for me” Namjoon’s head tips back.

Namjoon can feel your pussy as it pulsates around his length; you let out something akin to a squeak as you feel his cock twitch.

Mouth falling open in a silent moan as his warm cum paints your insides white.

You raise up on shaky legs, tip of his cock left nestled between your walls before you’re falling back down on his length; cum pushed deep inside of you.

“Oh my baby” he coos, fingers gentle as they brush through your hair, “Sleepy?”

You nod, words fizzling out on your tongue as you yawn.

Your cunt continues to clench around his cock, even as you fall asleep on his chest.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The bell above the door is obnoxious in announcing Namjoon’s arrival.

‘Pages of Love’ the little bookshop you worked at.

He would have gotten you to quit the shitty little job by now if it didn’t hold such significance in your relationship. He’d first met you here, had dates here, and it made you so happy that Namjoon couldn’t bare to see the sad pout that would be sure to form if he ever suggested you left this place behind.

“Namjoon” the old woman behind the counter smiles, waving him over. “I’m sure you’re aware but it’s y/n’s day off”

“Actually, Nana, I’m here for something else” he smiles, expression saddened and the old woman frowns.

“Anything” she nods.

“It’s about Jimin. He doesn’t happen to be working today, does he?”

“He’s on break right now.” She tuts, “Is this about what he said to y/n. I’ve already warned him about it”

“She came home upset” he shakes his head and Nana sighs.

“Poor girl. She’s lucky to have you, Namjoon”

“Thank you” his smile is genuine, though it drops the moment he steps out the door.

And he waits, waits weeks before he decided what he wants to do with the lowly piece of shit that dared suggest you cheat on him.

Waited weeks as he wrote down every sick little fantasy he had about the ways he’d maul his body. Shredding limbs, gutting him alive. Maybe he’d decapitate him and then send his head to his mother, or chop his filthy dick off and make him watch as he fed it to whatever animal is willing to chew on nearly nothing.

Written fantasies weren’t enough. Namjoon’s fingers always itching, always eager to finally wrap around the boy’s lithe throat and make him beg for mercy until his face is red and pride oozing out of his body with his fear.

“I’m gonna be home late tonight, little one” Namjoon tucks your hair behind your ear, gentle smile rivaling your frown.

“Why?” you ask, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“I have a small job I need to take care of”

“Can I help?”

“Nope” he leans down, soft feathery kiss pressed to you cheek before he’s pulling back, standing at full height.

You look up at him, “You can’t go”

“And why not?” he challenges.

“Because” your defense weak and truly Namjoon wishes he could stay.

“I charged your ipad this morning” and your eyes light up.

“Be quick, okay?” you push yourself up on your tippy toes, hands cupping his cheeks as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Promise” he smiles, “Now be a good girl, and don’t cause any trouble”

“I won’t” you wave him off.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Namjoon isn’t exactly sure what he expects to see when he finally gets home, a quick detour to Seokjin’s house to wash off Jimin’s blood and a change of clothes taking longer than he’d anticipated when his friend had insisted on making them both tea.

He can’t help the groan that bubbles up his throat at the sight of you. Skirt flipped up with three fingers, knuckle deep inside your pretty little pussy as you play a colour by number game on your ipad.

“Fucking hell, darling” he kicks his shoes off, jacket long forgotten on the floor as he crouches down in front of you.

You pull your slick covered fingers out of your cunt, gently circling your clit as you blink down at him.

“Couldn’t wait until I got home?”

“I got bored” you whine, legs falling open wider and Namjoon takes that as his invitation to run his thumb through your slit.

His hands hold your thighs in place as he leans down to press a kiss over your clit, tongue slipping from between his lips to lick over the bundle of nerves.

You hips stutter as his tongue drags across your folds, another wave of arousal seeping out your cunt at the unexpected nudge of his tongue against you hole.

Your fingers tangle into your boyfriend’s hair as he sucks over your clit, fingers teasing your entrance before he’s pushing two fingers inside of you.

“How pretty” he coos, accompanied by a wet squelch. “The prettiest little pussy, it’s a wonder how you fit anything inside of you”

You squirm, finger stuffed into your mouth as you try and hold back an embarrassed moan.

“Not little” you whine, hips chasing Namjoon’s fingers each time he pulls out.

“Oh, but you are” your thighs twitch as his warm breath brushes over your sensitive clit, hours of mindless toying with your cunt bringing you to the brink of an orgasm.

Namjoon kisses over your mound, kisses over your clit, and then kisses over his fingers as they curl up inside of you.

He can’t help the smile that pulls at his cheeks at the guttural moan you let out when he finds that particular spot inside of you.

“Cum for me, darling” his voice breathless, as he starts to scissor his fingers.

All it takes is one mean little nip to your clit and you’re tipping over the edge; legs shaking as they clamp around your boyfriend’s head.

His tongue continues to flick over your clit, fingers nestled deep within your walls as he helps you ride out your high.

“Enough” you whimper, tugging his head away from between your legs.

You squirm at the glossy sheen that covers Namjoon’s chin when he finally pulls away from your pussy.

“Well done” his hands run up and down your trembling thighs, “Think you can take a little more?”

Your eyes flicker down to his cock, heavy in his pants and you nod; tongue wetting your lips.

“My good girl”

Namjoon pulls you to lay across the length of the couch, fingers tugging your blouse over your head as you shuck off your skirt.

You tug messily at the back of your bra, and Namjoon smiles, bending down to help you.

He groans, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he palms himself through his slacks.

“God, you’re so pretty”

Your squeak when he bites the plush skin, trail of kisses searing as he reaches your neck.

Your hands fumble with his pants, waistband pulled taught as your try and slip your fingers into his underwear.

“Always so impatient, aren’t you?” he coos, “here let me help you”

You pout at the loss of warmth, the loss of his large body completely covering your own; hands grabbing for neck when he sits up on his knees.

Your hips rock upwards, silently begging for any sort of stimulation as you watch Namjoon’s cock spring free, slapping against his stomach.

Your pussy gushes another wave of slick at the sight of your boyfriend with his hand wrapped around his cock, his hands always had been big; swallowing the girth of his cock when your fingers barely wrapped around it.

You can feel the phantom ache in your jaw, countless times he’d shoved his dick into your mouth, splitting it open like he would your cunt with absolutely no mercy.

“You’re staring” though there’s no embarrassment in his tone, eyebrow lifted cocky and lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Inside, please” you whine, legs falling open enough for him to slot in place.

“Of course, sweetheart”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, eyes squeezing shut as he runs the head through the slit; slicking up his length before he’s pushing at your entrance.

“You sure you can fit me?” you can hear the laugh in his voice, retort on the tip of your tongue only he chooses that moment to nudge the tip of his cock over your clit.

“Joonie” you complain, “please, need you”

And Namjoon watches, lets you, grab onto his length, watching as you rut your hips down until he’s popping inside of you.

Your walls constrict around him, and he’s absolutely fascinated by how such a small pussy is even able to stretch around him.

“Good girl” and he can’t help the moan that follows.

He’s barely thrusting, gentle roll of his hips feeding each inch of his cock into your wet cunt.

You moan like he was ramming into you, always so sensitive, always so responsive to his touch.

“Feel good?” he asks when he finally bottoms out, thighs connected and heartbeats in sync. It’s moments like these Namjoon revels being alive, being one with you. Truly the closest you’ll ever be to one another; and he thinks he finally feels complete when lodged between your sodden walls.

“So deep” you whisper, fingers skimming over your stomach.

Namjoon pulls your legs over his shoulders, bending forwards until you’re almost folded in half.

Your moan is breathless when he gently pulls out, only to snap his hips back into you.

Your hands grasp onto the pillows of the couch as Namjoon picks up his pace, your tits bouncing, and cunt squelching with every brutal thrust into you.

“Fucking hell, you are tiny” Namjoon groans, and you whimper as his hand presses down on your lower stomach.

You dare take a look, hiccup of a moan ripped from your throat as you see it. An outline of his cock right bellow your belly button, head nudging the taught skin with each thrust into you, only for it to disappear as he pulls out.

Your fingers splay over it, cunt convulsing around his length as your feel him move under your skin.

You feel it rising, pussy swollen and worn from your previous orgasm. Namjoon seems to know, he always knows when you’re slowly climbing to the peak of high.

His fingers find clit, tight little circles sending jolts of pure, blissful pleasure through your body, another wave of arousal seeping out your cunt to soak his cock.

“Gonna cum for me?” he moans between eat thrust, “Be a good girl and cum for me”

The cry you let out is near pornographic, knees knocking against the side of Namjoon’s head as he continues to flick at your clit. Pleasure numbing that when you finally reach your high, your mind blanks, a blanket of fluff consuming you as Namjoon continues to jackhammer into your used cunt.

“Doing so well for me. So close. I’m so close” he groans, fingers finally pulling off your clit as your thighs continue to shake.

When you come to, Namjoon’s thrusts are a sloppy, thrusts barely coordinated as he ruts into you.

And your breath hitches at the final twitch of his cock, he pushes as far into you as he can before he’s cumming.

Thick waves of cum filling you up. He groans as you clench around him, walls still spasming from your own release. And he gently rocks into you, an attempt to push his cum as deep into your soiled cunt as possible.

“You did so well, darling” he swallows thickly, back of his hand wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

You whine as he begins to pull out, mixture of both your releases dribbling out of your hole.

Your thighs twitch when Namjoon parts your lips, hole clenching around nothing as you push another wave of his cum out of your pussy. His fingers scoop it up, circling your entrance before he’s pushing them back between your walls.

“What do you think about a bath?” he hums, watching your eyes fall droopy.

You nod, hands blindly grabbing for your boyfriend to pick you up.

He smiles down at you, arms slipping beneath your body to pick you up as he wanders further into the house.

You wriggle around when he flips the light on, eyes stinging a little at the sudden burst of brightness.

“Alright missy” he sits you on the toilet, and you lean your head against his hip as pee, bones too floppy to even think of holding yourself up.

You remain sat on the toilet as he runs a bath, fussy when he picks you up again though it’s easily soothed with a gentle kiss to your lips.

He thinks you fall asleep as he washes your back, gentle as his soapy hands grope your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples and you squirm at that.

Namjoon is endeared when the two of you finally get out the bath, skin soft and sweet smelling, perfect for kisses. And he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat when you kick your pyjamas away, refusing to put them on yourself when his hands were fully capable.

“Oh my little princess” he kisses both your cheeks, “How about some cake for being such a good girl?”

You see, Namjoon had always been a little bit of a liar. Had told so many lies that truly he didn’t know the what was real and what was not anymore. And if he didn’t know then you never would either.

Every little lie he’d told you from the start, every white lie, every left out detail of his life suddenly seemed insignificant when you were tucked under his chin, sleeping so peacefully, a true sleeping beauty.

And maybe he didn’t really like the classics. Maybe his real love of novels were romances, because he’d always be the prince and you’d always be his princess. A perfect fairytale that would always have a happy ending.

Because if anyone dared scribble out the pages, change his plot, then he would simply erase their existence, and the readers of his life would never know the difference.

You belonged to him. You are his as much as he is yours.

Your life his only reason. Your happiness that little spark of good that still resides inside him. And as long as you come home every day with that same pretty little smile on your face, then Namjoon feels no guilt for the countless people that lay dead, long forgotten by the world as they rest six feet under for daring bring you sadness. Because he’d erased them, with no way to wiggle their way back into the story of his life.

Because what was a prince if he couldn’t take care of a villain that would disturb his perfect fairytale ending?

[powdermelonkeg]

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

[xveenusx]

Love

Paring(s): rafe cameron x fem!reader

Summary: in which two people come to terms with how dangerous their love is, but it's impossible to leave.

Author's note: Rafe on his knees is sending me. This is part two to Hate and is complete angst because I like to hurt my own feelings. ALSO, the GIFS depict exactly what's going to happen in this peice to help you visualize it better :)

Rating: ANGSTY, but kind of a good ending but not really bc they are horrible for each other

Warnings: v toxic relationship

Part 1: Hate

━━ ★ Masterlist

_____________________

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

My head hung against the cool tile in the shower, water pounding against my body as I fought against the urge to succumb to my pain.

You won't ever be over me

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Yet, it didn't work. I couldn't block out his words as they pistoled into my mind again and again. Slapping my hand against the tile, I groaned out loud and rubbed my eyes.

Memories of my mistake continue to stampede over every coherent thought I could form. It was embarrassing how easily I gave into him, but when he touched me, all sense went out the window.

He was the chink in my armor, because when he loved me, I mean really loved me, the sun shined brighter and the world went into focus. He could ask me anything and I would have told him in a heart beat. There was just this sense of security that finally gave me the ability to be myself. I felt like I was safe and solid ground for the first time in my life.

But as time went on, there were small slip ups that caught my attention. The hushed meetings with his father, his eagerness to be around my friends, the constant Q and A about gold.

I pushed passed the alarm bells ringing in my head because I didn’t want it to end. I caught him in lie after lie which always ended in a screaming match. I’d storm away but it always ended in us finding our way back to each other. Always.

Maybe it’s wrong to say this, but I was relieved that he needed me just as bad as I needed him. He couldn’t seem to leave me alone either.

The longer we were together, I couldn’t help but begin to question why he was really with me. The idea of there being an ulterior motive for loving me paralyzed me with fear.

Because, if that was true, I didn't think I'd survive it.

So like a junkie, in every sense of the word, I gave into the drug that was Rafe Cameron and gave him anything he wanted. I became an entirely different person that I didn't recognize.

I was so desperate to be loved by him that it almost killed me.

A familiar burning behind my eyes made me smile in irony. Tears usually accompanied anything that involved Rafe.

I slowly slid down the shower wall, bringing my knees to my chest, and set my chin on top. Closing my eyes, I attempted to focus on the pounding of the water but despite the noise, it couldn’t overpower the noise in my head.

Detoxing was nearly impossible. I'd take another dose, and then another, but when the high eventually wore of—because it always did—this is what was left:

A shell of me withered down in self loathing.

I hate you.

No, you don't.

The water eventually turned cold but I refused to move from my spot on the floor. I just couldn't face him, not yet.

It hurt to fucking look at him.

A fist pounded on the bathroom door but I chose to ignore it. I shivered slightly at the ice cold water but preferred this biting pain over what awaited me on the other side of that door.

"Open the door."

I turned my head away from the door and instead rested my cheek on the top of my knee and stared at the wall.

"I'm not fucking kidding. Open the door, why is this shit locked anyway?"

I rolled my eyes. The dramatics were unmatched.

"Go away." I croaked out, hoping for once in his god damn life that he listened. "I swear to god."

"I'm shaking in my boots, babe."

Jesus Christ.

"Rafe-"

"I can hear you crying from out here."

That shut me up. I thought I was being discreet. "I'm fine. Please go away."

He pounded on the door again. "Do you really think a locked door is gonna stop me?."

My eyes closed briefly at his words. The organ in my chest that refused to listen to reason began to beat a little harder.

"Rafe, please. I need a minute." My voice cracked at the end of my plea.

It was quiet for a few moments before I heard his feet shuffle away. I relaxed in relief at his departure and lifted my head directly under the water, hoping it will clear my mind.

"Fuck this." Was all I heard before a sharp crack echoed and the door busted open.

My gaze found his and it took all my strength to not shrink under his gaze. I'm sure I was a sight for sore eyes, curled up on the floor of the shower shivering.

Rafe let out a distressed noise before moving towards me but I scooted back, throwing my palm up. “Stop.”

He stopped in his tracks with narrowed eyes. “You have about five seconds.”

“Boundaries. We need boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” He repeated slowly, making it seem like the term was foreign to him. “What the fuck for?”

“Because I need a moment. Let me cry in peace.”

Rafe nodded his head and relief let me drop my shoulders.

“Well, I’m not leaving you alone when you cry, there, that’s my boundary.”

I open my mouth and close it. He couldn’t be serious?

He shut off the water while letting out a string of curses as he took in my shivering figure. Yanking a towel off the rack, I'm suddenly enveloped in warmth as he wrapped the towel around my body and picked me up.

His scent lured me in like an old friend. Exhaustion weighed on me heavily so I gave in yet again.

I shoved my face into his neck enjoying the warmth his body provided and the shivering slowly subsided. Rafe said nothing as he set me on the edge of the bed and softly began to dry me.

He was gentle despite the severe expression he wore.

“We should probably talk.” He uttered, running the towel along my legs.

I shook my head, the desire to sleep was overwhelming.

Rafe paused. “I can already feel you pulling back from me.”

He knew me all too well.

Arguing him was pointless. We’d both end up with our voices gone and nothing solved.

“I can’t do this with you right now. I just want this day to be over.” I spoke quietly, fiddling with my fingers.

Rafe doesn’t answer me, instead he grabs some satin set and slowly started to dress me. Lifting my arms, he pulled the thin tank over my head before kneeling down and doing the same with the bottoms.

It was moments like this that almost made me cave. Rafe Cameron, of figure eight, heir to a real estate empire, was down on his knees for a Pogue.

Pressing a gentle kiss to my inner knee, he stood up, towering over me with his hand cupping my face. His face was the picture of relaxed despite our current kidnapping, but I knew it was solely because we were together.

“This can’t happen again.” The words were out of my mouth in seconds.

He just smiled, humming softly to himself as he continued to stare.

So I tried again. “You can sleep on the floor.”

That made the smile drop fast.

“You want me to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“Like the actual floor?” Rafe asked slowly, his gaze moving down to the hard wooden floor in distaste.

“The fucking floor, Rafe.”

His eyes narrowed at my tone, “Why?”

“Because I said so.” Because, my panties will be off in seconds.

“Try again. I’ll argue with you all night until you tell me why.”

“Does this not hurt you as much as it hurts me? Looking at you fucking kills me.”

“I’m going to marry you. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow. But I will marry you," He said the words so nonchalantly, you would think he was discussing the weather, "So no, it doesn’t hurt me to look at you, to be around you, because I know this is never going to end. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you."

I waited, for what seemed like forever, to hear him say these words. Yet, now that he did, I simply didn't believe it. Too much has happened. His words no longer held the weight that they used to and for a brief moment I felt a twisted sense of relief because that meant I was one step closer to being free of the shackles that chained me to him.

My brows furrowed as I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out.

I shook my head and crawled towards the front of the bed, tugging the sheets down and burrowing myself into a cocoon. "Go to sleep, Rafe."

He muttered something under his breath as he walked over to the makeshift bed on the floor. I heared some shuffling before a heavy sigh echoed in our room and I knew he finally settled.

It was for the best. My sanity needed to remain intact and this was the only way. That didn't stop me from missing the warm embrace of his body that always lulled me to sleep.

Rolling onto my side, I peaked over the side of the bed and saw his head already turned in my direction. A faint smirk tugged at the coner of his lips and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"You still want me on the floor?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes." No.

Rafe let out a chuckle before silence enveloped us and the only thing I could hear was the sound of our steady breathing. All trace of humor left his face and we stared at each other, his eyes never leaving mine. It almost appeared like he was commiting my face to memory.

"You're safe. You can go to sleep," Rafe murmured, "I won't let anything happen to you."

A familar rush of affection slammed into my chest and I forced myself to break eye contact first. I couldn't let him see the expression that adorned my face. He was embedded deeply into my soul.

"I-" I love you.

Rafe cut me off, "I know."

Curled on my side with the sheets pulled up to my neck, I closed my eyes and whispered painfully, "I wish I didn't."

I could feel his gaze burning holes into my back, but I knew better than to turn around. Sleep, I told myself, everything will be better tomorrow.

Minutes passed and I knew he wasn't going to answer.

"I know that too." Was all I heard before I embraced the darkness with open arms.

_______________

Disoriented.

That's how I woke up. My eyes felt heavy and my head drummed against my skull. This pain comparable to only being severely hungover. Yet, I barley had anything at all. It was simply the Rafe effect, also known as extreme emotional distress.

I rubbed the sleepiness from eyes while my mind betrayed me with replays of the last 24 hours. Peering over the edge of the bed, Rafe is sprawled out awkwardly on the ground sleeping. His bare chest slowly rising up and down, his necklace gleaming from the morning light that seeped into the room.

It hurt to look at him, but when I looked away, it hurt even more. The fear of forgetting what he looked like or how he sounded when he laughed consumed me. What if everything faded?

Love and hate were more similar than one would think.

As if sensing I was was awake, Rafe shifted onto his side and opened his eyes slowly. I watched as his eyes took in our surroundings before last 24 hours finally hit him.

Instantly, his eyes find mine and his body relaxes, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

He got up from his spot on the floor and made his way over to me. Sleepiness still present in his eyes, but his face was content. The bed dips and a warm hand pushed my hair out of my eyes before tracing my nose then the outline of my lips.

"Good morning." The low raspy timber of his voice had me clenching my thighs together.

I allowed myself these few seconds to bask under the glow of his attention. Swallowing down the lump in my throat at what I'm about to do, I steel the storm of emotions that brew inside me.

Moving my face out of his grasp, I shifted my body into a sitting positon, placing a slight distance between us. "I meant what I said last night. This will not happen again."

The words burned coming out my mouth.

"Can we just skip this part?"

I shot him a blank look. "What part?"

He heaves out a sigh, his large hand rubbing against his buzzed head. "Aren't you tired?"

Did he hit his head? Confused filled me as I glanced at the unmade bed. "Tired? I just slept-"

Rafe barked out a bitter laugh. "Of running. Aren't you tired of running?"

My fingers gripped my satin top in an attempt to control my anger. He would choose this exact moment to bait me. Maybe six months ago I would have taken the bait, but I was drained.

He always chose the hard way.

"Really? You want to have this conversation now?" Keep calm. Breathe.

Rafe searched my face with a serious expression, then his lips tipped. "I don't know if you remember, but we have all the time in the world."

I rolled my eyes. Despite my very weak attemps at pushing him away, Rafe never seemed discouraged. He only appeared mildly annoyed at my desperate attempts to kick him out of my life.

"You're about 6 months late on your right to have this conversation. Now, get off of my bed." I tried to shove him off. Nothing.

Blue eyes narrowed. Good, I hope he was mad. He'll finally understand what it was like to be me the past couple months.

"If you're trying to piss me off, it's working. So stop." Was all he said, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Stop doing what, Rafe? There is nothing left to talk about."

"Stop acting like you don't care."

Rafe's determined attitude was exhausting.

And somehow, despite everything, I still felt myself drawn to him, even after how poorly he's treated me.

"Acting like I don't care is all I have left." My stomach tightened at my honesty.

His cold blue eyes grew distant, clearly not liking my truth.

"You have me."

The conviction in his voice would make anyone believe him, but I wasn't going to fall for his pretty words again, no matter how badly I wished they were true.

"No, I don't. I never did so this entire conversation is pointless." I stated a matter-of-factly. "Do yourself a favor and walk away."

Clicking his tongue, Rafe shook his head at me. "There you go again, telling me what I can and cannot do."

I had to hurt him to just get the distance I needed. He'd leave me alone if I hurt him.

"What are you gonna do? Tell your dad on me?" The minute the words flew out of my mouth, I regretted them.

Artic eyes narrowed into slits and his entire demeanor shifted, his shoulders tense and face hard. "Don't talk about him."

"Got daddy issues, do you?" My mouth would not stop.

I could see that I was successfully hitting my target, but it only made my heart ache. It needed to be done though.

Rafe's expression shut off, a familiar cold look settling in his eyes. "Tread fucking lightly."

My heart thudded dangerously as I debated my next words. "I might not hate you today or tomorrow, but I will hate you. Because, hating you is better than loving you."

The words tasted like vinegar coming out of my mouth, but they had their desired effect.

Agony briefly flickers on his face, but he schooled his expression. His eyes seemed to bore through me, our stare off so intense, that I had to look away.

If I believed he could change, even if there was a slight chance, then I would have fought for us. But, I knew him like the back of my hand and Rafe was who he was—unapologetically. I didn't have any fight left.

"I know what you're doing." His voice trembled, dark and on the verge of breaking.

I closed my eyes in defeat. Of course he did. I couldn't even hurt him without him seeing straight through me.

"You want to make me the bad guy? Fine. I'm the bad guy, bad Rafe Cameron. But don't pretend for one second that I'm not under your skin just as bad."

"You are, you are and it's exhausting," I grimaced. "Does knowing that make you feel better?"

"Yes, it does because I'm not the only one feeling like this."

My throat clogged. "How much longer can we keep doing this?"

"As long as it takes for you to give in." Rafe stroked a strand of hair behind my ear, the clouds of his eyes gleaming with twisted adortion.

Frustration bubbled up the surface. He was relentless in his pursuit, not caring if he hurt me in the process. As long as I was his, nothing else matterd, even my pain.

"This isn't a game. I am not a game." I stated harshly, shoving his hand away. "I'm a person--a person who has feelings."

His expression reamined unreadable. "A person with feelings for me."

I was losing. Badly. Talking to Rafe was like talking to a brick wall.

"I've had to put myself together three times, Rafe. Three times!" I screamed, my voice cracking in despair. "Each time harder than the last."

"I finally glued myself together again and you're already pulling away the pieces. For how long am I yours this time? A week?" I pushed. "A month?"

"You've moved on before so do it again. Let me do the same." I cleared my throat to push back tears.

"You think I haven't tried?" He asked incrediously, throwing his hands up in the air in utter disbelief.

Rafe stalked over to me, his eyes brewing with anger as he pointed to the veins in his arms. "You're in so deep, I can't get you out of my system."

I knew the feeling all too well. I am not going to cry.

"'You're right here. Right fucking here and you won't go away." He reached for my hand and placed it directly on his heart which pounded wildy under my touch.

My resolve was breaking and my previous anger easing away like a silent wave. He didn't have any peace either.

The heavy weight on my chest had me leaning forward, resting my forehead against his pec, my hand still in his grasp, pressed tightly against his heart.

"Loving you almost ruined my life." Rafe was a cliff. One that I threw myself over again and again, expecting to fly only to be met with cold hard concrete.

"Again with the meladrama?" Spell broken once more. Another peice being peeled away from me.

A joke, this was all a joke to him.

"You're not listening to me. You never listen to me." I shouted directly into his face, pointing to myself, needing him to finally fucking see me.

Tears finally fell from my eyes as I stared at him with pathetic hoplessness.

"How is what I did any worse than what you did?" The world stopped spinning as his words hit my chest. Something inside me broke.

I shook my head in utter diesbelief at his words. I pushed to my feet, my hands collided with his chest as I shoved him with all my strength.

I headed straight towards the bedroom door, slamming my fists against the door in an attempt to get the guards attention. I was slowly suffocating in this room. He always managed to do this to me.

I should've known better. I mean really known better. Rafe was a mindfuck.

"Run away one more time and I swear to god-" Rafe advaced toward me, his hands reaching out for me.

No, he needed to keep his hands to himself.

"Don't talk to me." I spat, holding my hand up. Facing the door once again, I pound several more times with no response before accepting defeat.

Slumping against the door with my forehead resting against the cool wood, I pleaded, "I can't be in here any more. I just can't."

Once again, no answer.

"We're talking about this. You don't get to avoid this conversation anymore."

"Want to try that again-stop!" Rafe bent down and tossed my body over his shoulder. Anger burned through my veins as I struggled against his grip, but it did nothing to deeter him as he stalked us over to the bed.

Dropping my body roughly on the bed, he towered over me and met my gaze, warning clear in his eyes.

Swallowing my pride, I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my palms. "You can't compare our actions. They aren't even on the same playing field, Rafe,"

"I can and I am comparing them, because believe it or not baby, it's the same damn thing."

Rafe was standing directly in front of me, his large thighs caging my dainty figure in. My chest heaved up and down in anger.

"Is that what you tell yourself so you don't have to deal with the fact that you're a shitty person? I'm not listening to this." My gaze was frantic as I tried to figure out an escape plan.

"I've clearly been too nice. You don't have a fucking choice. "

"Rafe, stop it."

"No, you stop it. Why are you acting like you expected me to be a nice guy? I'm not and never will be. So, you're going to sit here and listen to what I have to say." He tone harsh and unnegotiable, grasping my chin in between his fingers.

I glared, meeting his harshness with mine. Fingers threaded into my hair as he forced my head back to stare at him.

"You knew exactly who I was when you met me. You saw the good, bad, and the ugly and still chose to fucking love me," He snarled, his hand slammed against his chest, "to love me."

Oh god. Was he right? He was.

"Then you leave me for being who you fell in love with?" Rafe's body was shaking as he jerked my head back towards his face when I tried to look away. "Knowing who I am and loving me anyway, just for you to walk away. Am I that easy to walk away from? "

His gaze was expectant but he already knew the answer. No, he wasn't easy to walk away from. It almost killed me each and every time.

"No." I answered, my voice so low it came out as a whisper.

"How is that any more cruel than what I did to you?" I couldn't answer becuase he was right. My heart bled at this point as I tried to scramble some coherent thought. I wanted to say something, anything to counter his statements but fell short.

A sob caught the back of my throat.

"So get the fuck off your high horse. I beat up Pope on figure 8 and guess who kept my bed warm after that?" He mused, his fingers brushing against my knees forcing them open more. "I shot and killed Sheriff Peterkin and you consoled me."

I gulped for air but it seemed like nothing was reaching my lungs. He was right. We were so inextricably linked that his darkness became my own. It was so easy for me to excuse all of his horrible actions simply because I love him.

The laugh he let out sent shivers down my spine. "Fuck, I almost drowned Sarah and you still opened your legs for me. Still loved me, didn't you?"

Horror filled every cell in body. I curled my arms into myself as pain slashed through my heart while my hands and arms shook.

"So which one of us is really fucked up?" Me. Him. Both.

Rafe pulled his lip into his mouth as he regarded me with dark eyes. Leaning over me, he brought his mouth to my ear, the ghost of his breath causing shivers to wrack down my spine. "The answer is between your legs."

I stopped breathing. Wetness seeped onto the silk bottoms leaving an obvious stain on my pants. I tried to close my legs, but Rafe let out a little tisk.

I thought I had a chance to save myself before I got stuck in the trecherous storm that was Rafe Cameron. I was doomed the moment I met him.

He smiled at me almost as though he knew I reached the same conclusion as he did.

Rafe lowered to his knees, resting directly in between mine, with his hands raised up. I stare down at him with broken eyes, my handsome monster kneeling on the ground for only me.

When he saw I made no point to move, his large calloused hand covered my shaking ones while the other softly grazed the damn spot in between my legs causing me to visibly tremble.

"Do you get it now? There is no after for us. There is and always will be an us." The words were spoken softly, but firm. Though his eyes weren't on me, and in stead were in between my lefs. His hold on my hands being the only thing anchoring me.

I did. I hated that I loved him. I hated how he'd never leave. I especially hated how I couldn't leave. I hated my body's gross reaction to him and his filthy words.

"I love you."

My head jerked up, eyes wide with surprise at his confession.

"I do. That's why I wear the necklace and the cufflinks." He answered my question. He finally answered my question.

Before I could respond, a soldier bursted into the room with narrowed eyes. He took in the scene before him before relaxing but my body was snapped with tension.

Rafe looked down at our hands before standing up slowly and letting go. "Trust me."

He was asking in the only way he knew how, by demanding. He'd broken so many promises before that the trust between us was in shards. I found myself nodding anyways.

I'd already been broken before, what was once more?

In seconds, Rafe lunged toward the solider with his hands fisting along the shoulders of the man's bulletproof vest. Slamming his body hard to the ground, Rafe climbed on top before lifting the man's body and slamming it against the floor again and again.

He dragged his fist back before slashing it with quick and brute force against the soldier's face. Blood splattered against the white tiled floors as the man groaned in pain.

Rafe didn't stop. His knuckles becoming a marred mess due to them being split open. He didn't even wince.

"Get the gun." A loud ringing noise echoed in my ears as I stared at the unconcious man on the floor who's face was unrecognizable.

"Baby, get the gun." The term of endearment pulled my out of my head. Rafe's electric eyes stared at me with urgency and darted to the side.

I moved my head in the direction of his stare and see a black gun several feet away. My brain shut off and body felt numb as I picked it up with trembling hands.

My steps were timid and hestitant as I walked back over to him. He held out his hand, the rings shining in the light. "Bring it here."

For a second, a brief second, the thought of shooting him crossed my mind. I could be free of him. I could do it.

No, I couldn't. I loved him. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

I rested the heavy pistol in his hand and watched as he dug through the man's pocket and grabbed a phone. "We're getting out of here. I have my boat parked somewhere here on the island. We get to it and we can go wherever you want. Just me and you."

Rafe stood and stepped towards me, determination in his eyes, with his hand held out for me to grab.

I took a sharp intake of breath. My blood rushed loudly in my ears as I decided what I was about to do. My friends, my life, were they worth losing for him?

His necklace sparkling against the sun and those cuflinks shining against his shirt caught my attention.

Our souls were wired together, infused. I was a monster. Just like him.

Loving Rafe was a death sentence. Little did I know—I was already dead.

I reached for his hand.

_________________

Psycho toxic rafe is the man of my dreams but also my nightmares :) They are both crazy though clearly and need help.

Let me know what you think! Next up is Conrad fucking Fisher and I assure you, your heart will be broken.

Tag list: @narcissuspetal @valeriedelevingne @harrys-humble-housewife @mrs-dasilvasantoss @yoonki-bored @maybankslover @blazebreaker @thepopcultureaddict @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @imawhoreforu @jj-pls-give-me-a-chance @summer-may

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: video gamer Steve who is very very private & constantly has competitions with his friends/followers. But one day he does & q&a and someone asks him about his ring/necklace (or something that is noticeable) & he talks about his partner. & Eddie who is a well known musician who talks about his partner Steve. And somehow their fans put it together that Steddie are together. Then they do a really cute q&a on Steve's channel all about their relationship & its really cute

MY LOVE!!! Honestly, if Liam didn't watch so many gamers on YouTube, I would be so clueless. I never got into video games (because I'm so so bad at them you guys it is actually embarrassing) and I never really watched streamers on YouTube or anything. But I know that some of them have like a cult following and so I am picturing Steve to be one of those here. Please don't ask what games he would play because this is a choose your own adventure part of the story. - Mickala ❤️

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

Everyone made fun of Steve for how much he talked with his hands. Even on camera, his hands were constantly in the frame, moving and emphasizing his passion for whatever game he was playing for that stream.

He should have realized that wearing a ring on his usually bare hands would have given him away.

It was his first livestream competition since Eddie proposed on their trip to the Maldives.

He was still a little high off of, well, everything, and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He ignored the first question that popped up.

who got you that ring?

He shared some basic personal stuff with his fans and followers, but he kept most things private, especially his relationship.

But then questions kept coming in.

R U ENGAGED???

usually the girl wears the ring right

If you’re taken I might have to unsubscribe

The last one made him pause.

It’s not like he was an idiot, he knew that there would always be a handful of people who followed him because he was attractive. He didn’t mind, especially because some of them would message him and explain that they ended up getting into games because of him.

“Okay, wait. Sorry guys. Um. I wanna address something before we start the actual stream.” He held his hand up, looking over at the ring Eddie proposed with. “I share a lot with you guys. I came out about a year ago during a stream as bisexual, and it really shouldn’t have been much of a shock, but it caused a bit of a…thing.” He grimaced. “And I guess most of the reason that I came out then was because my boyfriend had come out as well, and it felt like something we could do together without actually doing it together. Most of you know I was just gone for a week on a much needed vacation. I was with my boyfriend, and he proposed while we were there. I said yes because he is the only person I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”

Steve put his hand down, sighing.

“I understand if that makes some of you unfollow me, but I do hope you look at yourself and try to come to terms with why that is what makes you unfollow someone you enjoy watching. Anyways, the ring is beautiful, and it's a simpler version of one he wears every day, so it means even more.”

He felt relieved, but also a little stressed, and knew he’d be calling Eddie as soon as this was over to talk to him about everything.

“Let’s get gaming!” He gave his best smile to the camera.

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

“Yeah, we had a nice week off together, alone, and I finally got to propose. I don’t think we left the bed for 24 hours after that,” Eddie laughed.

The interviewer laughed too, used to Eddie’s jokes and blunt answers.

“I’m glad you got to spend some time just the two of you. This has been a busy world tour for you and Corroded Coffin and you’re only halfway through!” The interviewer, Hannah, stated. She smiled at him when he nodded. “Anything new planned for the second half of the tour?”

“We can’t give out secrets, Hannah, you know that,” Eddie smirked. “But Gareth did say I should tell you about one thing.”

Gareth definitely had a crush on Hannah and had pouted endlessly about being scheduled for a different interview at the same time as Eddie’s interview with her.

“Oh?” she leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

She maybe had a crush on him, too.

“He actually wrote a song that’ll be on our next album. He doesn’t usually get bit with the writing bug, but someone’s inspired him,” he winked at her, smiling at her blush. “Anyway, it’s been added to the setlist for the second leg of the tour and we’re all really excited for everyone to hear it.”

Eddie felt his phone vibrating in his pocket multiple times. All the guys knew he was in an interview and couldn’t answer a call, so who the hell was calling him?

It was easy enough to ignore through Hannah’s next question, until it started again.

He reached in his pocket and checked to see who it was, eyes going wide when he saw ‘Stevie’ with a picture of them on their vacation lighting up his screen.

Steve never called twice in a row unless it was an emergency. He knew if Eddie didn’t answer, he was truly busy.

He felt his heart racing as he looked back up at Hannah, who instantly seemed to catch on to something happening.

“We’re going to a commercial break, but when we’re back, Eddie’s gonna share a few hints about the next album!” Hannah said, immediately shutting the mics off and gesturing for him to get up.

Eddie took off his headphones and stood, walking out of the room as he answered the phone.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just-”

“Hey, no, it’s not bothering me. I was just in a radio interview with Hannah so we had to cut to commercial break before I could answer. What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned that something terrible had happened.

“Fuck, I forgot that was right now. I’m sorry. Call me back when you get to the bus,” Steve seemed like he was trying to rush off the phone.

“No, Stevie, wait. What’s wrong?” his tone was firm enough to let Steve know he wasn’t going to let this drop.

“Um. I just had a livestream thing. And like, people asked about the ring, so I told them I was engaged and some people just didn’t take it that well and then I went online and some people have apparently put it together that the Steve you talk about is me because of something I mentioned about my vacation and something you posted about the vacation and so I think everyone’s gonna know and I’m sorry,” Steve was panting by the end, speaking a million miles an hour literally taking the breath from him.

“Okay, well, we knew this would probably happen eventually, my love. I’ll just call the guys and we can talk to Chrissy about it if it gets picked up by the media. No reason to panic,” Eddie tried to calm him down while watching through the window to the recording booth where Hannah seemed to be introducing a song to kill more time.

“But I ruined our plan!”

“No, love. People ruined our plan. And it’s okay, anyway. We’ll figure it out.”

“But your fans will be mad that it’s me. I’m just…me!”

“You’re not just anything and any fan of mine who says or thinks that, isn’t a fan,” Eddie sighed. “I love you, and we will figure this out. Whatever we gotta do, okay?”

Steve let out a long breath before responding.

“I love you too. Tell Hannah I said hi?”

“Of course. I love you so much, okay? ‘Til death and beyond.”

Steve let out a small laugh.

“You’re not allowed to use those lyrics in the vows. But I love you so much, too.”

“We can discuss that later. I wrote you a very metal love song that I fully intend to use some of in the vows. Okay, bye!”

He hung up before Steve could argue and walked back into the studio, mouthing an apology to Hannah, who just waved it off with a smile.

Everything would be fine.

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

“The lighting isn’t ideal, but it’ll be fine,” Steve was pacing, double checking his set up while Eddie watched.

He tried helping, but kept being told not to touch things, so he ended up just sitting on the hotel bed.

Steve had traveled halfway across the country to do this, his stress was at an all-time high, and Eddie didn’t need to get his head bitten off.

“Five minutes,” Steve said, shaking his hands nervously.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Eddie said, waving him over to the bed.

“No, you’ll distract me.”

“Yes, which is exactly what you need for a minute. Come here.”

Steve sighed, but went over to him, dropping onto the bed and resting his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“What’s got you so worried?”

“Everything.”

Eddie sighed.

“But specifically.”

“I just don’t want you or the guys to lose fans because of me,” Steve was playing with the edges of the hole in Eddie’s jeans absentmindedly.

“Sweet boy, we lose fans because we endorse a certain amp brand over another. We’ll be fine.”

“This is bigger, though. I’m just a nobody who got lucky on YouTube playing some games,” Steve whined.

“And I loved you before that. If they don’t want me to be happy, they aren’t real fans anyway. You’re my future, not whatever woman still thinks she has a shot with my gay ass,” Eddie said.

“But it isn’t just you who suffers.”

“None of us suffer. We lose some homophobic, idiotic fans who shouldn’t ever have claimed to be fans at all. None of us want people like that around.”

Steve’s alarm went off to signal one minute before the livestream started.

He jumped up and pulled Eddie up with him.

They’d already gone over everything together, discussed it with Chrissy and the guys, even Steve’s manager, Robin, about how this would work.

Steve would pretty much act like it was any other livestream, but Eddie would be there for the first five minutes or so so they could do a quick explanation of things.

Eddie would do a phone interview with Hannah in 30 minutes while Steve was gaming, covering a bit more and answering some questions about their relationship.

Then they’d both have a night off to decompress in the hotel before Steve had to fly back home and Eddie had to head to the next tour stop.

Hopefully, the buzz would die down relatively quickly.

Steve did his normal intro, but Eddie’s hand rested on his knee out of sight, squeezing once when he heard his voice start to shake a little while introducing Eddie.

“There’s been some rumors about us, and we just wanna be completely honest about things so that the rumors stop,” Steve continued. “First of all, we’ve been together for almost four years. Way before I got anywhere with YouTube, before Corroded Coffin had even released their first album. And we were friends long before that.”

“Even though I had the biggest crush on him in high school, I didn’t admit I was in love with him until we both moved to Chicago. Wasted years,” Eddie shook his head.

“Second,” Steve smirked, looking over at him for a moment. “The week off in the middle of his tour had been planned for Jeff to go home and be with his family for his wife’s birthday and daughter’s graduation.”

“Anyone who thinks Steve threw a fit about needing a vacation and made the band take a break is just saying so out of spite that we had to move around one of the tour dates to make the week off work. It’s not up to you to come up with a narrative,” Eddie added, brow raised like he was chastising children.

“And finally, most importantly, what either of us choose to share is up to us. We do not owe anyone any explanations. Our relationship is ours. Being public figures already takes away a lot of our autonomy, and this is something neither of us will budge on. We are willing to share our happiness, but we are not willing to let everyone become a part of our life together.”

Sometimes, Steve said things in such a way that Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare at him in awe. He loved him more than anything, and sometimes the only thing he could do was kiss him.

He did so now, not exactly forgetting they were live streaming, just not really caring.

Steve tensed for a second, but then relaxed, cupping his cheek and smiling into the kiss.

Eddie pulled away and looked back at the camera.

“On that note, I’m gonna leave Steve here to his gaming. If you aren’t nice, I’ll ban you from Corroded Coffin shows for life,” he waved before standing and leaving the camera’s view.

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly as Eddie walked out of the bedroom, blowing kisses back at Steve the entire way.

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

After that, Eddie made random appearances on Steve’s live streams, and Steve flew out to a handful of shows to support Eddie.

It’s not that they were hiding before, but they just hadn’t felt like they should have to try to.

Now they didn’t.

Steve even did a Q&A with the band on tour while playing games with them.

They were all pretty terrible at it, complaining most of the time about how D&D was so much easier than this. Eddie didn’t play, but he sat next to Steve and braided his hair while he kicked their asses, asking them all the questions that popped up from people watching.

When he got to one for him, he smiled and kissed the top of Steve’s head.

“This question is for me. How did you know Steve was the one?” The guys all groaned, but they were smiling. “Well, I knew he was the one back in my first senior year. I tripped on the step into the gym and Steve was the only one there. He helped me up and smiled at me, and I was a goner.”

“He’s lying to you all,” Steve said without looking away from the game. “He knew when I made him homemade banana bread. His exact words were, ‘I’m gonna marry you so hard someday, Harrington.’ and then six months later he proposed.”

“Both can be true,” Eddie pouted.

Steve paused the game and turned to him, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Every moment I have with you proves you’re the one for me,” he said before turning back to the game and leaving Eddie silently shocked.

“This is the last time we come on this thing, Steve,” Gareth said.

“Yeah. You broke him,” Jeff agreed.

[sc0tters]

Not Gone For Long | Quinn Hughes

summary: you broke up with Quinn two weeks ago, but what happens when you two run into each other at a bar?

request: yes/no

warnings: none.

word count: 1.63K

authors note: I have had this idea in my head for literal hours icl but since I came up with it I’ve been dying to get it written. This is also my first attempt at writing an imagine for an NHL player, so I hope you like it!

Never go to bed angry with each other.

That was the first rule that you and Quinn made when you got together and neither one ever believed that if it was broken it would soon bring the end of the relationship, but it did.

The two of you had spent two months fighting before you finally mustered up the courage to pull the plug on the relationship when he was on a two week road trip with the team.

And with that three years of a relationship were sent down the drain.

You never thought that leaving him would be easy. You knew that it would be tough on your heart as he was everywhere you looked, on billboards, the TVs at bars, even on the insides of your eyelids when you attempted to sleep.

Your best friends were your total support system during the last two months as they made sure that you never had more than a few seconds to think about the boy that you loved obviously not counting your time in your bedroom because that’s where he seemed to attack your mind.

The apartment you once dreamed of before Quinn was now the place you called home. It was a one bed place but it was all you needed as you settled back into the mundane life.

Unbeknownst to you Quinn had been a total wreck from the moment he walked back into the apartment to see it in a shell of its former self. If it wasn’t for his teammates he would have knocked on every door in Vancouver until he found you, but when the boys reminded him that you had left when he was gone for a reason it made him want to stay home instead.

Quinn wanted to be mad at you for leaving in the way that you did yet the only thing that replayed through his mind was how the last thing he said to you was “see you soon,” no kiss, not even a hug, he just walked out of the apartment. Leaving you by yourself for the next two weeks.

The moment Ellen learnt about the break up she went was on the next flight over on a mission to comfort her son. That night he cried so hard that his lungs ached and his throat burned.

It didn’t help that the Canucks had been through another subpar season, but his upset state wasn’t helping that as he hadn’t scored since you left. Sometimes he wondered if you still watched his games, each time that he’d skate onto the ice he’d search for your face in the crowd and each time he was left empty handed.

Somehow despite all this, your relationship didn’t actually end on bad terms, you two still loved each other and had truly learnt that absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

The fight that broke the camels back though now felt minuscule, if he didn’t want to come with you on your business trip to Paris you didn’t really care. You’d settle for those two weeks without him rather than the last two months, every day of the week.

Now it was present day and your friends managed to convince you to join them on a night out. It was going to be your first as a single woman. You had even managed to get a smile onto your face, not a fake forced smile but instead a real one.

Yet it felt like a balloon full of water burst above your head as you saw him.

Quinn had been dragged to the same bar by his teammates as they celebrated the fact that the season was over.

Your friend saw that you tensed up and as she followed your line of sight she was quick to apologise “we can go somewhere else if you would like?” She proposed not wanting you to have a bad night.

But as there were five of you in the group this was a moment you didn’t want to be selfish in “this bar is big enough for the two of us.” Your voice was soft as you shook your head not letting your eyes leave the boy as you stared more so in shock.

He looked like he had lost weight, hadn’t shaved so his facial hair was now growing out of control, the curls that you loved but he hated were now proudly sat on his head.

Quinn wished that he had seen his hairdresser though the second he saw you. He actually heard your best friends laugh first, it was funny how the sound irritated him.

When he thought he was dreaming or that his sleep deprived mind was playing tricks on him, he spun his head around locking eyes with you.

His cold beer glass masked the sweatiness of his hands as he chugged the last of the bland liquid before he got up “anyone else need a refill?” He watched as you walked off heading in the direction of the bar.

It was the perfect time to talk to you, yes he knew that it was selfish but part of him just hoped that you were as caught up by the breakup as he was.

So he made his way over to the bar, making sure to avoid the drunken men that walked into his path as he was desperate to never lose sight of your little green dress that he loved so much on you.

You thought he never noticed that when the told you he liked that dress on your first date you went out and bought it in seven other colours. But he did, Quinn noticed everything yet that original dress still remained his favourite.

The familiar sound of your acrylics tapping on the table sent shivers down his spine “hey,” his voice came out like a croak causing your eyes to go wide.

You stared at him through the corner of your eye knowing that if you faced him, it would have been over for you “hi.”

If you two hadn’t broken up his fingers would have been on your jaw forcing you to look at him “can you look at me?” He asked feeling the tears begin to well at his eyes “please?” The beg was enough to make your hearty break all over again.

You looked at him not caring that you makeup was now very much ruined as tears ran down your cheeks “I’m sorry,” you blurted out not knowing what else to say.

But it was also true, you did feel sorry about breaking up with him. You wished that you’d handled things better. Yes this was the best way to protect your heart but besides for that it was the worst possible option for every other thing.

Just like old times Quinn didn’t hesitate to comfort the girl as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a hug “I know,” he placed a kiss on your head ignoring how your tears were soaking his shirt.

The coldness of those tears hit him like a dose of reality, you left because the relationship had grown cold.

This was the first time he had hugged you since January, it was now April.

He never meant to stop putting in effort but one day it sort of started and he didn’t know how to stop it. And he was so stressed about hockey that he let the fights you two had fall into the back of his mind.

Whilst he had spent the last two months thinking you were the bad guy, he realised that it had been his fault all along.

That was almost the problem with the whole thing, you each blamed yourselves for putting the knife into the relationship.

Quinn swore that he had been doing it over time and you were just the one to give it the final push.

You finally got your breathing under control causing you to look up at him as your chin rested against the his chest “why are you here?” You asked not trying to be rude but you swore that if you were in his shoes even you wouldn’t want anything to do with yourself.

He let out a soft laugh as he dragged his thumb against your cheek “missed you,” he confessed as he watch the pad of his finger clean in the smudge of your mascara.

Hearing that he must have also had a rough time made you feel sick to your stomach “thought you would have hated me.” You mumbled still thinking that this was all a dream.

Quinn would have been lying if he said that your words didn’t break his heart “could never hate you.” He softly smiled trying to tell you that he meant every word.

As much as he enjoyed being with his friends he wanted to leave “come with me?” He asked holding his hand out for you to grab.

The way his hand interlocked with yours told you that this wasn’t a dream “we should talk somewhere a bit more private.” As much as you wanted to say that you could go back to his apartment and be fine, you knew that things needed to change.

And if they didn’t then you would be having to move on forever.

The stars shone down on Vancouver as you two snuck out of the bar, despite the fact that both friends groups watched the interaction neither decided to stop it.

Sitting in his car that parked at a lookout spot looking over the city as you two ate food from your favourite takeaway restaurant you learnt one thing:

You weren’t letting him go as easy as you did this time.

[boiohboii]

The people's sweethearts Ch.III

(Tom Holland x f!verstappen!reader x Zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

ChII

masterlist

Will they blister and heal over like the last time or will they bleed for days on end and leave scars?

That was yn's first thought as soon as she heard the words of Christian Horner, and with how Max was looking at her, he had similar thoughts as well, which is quite saddening.

When Max first met Kelly, his first thought wasn't how bad his punishment would be, and he hated that this was what yn's thinking about as soon as she saw one of her soulmates. Her thoughts should've been on how she will spend their first date, on when she will get to meet her other soulmate, on how much her face hurts from smiling and her heart feels like it will leap out of her chest from joy.

And although both of them try not to cross paths with their father they still end up meeting him, he still comes by yn's University, which is something that always scares her, not knowing what her father's next move is, where will his hand leave a mark this time. Has she told Max of it? Not really, Max doesn't know the extent of which Jos still treats yn, all he knows is that sometimes Jos visits her at her university whenever he allows it, whenever he is there with her, ready to protect her from the harsh words and actions of Jos Verstappen. Max doesn't know that sometimes Jos visits when he isn't there, that yn goes with him to his flat. Whenever she'd try to tell Max he'd look at her with such tenderness, like she's so innocent and had never seen what she had, that she doesn't gather enough courage to tell him- thinking that maybe if he knew, he'd never perceive her the same way, he'd just get tired and angry of her self harmming ways, that he'd leave her behind because after everything he had done for her, to keep her safe and happy, she keeps going back to Jos, she keeps listening to him and hearing out his lame, repetitive excuses.

"Umm, hi."

Yn's thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, her soulmate's soft voice.

"Mr Holland, hello."

Max was the one to reply, he knew that his sister's mind is a mess.

"Oh please, just- just Tom is fine, Max," an awkward silence filled the air, making Tom more nervous by the millisecond "is it okay to call you Max?"

Max smiles at the actor, "yeah, of course, you're older than me anyway."

"Oh, yeah, right." Clearing his throat, Tom looked at yn hoping she'd be the one to offer for the two of them to be alone.

"Right, so," seeing his soulmate avoid his eyes hurt, it hurt so much that he could feel his nose burning and his eyes watering "I was wondering if I could speak with my soulmate."

Even with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart he kept looking at her, urging her in his mind to just look at him, to stop the poisonous thoughts from creeping into his mind telling him to prepare himself for a rejection, to prepare himself to cope with the feeling of a missing soul, to prepare himself to tell Zendaya of how her soulmate rejected her without even meeting her.

Now, Tom doesn't have any sisters, but he'd like to imagine that if he had one he'd treat her like how Max Verstappen is treating Yn. He'd turn to her with the softest look in his eyes and a comforting face, asking her if she's okay to be left with her soulmate (he tried not to let this hurt him too much), asking her if she wants to be alone or if she'd rather have him besides her.

"It's okay," he could barely hear her feathery voice over the bustling paddock "I want to speak with him alone."

And with just one sentence Tom felt like screaming at the top of his lungs, he felt the colors becoming more vivid around him and his heart becoming lighter; maybe it won't end as bad as he imagined.

"Hi."

Her voice was so small, she sounded so fragile, almost scared.

"Um, hi, hello" Tom breathed out, mesmerised by his final piece "I didn't ask for your name."

"Oh, right," clearing her throat yn finally met his eyes "yn. I'm yn verstappen."

"Yn," God why did her name sound so pretty coming from his lips

"it's nice, no, wonderful to meet you. I've been looking to this day my entire life."

"Well, I'm here." Yn shrugged her shoulder as she showed him the palms of her hands, looking like she paused in the middle of making that one silly jazz movement

"Yeah, yeah, you're really here."

"How would you-"

"Can I ask-"

Their voices stopped at the same time, allowing the other person to talk, but neither did which was why they were sitting in such an awkward silence.

"Please go ahead."

"Right," yn started "I am not going to lie to you, I am not sure about this."

"This?" His eyebrows creased as his lips turned downwards, trembling as his voice cracked, he sounded so broken, he looked on the verge of tears, she feared that if she uttered another word that he'd cry, but she had to, he has to hate her, he eventually will so the earlier the better for her.

"The whole soulmate thing, I can't handle this."  Her heart clenched as she said those words, her fists clenching the black fabric of her dress at her knees, holding itself back from caressing the brit's face, from gently wiping away his tears and from kissing his forehead as she utters all the apologies and all the loving words she wishes she could say.

Yn would be lying if she said that she hadn't dreamt of this day, she used to stay up all night on weekdays imagining what it would be like to meet her soulmates, what would it be like to see the other parts of her soul, to look in their eyes and to tell them that she's ready, that she's with them forever, but she can't, as long as jos verstappen is in her life she can't see herself in a good light, all she thinks of is how much of a disappointment she was to her mother, how much of a disappointment she is for her father, and how much of a disappointment she will be to max as soon as he figures out what she does behind his back.

No one would love her, why would they love a person like her? A person who never wants to go anywhere, a person who is afraid of everything and everyone, she's always afraid of her own father- how could she possibly explain that to her soulmates, she's a person who will not be loved because she is not worthy of being loved, it's quite sad and unfair but that's the unfortunate truth- the fact that no one will ever love her and no one will ever miss her is yn's unfortunate truth.

"Why?" Tom questions as he looks through his tear filled eyes "why not?"

"I-" yn failed to come up with a fake, reasonable excuse because she doesn't want that. She doesn't want to reject her soulmate, all her life she had done things because she is afraid of her father, and it's not like she could just dump that on her soulmate on their first meeting after rejecting him "Can you accept that I just can't?"

"No, no, I can not accept that!" Tom's tone got a little too lough for his liking, clearing his throat he kept his voice in check "don't ask me to accept that you don't want me, that you don't want zendaya before you even got to know us, you haven't even met zendaya yet!"

Yn's tears got the best of her, quickly forming in her eyes and then in seconds they were streaming down her face.

"I can't, I just really can't," yn started as she tried to wipe off her tears, only for her vision to be more blurry and for even more tears to end up on her cheeks "I can't, and I know that it's unfair, I want to but I can't and I can't explain it to you because it's none of your business"

"But it is," even with all of the frustration in him, Tom made sure that he sounds reassuring and calm "it is my business because my soulmate said that she wants something, she wants me; us, but she's not saying why and I have to understand. I will understand, so please, just tell me, explain it to me," Tom moved closer to yn, stopping her palms from furiously rubbing her eyes and cheeks with his hand engulfing hers, yn could feel his skin on her cheeks "I want to understand."

Looking into his eyes, yn could feel herself calm down, the tears drying and her vision clearer "what if I don't want to? At least, not until zendaya is here?"

"Of course she'll be here, she really wants to meet you.

"She knows?"

"Well," moving his thumbs into a a Z shape onto the back of her hand Tom smiled at his younger soulmate "kinda. How about she explains it when she gets here in a few weeks, after you explain, yeah? How about the next GP, would you be ok with that?"

"Yeah, I think- I think I'd like that."

NEXT CHAPTER

{taglist: @celesteblack08 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @keii134 @celesteblack08 @sainzluvrr @fangirl125reader @ares10156 @formulas-bitch @laneyspaulding19 @elliegrey2803 @darleneslane @escapingrealitytroughwords @the-fandom-ness @skepvids @reneinii}

[kiirotoao]

Thoughts on Byler and pet names that I wanted to make a video on but ended up writing because they’re quite specific and frankly a little embarrassing to say aloud:

Baby: Mike uses this one when he’s in a very flirty mood. Will uses this teasingly and very sparingly.

Babe: Mike uses this all the time. Will uses it sometimes around the house.

Sweetie/Sweetheart: No. These are Joyce’s terms of endearment only.

Darling: Both use and don’t realize how often they do. They’ll readily deny using this one, but they love flirting with it.

(My) Dear: Both use this often. Mike uses it when he’s writing and/or being poetic (AKA cheesy and sappy) and Will uses it when he’s happy.

(My) Love: Both use this all the time. It makes them sound a little prosaic and cute at the same time, and they absolutely love it.

Handsome: Both use when flirting, so pretty often.

Hot Stuff: Only Will uses this one because he somehow makes it not sound overly-cheesy. Mike can pretty much only use this one ironically with finger guns and everything (Will finds it cute, though, so no losing with this one).

Cutie: Only Mike uses this one, usually when Will’s wearing a cute outfit or his hair is getting a little too long. When Will occasionally does use this one, Mike is left blushing out of his mind.

Lover Boy: Both use this one, usually when they very obviously want to get the other person to blush.

Angel: Too cheesy for them both. Maybe only when Mike is down bad.

Sunshine: Again, too cheesy, but Mike uses this sometimes first thing in the morning.

Casanova: Will uses this teasingly when Mike is being cute or romantic.

Prince Charming: Both use very rarely, maybe when the other is being, well, very charming.

Cuddle Bug: Mike used this one first and then Will picked up on it. Both sometimes use when they’re cuddling.

Sugar: No.

Pumpkin: No.

Honey: No. Maybe after a few years into their relationship? Maybe.

Bonus: Mike calls Will “O Great And Wise” and Will calls Mike “My Knight/My Knight In Shining Armor” sometimes, too ;)

ADD-ONS!!! TY GUYS IM. EVEN SOFTER THAN I WAS WHEN I WAS FIRST MAKING THIS.

(My) Muse - credit to @holyvirgilscriptures: Both use very sweetly, especially when they’re in their craft (Will painting, Mike writing), another prosaic one that they absolutely adore.

Beautiful - credit to @camel-casing: Both use, mostly later in their relationship. I love picturing this one as another morning greeting along with sunshine, like, “morning, beautiful,” or just when they feel in love.

Pretty Boy - credit to @c4ntbr36th: Both use, mostly Mike, though, in my head. Sometimes they use this teasingly when the other is pointedly a mess (crazy bedhead, coming home super late and frazzled, etc.) or exceedingly well put-together and when they’re all-around smitten.

[lakesbian]

i really like how worm commits to making superpowered characters weird. i think in most superhero media, superpowered characters are largely distinct, normal individuals with powers tacked on like tools they can use. but in worm, having a power kind of inherently puts you to the left of being entirely human. in worm, the lines between the power and the person are blurred, both literally in terms of how shards work & in terms of how powers present themselves. you can’t have a power without it altering your relationship to your mind and body.

and the “relationship to your body” bit applies to almost all capes, not just the ones who have been physically altered by their powers! whenever the experience of having a (not physically altering) power is described, it‘s phrased as being some sort of additional sense or sensation in a way that is still inextricably connected to the cape’s physical self. imp’s power isn’t just “okay, i’m invisible now,” it’s “i can physically feel my power rolling over my skin and jabbing out into the air to push memories of me away.” 

the other examples i specifically have in mind here are skitter and regent. skitter’s power isn’t just “move the bugs and make them bite people,” they’re effectively a part of her. like additional limbs. she keeps functioning in fights when her human body is knocked the fuck out on the ground because the rest of her body--a million other little bodies--is still there to work with. the fact that she has millions of extra eyeballs at any given moment means it’s not actually so bad when the two of them that happen to be physically connected to her human body are blinded, which results in my favorite Worm Out Of Context ever:

and regent has one of my favorite subtle, uncanny examples of a power that seems like it shouldn’t alter the power-haver’s connection to their own body, but does anyway. in alec’s interlude, while he’s puppeting sophia, there’s a point where the undersiders get far away enough from her that it makes it more difficult for him to control her. he starts struggling to coordinate her movements.

the uncanny part is that he starts struggling to control his own body’s movements, as well. he puts his alec-self’s earbuds in so that he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, because he knows that if he did speak, he’d start stuttering and slurring his words from loss of physical control. sure, his alec-self is the body he’ll end up in when he’s done using his power, and his sophia-self was taken by force, so there’s obviously a distinction between the two, but that doesn’t make his alec-self easier to control. his power implicitly calls the separation between himself and the people he’s puppeting into question. he doesn’t get to have a “main” body he can control without effort, he has to divide his attention between each body and put concentration into moving each of them. in that way, his own body is placed in the same category as the bodies he’s hijacked. it’s Weird!

[builtbybrokenbells]

Picasso

after months of silent pining over the boy across the hall, y/n finds herself face to face with the one person she can’t seem to get off her mind. a friendly dinner and a night spent in the art studio leads to more truth being revealed than either bargained for. a profession of attraction leads to an opportunity for an unconventional hookup, where Sam gets to make her first time unforgettable.

COLLEGE DORM AU

Read aftermath here

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it, folks), virgin/virginity talk, losing virginity (sam the v card thief 🫣), praise kink, pet names, sexual anxiety/performance anxiety, soft gentle sex (fuck me up fr), fluff, swearing, anxiety, embarrassing crushes, sorry if I miss any!

😮‍💨 sorry this took so long folks. it’s a lengthy one, so prepare yourself. i got a bit carried away. soft Sam fucks me up real bad. hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it!! as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!!

~

You weren’t sure who he was. You had no idea where he was from, what he was studying, or if he even knew you existed. Still, that didn’t seem to stop the awkward staring, or the blushing cheeks, or even the speeding heart rate every time he came into your line of vision. You hated yourself for the uncontrollable longing you felt for the boy across the hall, knowing that you would forever be too nervous to approach first. The first few months of your university experience were relatively normal; meeting friends, studying relentlessly, and trying to navigate a brand new life that was so foreign from the last. Then, after the novelty of freshman year wore off, and the hallways were routinely more empty than you’d grown used to, you started to run into him.

The first time you saw him, you almost missed him. You only noticed the back of his head as he disappeared around the corner. But, almost as if fate was playing a sick trick on you, he happened to forget something in his room. When he came back around the corner, giving you the opportunity to see his face, it felt as though you’d received a punch to the stomach. Thankfully, he was in too much of a rush to notice your staring. His long, brown hair looked messy, yet perfectly styled around his slender face. His jawline was sharp, angled gracefully into a perfect chin. The space just above held his lips, a permanent upturn in the corner adorned on them, although barely noticeable in passing. His brown eyes looked inviting, a colour you could spend all day lost in. Once he passed you, you knew it was too late; you’d already fallen for him, and there was no escape.

Perhaps it was because you came from a small town, one where all of the boys looked like the same person, just in a different font. You’d never met a boy who caught your eye quite like he did. He had a charming aura without even speaking, which was impossible to attain, according to your standards. You never really wasted time on dating, more or less finding it pointless. You were well aware there was no person to find in your town that would work out long-term. You were never a date for heartbreak type, understanding that there was no need of having a relationship if you start it with a pre-existing condition that it will inevitably end. You had a few bad experiences with the boys you’d given a chance, and never tried again. It wasn’t worth the hurt, or the trouble, so you kept to yourself. But, whatever it was about the boy across the hall, you were certain if you ever got the chance, you’d want it to last a lifetime.

After the initial shock of seeing him, you seemed to notice him everywhere. Every time you left your room, his door was open, or he was in the hallway talking to his friends. He was always running into you at meal hall, taking post in your favourite spots in the library, and even in some of your classes. You had no idea how you’d gone so long without noticing him, because now, he never ceased to exist in your mind and your life. You’d never managed to get the nerve to speak with him, or even muster a wave when he passed by. The most the two of you shared was a smile each morning; which admittedly, made your day a whole lot better every time. As unfortunate as it was, the two of you had mastered the art of remaining strangers despite the constant desire to be more.

You never verbalized your feelings to anyone, not your friends, or even yourself. You thought it was a bit ridiculous to be infatuated with someone solely based on looks. Yet, you found yourself creating a fabricated version of him, one that you deducted based on what you noticed over the passing weeks. One where he was funny, in a sarcastic or a goofy type of way. One where he was very laid back, but very involved in the lives of the people he loved. And the worst one of all; one where he was fantastic in bed. You thought it was alright to daydream, even if you would never know for certain in this lifetime.

Despite your mostly quiet pining, everybody around you was well aware of how you felt about mystery boy. Your friends seemed to take extra measures to point him out in a public setting, or ‘unintentionally’ cross paths with him. They never admitted it, but you knew what they were doing. Instead of fighting about it, which would only give them the answer they so desperately wanted from you, you laughed alongside them at the ‘strange coincidences’. Although, one thing inherently positive that came from the whole ordeal, was that you’d made acquaintance’s with his best friend, Danny. You’d found out that he was also in a few of your classes, and lived on the floor above you.

He occasionally stopped by your room for a quick chat, or some help with projects. He was friendly, and tall, and quite attractive, too. You never mentioned his friend that lived across the hall, and he didn’t, either. As far as you were concerned, your friendship with Danny would remain just as such, with no hidden implications about the beautiful boy he spent most his time with. Never once would you ever want to make him feel like you’d become friends with him just to get closer to his best friend, because you didn’t. Any hello, or how are you, or any of the conversations you’d shared had always been because you wanted to talk to him. You liked him, and just so happened to find it much easier to strike conversations with him, too.

You walked down the hallway, pushing your way through the swarms of people preparing to leave for spring break. That Friday marked the end of classes for a week, meaning that lots of people were either packing up to return home for a few days, or headed somewhere much warmer to drink themselves into oblivion. You had opted to stay for the week, finding no real desire to visit your family, and having no available funds to travel the world. All of your friends were leaving, presenting a fantastic opportunity for you to catch up on some schoolwork. You keyed into your room, dropping your bag on your bed and kicking your shoes off. You threw on your slippers and took your hair down from its clip.

You walked into your bathroom, seeing a note stuck on the mirror. You pulled it off, reading over the scribbled words. Your suite mate had left for the week, wishing you a good time and telling you she’d see you soon. You smiled, slipping it into your pocket to add to your collection of first-year memorabilia. You had an elaborate final project planned for your introductory art class, and you were collecting as many pieces to add to it as possible, wanting nothing more than to make a showstopper. You fixed your makeup in the mirror and combed through your hair with your fingers, trying to sharpen yourself up after a long day of classes. As you returned to your room, you heard a knock on your door.

When you opened it, you saw a familiar, smiling face. “Well hello.” You said, pulling the door open fully.

“Hey, Picasso.” Danny greeted. “What are you up to?”

“Just got back, actually. I stayed late at the studio. Trying to get my practical piece done for my painting class.”

“I see. Have you started the essay for poetry?” You shook your head, stomach sinking at the thought.

“I was going to start that this weekend. I just picked my topic. I’ve got a couple years worth of Shakespeare sonnets to read.” Danny was an English major, and you were an arts major, but your classes seemed to cross due to your minor in writing.

“That’s such a cop out topic,” He teased, leaning against the door frame. “And it’s spring break, aren’t you supposed to be having fun?”

“Fuck you.” You laughed, waving your hand to invite him inside. “Spring break is only fun for rich kids taking business majors.” You joked.

“Us arts kids know how to have fun, too, you know. We don’t have to get on a plane to do that.” He reminded you, walking inside and taking a seat on your bed.

“Well, what about you, then? Any big plans?”

“Frankenmuth.” He said, trying to make it sound more exciting than it was. You raised an eyebrow at him, expecting something more to the statement, but that was all he said.

“Enthralling.” You laughed, taking a seat in your desk chair. You watched the people pass by in the hallway, no real thoughts in your head. “Just you going?” You asked, eyes falling on the door closed just across from yours.

“Yeah, my friends are gonna stay here. Just thought I’d go back and visit the parents for a few days. Don’t think I’m staying the whole week.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Danny boy.” You said, flipping your laptop open that was sitting on your desk. “When are you leaving?”

“Tonight, probably. I like driving at night.” You were okay with that, completely agreeing with his statement. There was something very peaceful about driving in the dark, especially when the roads are mostly barren. It was almost like time stood still. You knew the drive wasn’t too long for him, so you had faith he would be alright. “That’s why I came to see you.”

“You’re so sweet,” you grinned, opening Netflix and throwing on the most recently watched show. “Gonna miss me?”

“Of course, Picasso.” He said as if it were obvious. “Come with me, if you want.” He offered.

“You wouldn’t want me to tag along, your parents might like me too much.” He laughed at your words.

“And that’s a problem?”

“You wanna listen to them ask about me for the rest of your life?” You teased.

“Doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.” He shrugged.

“You’re too nice for your own good.” You chuckled. “As much as I would love to spend reading week with you, I very much need access to an art studio and shitty, free coffee refills from the library.”

“I know,” he assured you. “If you change your mind, offers there.”

“Thanks, Danny.” You said, more sincerity in your tone than before.

“The reason I came down here though, was to see if you wanted to grab dinner with us before I leave.”

“Us?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side.

“Yeah, me and Sam. I know you told me your friends already left, so I thought maybe you’d like some company.”

“Oh, so it’s a pity invite?” You smirked. He rolled his eyes.

“No, I want you to come. Thought that was kind of obvious.”

“Just pulling your leg.” You assured him. “Uh, who’s Sam?” You laughed, feeling a little ridiculous for not knowing. He watched you with confusion, waiting to see if you were joking.

“Sam? Kiszka? Like, the guy who lives across the hall?” He asked, completely baffled. “You don’t know Sam?”

“Oh!” Your cheeks turned crimson. “Yeah, I know who he is. That’s your best friend, right?” Danny nodded. “Yeah, I know him. Just didn’t know his name. Never really spoke to the guy.” You laughed, trying to pass off the awkwardness.

“Fuck, y/n, I thought you guys knew each other! I’m sorry I didn’t introduce him to you.”

“No! Don’t be sorry, Danny.” You waved it off. “I never brought it up, either.”

“That’s weird though, cause he definitely knows you. He knew who you were when I mentioned we were working together on that last poetry assignment. I was under the impression that you guys were neighbourly.” He shrugged, confusion still lingering in his features.

“Oh, uh… I guess my names on my whiteboard. Maybe that’s why. He’s definitely seen me around. We smile at each other and stuff in the halls, but that’s about it.” Danny eyed you almost as if he didn’t believe you.

“Well, he seems pretty fond of you for someone he only smiles at in the hallway.” You felt the blush rise to your cheeks again, embarrassed even at the thought of him mentioning your name. “You do know him, don’t you?”

“No, I swear I’m telling you the truth.” You raised your hands in defence. He watched you, scanning your face for a hint of a lie. After a second, his expression lit up.

“You have a crush on him!” He bellowed, feeling accomplished for finally solving the mystery. Your head whipped to the open door, making sure nobody was in the hallway.

“Shut up!” You hissed, making a move to shut the door. “I do not!” You said once you protected the privacy.

“That’s a lie, Picasso.” He let out a disapproving tsk.

“I don’t even know the guy.” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, he’s attractive, but I can’t exactly like someone I don’t know.”

“Sure you can, and you do.” He grinned. “And you’ll like him even more after dinner tonight.” He decided.

“So now I don’t have a choice if I go or not?”

“No, not at all. I’ll leave you to get ready. He should be back around 6.” Danny stood, not willing to hear any protests.

“Danny, if you say anything to him, I swear to god I will kill-“

“Lips are sealed, Picasso. See you at six.” He sent you a wink before disappearing out the door. You felt your stomach twist in knots, nervous that Danny was going to mention something to him.

You distracted yourself by scouring your closet for something acceptable to wear. You cursed him for leaving so soon; he didn’t even tell you where you were going. You had no idea if you should dress nice, or casual. As you checked the time, you decided that somewhere in the middle would be suitable. A nice shirt and a pair of black jeans, just to dress it down a bit. You went to the bathroom and quickly ran your curling iron through your hair with no real effort, just to give it a bit of volume. You brushed your teeth and touched up your makeup again, spritzing on some perfume before you walked back to your room. You threw on some jewelry, deciding if you were going to properly meet mystery boy, or Sam, rather, you were going to make a good first impression.

When the clock struck six, there was an insistent knock on your door. When you opened it, Danny was beaming down at you once more. “You clean up good, Picasso.” He complimented. Rarely did he ever see you out of your studio clothes; you were always covered in paint, or plaster, or some other sort of artistic expression. You spent more time in the studio than you did anywhere else. Of course, the workload was heavy even for first year, but you spent a lot of free time there, too. It was great for your mental health, and aside from your projects, you made smaller pieces to sell on the side. Unlimited access to art tools was a huge benefit to going to the university you chose, and your talent allowed you to make some extra money. Making a living off something you loved to do made your university experience a million times better.

“Thanks, Daniel.” You laughed. “Ready to go?” You asked.

“Yeah, you?” You nodded. You threw on a denim jacket, finishing off the outfit. You joined Danny in the hall, looking around to spot Sam. When you didn’t see him, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment.

“Where are we going?” You asked, distracting yourself from the feeling.

“There’s this little Italian restaurant downtown. I’ve been meaning to try it, but never got around to it. Figured tonight was as good as any other night. Is that cool with you?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m not picky.” You assured him.

“Awesome.” He breathed, making a move to the other side of the hallway. He stood before Sam’s door, sending a knock echoing through the air. Within a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal the boy you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. His hair was slightly damp, and the smell of his shampoo hit you almost instantly. He pointed at you without a word, causing you to shoot him a nervous look. He got a small laugh at your reaction.

“You copied my outfit.” He accused, a goofy smile etched onto his expression. You looked down at what you were wearing, then back to him. You were both wearing Jean jackets with a black base layer. After a second, you laughed, too.

“Guess so.” You shrugged, trying to ignore the incessant butterflies running rampant in your stomach. “I’m y/n,” you held a hand out to shake.

“Sam.” He said, reciprocating the gesture. “I guess we’ve never properly introduced ourselves.” He noted.

“Not very neighbourly of us, was it?” You chuckled. His eyes lingered over you, taking in the whole sight before humming an agreement. You desperately tried to fight away the blush rising to your cheeks, but failed miserably. You hoped he didn’t notice.

“I hear from Daniel that you’re quite the artist.” He said, the smile never leaving his face. At his words, the redness on your cheeks completely took over, leaving no doubt that he could see it.

“Modern day Picasso, actually.” Danny corrected.

“You’ll have to show me, sometime.” Sam’s tone was soft, no tone of sarcasm present.

“Maybe I can sneak you into the studio someday.” You offered.

“It’s a date, then.” He said it so effortlessly, like the words meant nothing, but it set every nerve in your body on fire.

“G-guess so,” you tried to cover up your stutter, but they certainly noticed. You were thankful they didn’t comment on it. Sam stepped into the hallway, closing his door behind him. The three of you ventured towards the exit of the building without another word.

The evening was cool, but not unbearable. By the time you’d walked to the restaurant, you had managed to shake some of the nervousness off. The small chatter and jokes eased the tension by miles, allowing you to enjoy the company rather than fear embarrassment. Danny went inside first, Sam holding the door open for both of you. You muttered a small thank you, disappearing inside of the building. The smell of the food was fantastic, and the decoration and atmosphere was incredibly inviting. Danny noticed a ‘seat yourself’ sign, taking it open himself to lead the group to a booth. He slid in one side and you sat across from him. Sam looked between the two seats, ultimately deciding to sit next to you. The booth was tiny, and as he settled and got comfortable, his leg was gently resting against yours. You felt your heart speed, trying not to focus on the constant contact.

You all ordered after taking a good look over the menu. As you were waiting, Sam turned to you to speak. “So, Picasso,” he started. You turned your head to look at him, strangely pleased at the way the nickname sounded on his tongue. “Any travel plans for the week?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “Love them, but my family drives me crazy, and I have too much work to get done to go anywhere else.” You admitted. “You?”

“No, I thought it was best to stay, too. I get what you mean about the family thing. Love them to death, but peace and quiet is nice, sometimes.” He chuckled. “Daniel will have to go on the journey alone.”

“So you guys are from the same town?” You looked between the two. They both nodded.

“Yeah, best friends since, what, middle school?” Danny laughed.

“Pretty much.” Sam agreed.

“That’s cool, actually. Nice that you guys have a piece of home here with you.”

“What about you? Any piece of home here?” You shook your head.

“No, and thank god there isn’t. Wanted to get the hell out of my hometown and start over. It’s worked so far.” You explained.

“Where are you from?” Sam asked, now intrigued.

“Arizona. Small town in the middle of nowhere, where everybody looks and acts the same and you get chastised if you’re any different.”

“Mind-numbing.” He replied. You nodded, unable to agree more. “Everybody needs originality.”

“Not them, apparently. I couldn’t wait to leave, and I never want to go back.” You almost shuddered at the thought.

“So where after this?” Sam never let his eyes leave you, as if he wanted to engrave every detail of your face in his mind.

“Uh, wherever, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it. I may travel for a while if I can before I commit to anywhere.”

“Smart woman,” he gave a small smile. “Know your options before you settle down.”

“Yeah, I suppose you could look at it that way.” Your conversation was interrupted by the waitress bringing drinks and setting them in front of you. You sipped from your straw, pondering what to speak about, next. “What are you taking, Sam?” You suddenly remembered you hadn’t asked him, yet.

“Oh, music theory.” He said. You eyed him in shock, not expecting that answer.

“What instrument?”

“Piano, on the paper at least.” He laughed. “I like playing bass and guitar more, but I figured they’d be more likely to accept me with piano as my focus.”

“Smart move.” You pondered the information for a moment. “Listen to this one,” you caught both of their attention. “So, Picasso, Shakespeare and Billy Joel walk into an Italian restaurant,” you started, causing a chorus of laughter from both boys.

“You play a piano once and you can never escape the Billy Joel jokes.” Sam shook his head, ghost of a laugh still lingering on his lips. You couldn’t help but admire him, feeling the overwhelming curiosity of wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

“You’ll be alright, piano man.” Danny assured him.

“Yeah, you can even sing us a song, if you want. That might make you feel better.” He shot you a look of warning, but there was visible humour laced in it. The both of you were feeling the nervous tension melt away more by the second.

The time passed too quickly for your liking; the meal was fantastic and the company was even better. When the time to leave came around, you were begging the clock just for another minute. You had spent the whole night beating yourself up for not getting over your fear and speaking with Sam sooner. Aside from him being incredibly attractive, he was funny, and charming, and quite sweet, too. You felt like you’d missed out on a lot. Even if nothing romantic happened, you’d could consider yourself content just being his friend. When the waitress brought the bills over, Sam took it upon himself to ensure you couldn’t get your hands on the debit machine. As you all filtered back outside into the cool night air, your feeling of nervousness returned. Looking at Sam, how the glow from the street lights casted over his face, how his hair flowed in solidarity, messy but perfect all in one, made you realize that knowing him only made the desire so much stronger.

Somewhere deep down you hoped he was an asshole, so you could finally shake the hopeless feeling of need for him. The more you talked to him, the more you fell for the goofiness of his aura, the humour he wore so proudly, or the kindness permanently anchored behind his words. He was more than just a pretty face, and to you, it was devastating. The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone, but you were well aware that it had happened long before your night of pasta critique. “You headed back to dorm?” Sam asked, his hand on your upper arm breaking you from your thoughts. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off your brains’ incessant reminders of what it felt like to be touched by him.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“I’m headed out, now, I think.” Danny said, looking between the two of you. “Packed the car earlier, so I should hit the road.”

“Oh,” you breathed, trying to keep your eyes on him, and him only. “Which lot are you parked in?”

“The one by our building. I’ll walk back with you guys.” You nodded at his words, feeling a sudden rush of relief knowing you wouldn’t have to walk alone with Sam. Not that you would mind being alone with him, more of a fear of embarrassing yourself somehow. The three of you started the short walk with few words exchanged in the process. When you reached the entrance to the parking lot, you all stopped to bid a farewell.

Danny pulled you into a quick hug, thanking you for going to dinner. He hugged Sam, letting him know he’d text him when he was back home. “Might text for poetry help.” You smiled at him.

“You could text me just to say hi, too, you know.” Danny reminded.

“That is my way of saying hi.” You laughed. “Too nervous to be upfront.”

“No need for that, Picasso. I’ll see you guys soon.” He promised. You and Sam waved goodbye as he parted from the trio, leaving the two of you to yourselves. You kept your eyes glued to the ground, wanting to look anywhere other than his beautiful face.

“You have anywhere to be?” Sam eventually spoke. You found the courage to meet his eyes, feeling the butterflies erupt in your stomach once more.

“I was thinking about heading to the studio, actually.” You very much enjoyed your 24/7 access to the art building. It made your usually boring weekends a bit more enjoyable.

“Care for some company?” He smiled.

“You trying to get me in trouble, piano man?” You smirked.

“Nobody will ever know I was there.” He promised. You pondered the idea, realizing that it was more than likely nobody would be there, anyway. It was usually quite barren in the evenings, even more so considering the week-long holiday.

“Okay.” You nodded, holding your hand out for him to grab. “Come on.” He wasted no time slipping his hand into yours. You took off in a run back to the dorm with him following closely behind. You both made it to the front entrance of the building, keying in and immediately running to your rooms. “I just have to change.” You told him before disappearing into your room. You quickly changed into your work clothes, realizing how embarrassing the new outfit was. There was old paint stains on the t-shirt and jeans, years worth of artistic memories begging to be washed away. You didn’t waste too much time dwelling, too eager to be back in Sam’s company.

You were nervous to be alone with him, but the thrill of seclusion with him was overshadowing anything else. You thought maybe you’d be able to unravel some of the mystery, to get a chance to hear about his stories and memories that were hidden away. When you went back into the hallway, Sam was waiting for you. He had also changed into different clothes, a pair of sweatpants and a tattered old band shirt with the logo worn down to just a shadow. He had a sly smile graced his lips. “Ready?” You breathed. He gave a nod, silently hoping you’d reach out for his hand again. When you started walking down the hall, he followed after you, only momentary disappointment taking over.

You walked side by side to the art building, buzzing with unspoken excitement. When you reached the doorway, you scanned your access card on the reader and the lock clicked open. As you pulled on the handle, you looked back at him and pressed a finger to your lips, signalling for him to stay quiet, just in case anyone else was around. Regular students were allowed in the art building during office hours, but art students were the only ones granted access outside of normal school times. You were sure you’d only get a slap on the wrist if someone realized he wasn’t an art student, but you still didn’t want to take the chance. He nodded, ensuring he wouldn’t make a peep. You took his hand again, leading him inside and directly to the stairwell to the basement.

You took a sigh of relief when you let the studio door close behind you. You went right to your small locker where you stored your paint supplies and brushes. You unlocked it with a tiny key you kept around your neck. You pulled out your belongings, nodding Sam in the direction of the main room. The bright fluorescent lights were nothing new to you, but it seemed like it almost caught him off guard. You set your stuff down on a desk and grabbed an easel, carrying it over to where you were planning to sit. “I’ll be right back.” You told him, walking off to a side room. You opened the door, flicking the light on in the small storage space. You grabbed your large canvas, careful not to bump the front of it, worried it still may not have completely dried. You took it back out to the main room and propped it up on the easel, pulling a stool in front of it.

Sam moved a second chair over, sitting beside you. His eyes drifted over the artwork, scanning it intently and drinking up every detail like he needed it to survive. “I see why Danny calls you Picasso, now.” He mumbled, still looking over all of the details. You felt the redness creep up on your cheeks again, flattered at his compliment. “This place anything special to you, or just a stock photo?” There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, the cabin is. It’s my family’s. We spent a lot of time up there when I was a kid. The background is pretty dramatized, cause my inspiration pictures were a little bland.” You chuckled. “We’ve been working on landscapes, so I figured I would paint something meaningful.” The large oil painting had the image of the aforementioned cabin nestled in a plot of trees. The leaves were radiating the colours of autumn, and the neutral mountains in the background made the colours stand out. A small stream flowed through the mountain valley, and birds floated through the air. There were patches of flowery grass and bushes covering the ground. The outline was finished, and you’d been working on the intimate details of the piece. You were estimating only a few more hours of work, eager to have this finished so you could move on to the next project.

“It’s stunning.” He said, moving back to look at you again.

“Thanks,” your voice was soft, full of gratitude.

“Have you always wanted to be an artist?” He asked. You thought about the question, pondering the appropriate answer.

“I always loved art, but don’t think I actually decided to study it until late into high school. I never thought I’d be able to make it, but then I entered a few contests and won, and I guess it kind of kick started the process of getting here. At first, my parents weren’t super supportive of the idea. I think they’d rather me be a doctor or a lawyer, but they knew it would only make me miserable. Now that they see what I’m doing, and how happy it makes me, they’re a bit more on board. Their encouragement really helped me feel like I was supposed to be here.” You explained. “Deep down, I probably always knew I would do art for a living, but I fought it for a long time. It’s not really regarded as a ‘profession’, and I think that discouraged me for a long time.”

“Don’t ever feel that way again.” He shook his head, looking back towards the canvas. “Someone with talent like this should never second guess themselves.” You swallowed hard, having a difficult time digesting such a compliment. “This is the type of stuff to end up in galleries.”

“You’ll have to let me design your album art when you release your EP, then.” You smiled.

“You haven’t even heard me play yet.” He brushed the comment off, a small laugh lingering in his words.

“Don’t have to, I just know.” You said, pulling out your glass palate. You sifted through your bag of paints, choosing the colours carefully. You squeezed small amounts on the surface, looking back towards the large painting. You started to work, unsure of where the conversation would lead to next.

“What music do you like?” He asked, watching your hands as you painted.

“Everything.” You said, never losing your focus. “Not picky.”

“You have to have a favourite.” He inquired. A smile tugged at your lips.

“Well, yeah.” You rolled your eyes.

“What is it, then?” He laughed, eyes moving to your face.

“Guess.” You thought if he wanted to get to know you, he could work for it, first. At least a little bit.

“You’re a classical person, aren’t you?” You looked at him through the corner of your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows slightly.

“Insulting,” you replied. “You think I’m that boring?” You teased.

“Worth a shot.” He shrugged. “Rock?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I like metal, too, but I mostly stick with rock.”

“Never would have guessed the metal part.” His surprise was showing in his expression.

“Yeah, well, I have lots of tricks up my sleeve.” You chuckled, wiping your brush on your apron.

“Can’t wait to figure them out.” His words were smooth, concise, even, as if he was waiting to deliver the line the whole night. Your stomach fluttered with the thought of him wanting to know more about you. You both fell into a silence, eventually playing music off your phone to fill the stale air. You were fine without words exchanged; you enjoyed him sitting with you while you worked. He didn’t seem to mind either, enthralled in your technique. “What’s your favourite thing to paint?” He eventually disturbed the quiet.

“I like nature. It’s always so calming to recreate. So many different options, and imperfections don’t cause an issue, because nature isn’t perfect. I think that’s what makes it beautiful.” You explained. He nodded along, hoping you would keep talking. You noticed, feeling less reserved about your ramblings, realizing you wanted to share them with him. “Nature is the only constant. It was here from the beginning, and it will be here long after we die, even if it’s changed million times. It carries infinite memories from every era, and it’s our only consistency in this lifetime, and the ones previous. I like the idea of a timeless art piece. If someone looks at this a hundred years from now, they’ll be able to appreciate it the same way we can. Nobody will have to wonder about the origins of the picture. People die, animals pass, but the earth always outlives us. When the day comes and it dies, too, we go with it.” He nodded again, studying your face. He had been for a while, although you hadn’t really noticed. He was watching the way your eyes focused when you were doing delicate work, or how your lips pursed when your brush wasn’t doing exactly what you wanted it to. He also noticed every time you let out a minuscule sigh, content with the flow of the paint, or when you smiled when a familiar song came on the shuffle. He’d been studying you just as much as you did, him, admiring you just the same. He was enthralled in your presence, also never expecting to have you this close to him.

The art of your silent admiration had left little room for belief of a chance for it to happen so intimately. He was basking in the moment, in you. The smell of the paint and your perfume was embedding the memory in his brain forever. The beauty in your passion was electrifying, and he was certain he could watch it all day. He also felt the same when he passed you in the hallways, and caught himself peeking into your room when you had the door open. He felt the same fluster when you smiled at him, and awaited the conversations when Danny spoke your name. He also struggled with the idea of talking to you first, worried about rejection or embarrassment. From what he’d seen, you never showed an inkling of interest, and he didn’t want to come off in the wrong way. When Danny brought the idea of inviting you to dinner, he nearly jumped at the opportunity. Sam’s feelings had also remained quite silent, although his childhood best friend was quick to catch on to the situation. Now with a promise to both of you that your emotions would be kept a secret, it was up to both of you to figure things out. All Danny could do was cheer you on from both sides. “You’ve got a beautiful way of seeing the world.” He noted.

“If you don’t love the earth, you can’t expect it to love you back.” You said, finally turning to look over at him. You were caught off guard at his proximity, noticing he had definitely moved closer since you’d started working. He was sitting a little ahead of you, but his body was turned to be angled towards you. When he caught your surprised look, he gave a small smile.

“I thought you wanted to come and see the art, Sam.” You teased, finding the confidence to make a quick pass about his position.

“I’m looking at it.” He quipped back without a moment of hesitation. You opened your mouth to reply, but couldn’t find any words, flustered at the proclamation. Without another word, he turned to look back at the canvas, leaving you to wonder if his words were satire, or if they had meaning. You took a few seconds to recover, but ultimately pushed the statement to the back of your mind. You continued on, dabbing blots of paint onto the picture and blending it gently. “You know, if you’re looking for a customer, I’d be happy to take this off your hands when you’re finished.”

“You couldn’t afford me, Kiszka.” You joked, using the tip of your finger to get a better blend on a saturated area. You fixed it up with a brush afterwards.

“You think so?” He hummed, not bothering to turn and face you.

“I know so.” You told him, wiping your hand on the apron. You weren’t sure if it was the months of tension catching up to you, or the exhaustion, or the smell of his cologne, but you were desperate for him to turn and face you again. “If you want it, it’s yours.” You breathed, deciding to drop the facade. “Once it’s graded, I have nowhere to put it.”

“How much do you want for it?” He asked, still facing away from you.

“Free, for you.” You said softly, a smile creeping up on you.

“Absolutely not.” He turned now, finally meeting your eyes. “You worked hard on it, you used your own materials. I’m giving you something for it.” He said, finality dripping in his tone. You couldn’t help but shift under his gaze, the authority sending a pleasant jolt of electricity through you.

“Think of it as a token of friendship.” You whispered, unable to stop yourself from looking over his features. The admiration in your eyes was impossible to overlook.

“Friendship?” He questioned after a moment of silence, a new sense of confidence washing over him. “Ouch,” he said, the same cocky smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. You bit the inside of your lip, feeling your breath catch in your throat. You weren’t so willing to fall for the idea that he may have felt the same way. Instead of turning away, he watched you, hoping you’d make a notion of reciprocation. After the shock wore off, you started to understand that he was being serious.

“Courtship?” You corrected yourself, feeling your heart drumming against your chest.

“I think I like that better,” he whispered, eyes falling down to your lips for a second before correcting himself. “Do you?”

“I certainly don’t have an issue with it.” You admitted. He watched you carefully, almost as if he was nervous to advance the situation any further. After a moment of deliberation, he reached his hand up and cupped your cheek, using his thumb to wipe off a smudge of paint.

“Some paint,” he informed you.

“Oh,” you breathed, eyes never leaving him. “Did you get it all?” He inspected further, tucking some hair behind your ear as he did so.

“Mm, I think I missed a spot.” He deducted. You set your palate and brush on the table, not wanting to miss a moment of him. He advanced further, but only slightly, pretending to look harder. You couldn’t fight back a smile. “Want me to get it?” He looked back up at your eyes, hand never moving from your cheek.

“Okay,” you nodded, playing into his act.

“You sure?” He asked again, mostly to tease, but he also wanted to ensure you were comfortable.

“Positive.” You promised. Without wasting any more time, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

It was soft, but his lips felt like they were burning into your skin. You reached your own hand out, letting it fall to the back of his neck. You pulled him closer, careful not to get any paint on his clothes in the process. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip, practically begging for more. You were quick to respond, parting your lips and allowing him to deepen the kiss. His other hand slipped to your hip, letting his fingers gently sink into the skin. When he pulled away, you were both breathless and craving more. He let his forehead rest on yours, dreading putting any more distance between your bodies. You gave a smile, unsure of what else you could do to express how you felt. It was like months of torture finally derived into pleasure. No more watching him as he walked past, wondering about his name or what it would be like to say it, or hear him say yours. No more wondering what it felt like to be kissed by him, because now, you knew, and it was way better than you ever imagined. “I’m not sure if I got it.” He admitted, causing a giggle from you. He pulled you in for another kiss, this one shorter and more lighthearted.

“Is it gone?” You asked, intoxicated from the feeling of his lips.

“If I said no, would you believe me?” You could hear his smile in his words.

“Yeah, just because I’d like to kiss you again, though.” His thumb trailed over your cheek as he rested his hand on your jaw. He placed a small peck on your lips, causing you to hum in satisfaction. “I wanted to do that for a really long time.” You said. He pulled back a bit, taking in your expression.

“Me, too.” He chuckled.

“Really?” He gave a nod.

“Since the first time I saw you.”

“Me, too.” You copied his earlier statement. “It’s been a long couple months of admiring you from a distance.”

“Why’d you never say anything?” He questioned, hand still keeping a delicate hold on your face.

“I was scared. Thought maybe you’d think I was weird, or you’d be an asshole. You’re too pretty to be nice, too. It’s not fair.” You laughed. “I didn’t even think you knew I existed.”

“How could I not?” He was almost offended at the thought. You shrugged your shoulders. “You’re the only person I’ve been looking at.” You felt your cheeks heat up again, angry that you couldn’t hide your emotion. “Danny’s been begging me to talk to you for weeks, but I guess I was scared, too.” It clicked in your brain, suddenly making sense why he was so excited when you told him you thought Sam was cute.

“Doesn’t matter,” You told him “We know now.” He nodded, agreeing silently. “Did you want to go back to my room, maybe?” You realized your statement was a bit forward only after you’d said it, but you didn’t really care. You were too caught up in the moment to worry about moving too fast, or any what-if’s. Your small amount of worry was subsided when he immediately stood, holding his hand out to you. You took it, letting him help you stand.

Both of you made quick work at cleaning up the mess you made, buzzing with excitement at the idea of being alone together. Within a few minutes, you had his hand in yours, and you were guiding him back through the unfamiliar building. You checked the main floor before you emerged, making sure there was no security checking out the place. You knew they could be assholes, and almost always asked for an access pass. When you deducted the coast was clear, you pulled him through the lobby and out the front door. You were both in a fit of giggles by the time you reached the dorm building, fumbling with keycards to let yourselves in. The hallways were barren, almost all of the students already gone for their spring trips. It made your journey all the faster, allowing you to make it to your room in record time without any interruption.

You opened the door for him, motioning got him to go inside first. He did so, eyes immediately taking in the sight. He’d caught glimpses of your room, but never got the chance to really see it. There was artwork plastered over the walls, some yours and some from your friends, or even reprints of famous artists. There were ambient lights bordering the ceilings, set to a constant colour. There were paintbrushes and textbooks littering your desk, along with a few empty coffee cups. There were a plethora of Polaroids hung on your bulletin board, a receipt book of memories from the lifetime he wanted to so badly know about. The smell of your perfume lingered in the air and your bed, although messy, looked extraordinarily inviting.

You gave him a small smile, nervous about what he was thinking. “I love it in here.” He said, almost like he could read your mind. You let out a small sigh of relief. His eyes drifted towards the small clay sculptures you’d been messing around with. He leaned closer, smiling at the intricate detail.

“You should come over more often, then.” You smiled.

“I think you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me, now.” He laughed. The sound was more beautiful than any you’d heard before.

“Fine by me.” You admitted. “I’m gonna change out of these. Just give me a minute.” He nodded, watching you as you picked some clothes from your closet. You brought them to the bathroom, changing into the shorts and t-shirt. You looked at yourself in the mirror, nearly wincing at the sight. You quickly fixed your makeup with your fingers and brushed your teeth. You sprayed a bit more perfume on the new clothes, and rejoined him. He was still standing awkwardly by your desk, unsure of where to sit. “You can sit on the bed.” You smiled, finding the timidity cute.

“Oh, okay.” He said, looking towards the mattress and sitting down.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” You asked.

“Sure.” He grinned. You went to your laptop, quickly logging in and pulling up Netflix. “I don’t care what we watch.” He admitted. You put on one of the first recommended movies, turning the volume up slightly. You climbed into bed next to him, propping a pillow against the wall and leaning back. He did the same, settling next to you, much closer than anyone else would normally sit.

The intro credits rolled for the movie, giving you a moment to relax from the close proximity. You leaned into him slightly, but not enough to make it obvious. You pulled your comforter over your legs, snuggling into the warmth. You let your hand rest on top of the blanket as you eyed his sitting in his lap. You’d been on dates, but not once since you moved away from your hometown had you felt so adolescent in romance. It felt like you were going through the motions for the first time, completely blind in knowledge. You had no idea how to approach him, how to initiate any of the intimacy you’d been yearning for. You hadn’t noticed you were staring at him, but he certainly did. He looked over to you, giving you a small, soft smile. In response, it made your heart skip a beat.

He took the opportunity to reach over and slip his hand into yours, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The contact immediately subsided your anxiety, and you finally felt the ability to focus on the screen. After a few moments, you even found the courage to rest your head on his shoulder. The both of you watched the movie in silence, his thumb rubbing small circles over the back of your hand while you did so. As the film progressed, so did your comfortability. By the middle of it, you both had shifted dramatically. He was laying down, and you were resting atop of him, head nestled in his chest. His palm was firmly planted on your lower back, and his other gently tracing shapes into your arm. If you weren’t so energized from being so close to him, you were certain you could fall asleep in that position.

His hand that was on your arm moved to your face, fingers gently pushing your hair away. You closed your eyes, revelling in the feeling. He gently combed through the knots before settling his hand back on your cheek. He guided you to look up at him, sending a smile your way. You returned it, thinking that you would be fine if his face was the only one you could ever see again. “Thanks for inviting me over.” He said, admiring every feature. He knew that you were beautiful from every time he’d seen you before that night, but he realized that he’d been missing out on the best part. Having you laying with him, sleepiness laced in your eyes, made him realize that there was never a time where you were more beautiful. The innocent intimacy was overwhelming in the best possible way, leaving him to believe he could die happy as long as he got to hold you.

“It’s crazy, you know.” You sighed, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him.

“Hmm?” He replied, fingers dancing in the ends of your hair.

“I spent so long with this stupid little crush. I think because of it, I kind of put you on a pedestal. I forgot you were a person, too. I never believed that I could ever be with you like this. It always felt impossible.”

“I did the same thing.” He admitted, feeling better about it knowing you felt that way, too. “It’s weird. Dating in college is so much different than high school.” He chuckled. You nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“It feels more… adult. In high school, I had to ask my parents permission to go on a date. Now, I can just invite you over whenever I want.” You thought aloud. “But I don’t feel any different. I still feel the same as I did a year ago.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “It’s strange, knowing that we’re supposed to be adults, now. Especially when I still feel like a kid.”

“I think it’s a good buffer period,” you shrugged. “Pretend to be adults, get the experience, but still be able to make mistakes and learn from them. We get to practice living alone and being responsible, but still get to do stupid shit.” He laughed at your comment, but understood your point.

“I like you, Picasso.” He said, his hand landing on the back of your neck. You smiled at the words.

“I like you, too.” You admitted, eyes trailing over his face in admiration.

“I think it would be cool if we could do stupid shit and learn from our mistakes… together.” He mumbled, gaze focused only on you.

“What are you saying, Billy Joel?” You smirked as he rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“I’m saying,” he paused, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment. “I would like to do this…. more often.” He articulated his words carefully, a bit nervous to say them.

“I think that would be quite alright.” You deducted. He visibly relaxed at your confirmation. “I… uh, I’m not good at this stuff.” You admitted.

“That’s okay.” He said, tangling his fingers in the hair at the base of your skull. He gently massaged his fingers over your scalp, causing a slight hum of pleasure from you. “That’s part of the making mistakes and learning from them, right?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, entranced in the feeling of him touching you. “I’ve never really had a boyfriend, or anything like that. Been on a few dates, but they ended pretty terribly.” You admitted. He cocked his head to the side, studying you as you spoke. “Like I said before, all of the boys from my hometown are all the same. I learned my lesson, and I realized nothing meaningful would ever come from it, so I just… didn’t.”

“You can talk about it, if you want.” He offered.

“There’s really not much to talk about.” You told him, remembering back to your high school years. “I don’t know if it was just the type of people that lived in the town, or if it was a teenage boy thing, but they just cared about getting laid and nothing more. It was unbearable, and I fell for it a few times, but nobody ever cared about me past the surface. I’ve never met a boy who wanted to know me like you do, or would even admit that they liked me out loud, for that matter. Nobody has ever asked me questions about myself, or my art. It was nice being seen as a person rather than a body.” You muttered the last part, hating saying it aloud.

“They have no idea what they missed out on, then.” He said, bringing you closer and placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’ve only known you, well, really known you, for a day. I already know that I’d be more than lucky to have a chance with you.” Your cheeks turned red, luckily covered by the darkness of the room this time. “They didn’t deserve you. Nobody should make you feel like you can only be loved in privacy. You’re worth more than that.” Your eyes fluttered up to meet his as your brain wondered if the interaction was real, or a grandly fabricated dream. You leaned forward, unable to satiate the need to kiss him again.

He accepted the gesture enthusiastically, using his hands to pull you impossibly closer. You brought your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. After a moment, you couldn’t help but want more. You shifted, trying your best not to break the kiss, placing both of your legs on either side of him. He broke away for a second, just long enough to prop himself up against the wall so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He wasted no time, capturing you in another kiss. His hands found your hips, fingers holding you firmly but delicately all at once. You snaked your hand to the back of his neck, holding him like you were scared he would get away from you. When you pulled back, you were both breathless with stars dancing in your eyes.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” He said quickly, mind still occupied with the thought of kissing you. “I’m okay if we just lay here and talk.”

“I want to if you do.” You assured him, finally feeling the months of tension reach the breaking point.

“Are you sure?” He asked, searching your face for an honest answer.

“Positive.” You promised, making sure he saw you were being genuine. “I just… I’ve never…yeah.” You trailed off, suddenly a bit embarrassed. He watched you, trying to piece together what you were saying. “I’ve never had sex.” You blurted out, realizing he wasn’t fully understanding you. “I mean, I’ve done some stuff, but never…” you breathed, your face burning for a whole new reason.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reached his hand to your face, keeping your head straight so you would look at him. You were a virgin in all technical terms, only having awkward sexual experiences and moments with failed flings in high school. It wasn’t a virtue thing, more of a feeling of never finding the right person. With him, you felt comfortable, and were certain that it would be enjoyable. You didn’t have to have experience to assume that. You could tell just by looking at him, by how he spoke to you. He cared about your comfortability, and that was a major green flag. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” His tone was firm.

“No, I want to.” You said quickly, making sure he knew. “I just… I want you to have a good time, and I’m just nervous, I think. I don’t want to… disappoint.” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at the blasphemous idea.

“Yeah, that’s not even a possibility.” He shut the fear down almost as soon as it sprouted. “I’m gonna have a good time because I’m with you.” He promised. “I don’t expect anything, or anything like that. I’m more concerned with you having a good time.” He said, bringing your face down to place a soft kiss on your lips. “We’ll take it slow, okay? Make sure you enjoy yourself.” He mumbled, his mouth only millimetres away from your own. “That sound okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, giving a small nod. You could feel his smile from as he kissed you again.

“You can tell me to stop, or slow down, or whatever you need at any point, okay?” He explained when he pulled back. You nodded. “You can tell me what you like, too. Don’t be shy.” You nodded again. “I need to hear the words, baby.”

“Okay.” You verbally confirmed. He tapped your thigh, silently letting you know he wanted you to get up. You did so, allowing him to move over to the side.

“Lay down for me,” he said, his tone had authority but it was incredibly soft, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. You laid back, eyes locked on his face. You were still anxious, but he was easing it more by the second. He turned onto his side to face you, guiding your face to his once more and connecting your mouths. You kissed him back with more neediness than before, excited by the idea of his hands on you. He slipped his fingers under the hem of your shirt, letting them dance over your skin so you could grow accustom to the feeling.

As he became familiar with the feeling of your body, he took his chance to deepen the kiss. You couldn’t help but let a few small moans of delight out, only fuelling him further. He went slow, working you up to speed. He didn’t want to rush you, or push you too far. He let you take the lead with progressing any further, waiting until you made a move to take an article of clothing away. When you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he moved back from you so he could pull it over his head. You let your eyes fall over his exposed torso, feeling your stomach flutter at the sight. He smiled at your expression, but didn’t say a word in fear of you feeling embarrassed. He made a move towards your waistband, watching your eyes intently as he did so. You gave him a nod of encouragement, letting him know you were okay. He hooked his fingers through the sides and slowly pulled the shorts from your body. You sat up and removed your shirt, too.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you in just your undergarments, having to do for a moment just to appreciate the view. “Gorgeous,” he hummed, lowering his head to you once more. He left a trail of gentle kisses across you collarbones, letting his hands trail over your exposed thighs. The minuscule touches were driving you crazy; you had no idea it could feel so good to be admired by someone. His lips moved downward, skipping over your chest and landing on your sternum. He started to get sloppier the further he progressed downwards. By the time he reached your navel, you were practically a mess. He looked up at you, eyelids heavy, taking in every detail of you. The way your chest rose and fell while you breathed, the way your lips stayed slightly parted, the way your hand felt tangled in his hair. It was driving him crazy.

He moved up again, motioning for you to lift your back from the bed. You did as he wanted, allowing him to snake his arms around you and unclasp your bra. He pulled it from your body, discarding it carelessly on the floor. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth when he finally saw the full view. He was nestled between your legs, one hand planted beside you on the mattress, holding him up upright. His other hand returned to you, resting on your rib cage as light as a feather. He looked to you for permission before doing anything else. “I’m okay, I promise. I’ll tell you if I’m not.” You appreciated his consideration, but you were beginning to feel a bit desperate for more. He didn’t say anything, just brought his hand to your breast and brushed his thumb lightly over your hardened nipple.

The feeling was new, but very welcomed. The small touch sent a jolt of emotion through you. You watched him intently, anticipating his next movement. He brought his mouth to your nipple and pulled it into his mouth. You let out a shaky exhale at the sensation. He flicked his tongue over it a few times, really becoming familiar with you. When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed at the loss of contact. He smiled at your sigh of discontent. “Feel good?” He hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed. He sat upright on his knees, bringing both of his hands to your hips and hooking his fingers through your underwear. You bit the inside of your lip, enthusiastic but still a bit nervous. You lifted your hips from the bed, allowing him to pull them off with ease. He tossed them to the floor, not caring where they landed. He was only concerned with you, now fully naked and laying beneath him. He caught sight of your face, noticing that your eyes were looking away from him.

“Hey,” he whispered. You finally found the courage to look up at him. “You okay, beautiful?” You were glad he disregarded your earlier statement, finding it much easier to communicate with him if he initiated it.

“Yeah, just nervous. It’s nothing you’re doing.” You promised.

“You want to stop?” You shook your head, unable to think of a worse idea. He didn’t immediately jump back to action at the expression, but spoke again after a few moments. “We’ll go slow, okay? This is for you. I wanna give you a good time.” You felt a smile growing on your lips at his words.

“Okay,” you affirmed. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You felt like you could live in that moment forever.

“Don’t have to be shy, or nervous. Promise I’m gonna take care of you.” He said as he pulled away. “Just tell me to stop, or slow down if you need to. You’re in charge.” You managed another nod as he sunk back between your legs. He laid on his stomach, head inches from your heat. You felt the anxiety lingering, but it was rapidly overtaken by excitement. He placed a few kisses on the inside of your thighs, one arm snaked under one of your legs and gently caressing the outside of your thigh. He brought his free hand to your cunt, fingers ghosting over the area. He looked up to you as if to ask permission. You gave him another nod, assuring him it was okay.

He slowly advanced, wanting to give you ample time to change your mind if you needed to. When you stayed quiet, eyes watching him with anticipation, he took it as a good sign. He ran his fingers through your folds, letting you get used to the feeling before doing anything else. You bit into the inside of your lip, trying to wrap your head around the unfamiliar sensation. It was definitely different when someone else was touching you, you noted. He gathered some of your arousal on his fingers. He spread the wetness to your clit, bringing his thumb to the sensitive area and slowly rubbing light circles into it. Your breath caught in your throat, the feeling taking you by surprise. His eyes flickered to your face, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the sound. You looked down at him, meeting his gaze and feeling a different type of pleasure at the sight.

“How’s that?” His voice was quiet, barely noticeable if not for your intent focus on his every action. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, less enthralled in the movement of his hands than you were at the look on his face. He had a small smile playing on his lips, but the admiration for you he held in his eyes was worth more than words. He didn’t speak again, but kept his focus on the pattern of his thumb. He applied a bit more pressure, watching your face for a reaction. You let in a sharp intake of breath, feeling the sensation change from unfamiliar to pleasurable. His jaw clenched slightly, the sound running straight through him and settling in his bones. It was small, barely there, but it was blissful to his ears.

He worked at you for a few moments, gentle and loving with every move. It felt good, the nervousness almost completely gone, but there was enough there for you to hold yourself back. Your noises were limited, mostly from fear of embarrassment. You were so caught up in the worry of looking dumb that you were almost overlooking the scene before you. It didn’t deter him, though. If anything, it only drove him further. He was aching too hear the beautiful sounds begging to be let out, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t get them out of you. You watched him closely, not wanting to miss a moment of his presence. He leaned forward, letting a line of spit fall from his lips onto his fingers. You swallowed hard, the small action sending a rush of pleasure through you.

He ran his fingers through your cunt again, making sure the lubrication didn’t go to waste. His middle finger slowed and eventually stopped just before your entrance. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” He asked, but his tone was more of a demand. You nodded, too caught up in the idea of his fingers almost inside of you to worry about anything else. After a second, he slowly sunk his finger into you, studying you for any sign of discomfort. When you went without protest, he fully pushed his finger in, letting his thumb fall back on your clit. He continued his circles, now adding the stimulation of pumping his finger into you. You let a breathy moan out, unable to hold it back anymore. “That’s it baby,” he practically groaned, ecstatic to hear the noise. “You’re doing s’good.” The praise, although unexpected, was very well received. Knowing that he was enjoying himself solely by pleasuring you was a fantastic feeling. Knowing that he was only concerned with you feeling good was enough to satiate the anxiety.

He continued his pace for a while, eventually adding another finger when you felt you were ready. You were a mess, caught up in the pleasure but worried, too, because you hadn’t felt the creep of an impending orgasm. His hand was steady, never wavering, and his eyes were locked on you. Every so often, he pressed his lips into the skin on your thighs or your hipbones, just as a small act of affection. “Sam, I-I don’t know if I’m gonna cum.” You admitted, voice shaky and a bit defeated.

“You will,” he promised, unfazed by the statement. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I just…” you let out a sigh, frustrated with yourself. “It’s not you, it’s me.” He pulled back, halting his movements.

“I can stop if that’s what you want, baby.” His words were coated with sincerity. “Or are you just worried you can’t cum?” He inquired.

“I don’t want you to stop, I’m having a good time. I just don’t know if I can.” You explained, feeling embarrassment settle in your chest.

“I’ve got all night.” He said, shrugging off the worry. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.” He gave you a smile.

“I want you to have a good time, too, though.”

“Oh, I am.” His tone changed from gentle to firm. “Don’t worry about that.” You watched him with uncertainty, but the look in his eye was nothing but affirmative of his statement. “Don’t worry about anything. Just lay there and focus on how it feels, okay?” You nodded. “No worries about if you’re gonna cum or not, no worrying about me having a good time, just relax and enjoy the feeling. If you don’t cum, we’ll try again next time.” Your heard sped at the realization that he was planning on this being more than a one-time thing. It was comforting, knowing that he was learning about you so intimately, but wasn’t planning on running. He didn’t want to get your clothes off and never speak to you again like the majority of boys you’d ever known.

“Y-yeah, okay.” You replied. He cocked his head to the side, wondering why the hesitation was so present. “You, uh… next time?” He couldn’t help but grin at your question.

“I mean, yeah, if you want that, of course.”

“Yeah, I do.” You rushed out, hoping you hadn’t made him feel otherwise.

“Then it’s settled.” He hummed. “Not just the sex part, though. The dinner and the hanging out was great, and I’d very much like to do that, too.” You let out a small giggle at his words, finding the explanation cute.

“Me, too.” You assured him.

“Breakfast tomorrow?” He asked, a smirk on the corner of his lips. He started to move his fingers again, taking you by surprise. You let out a gasp at the suddenness, immediately feeling the pleasure return.

“S-sure,” you breathed, giving him a nod. He decided to stop messing with you, wanting to ensure you were as comfortable as you could be. He worked himself back up to his earlier pace, making it nearly impossible for you to think of anything else. He let another trail of spit fall onto his fingers, making sure it wasn’t too dry for you.

After a few moments, you did start to feel a little less insecure. His eyes were watching you, studying every minute detail. He noticed the rise and fall of your chest speed as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you, the way you occasionally pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in attempt to silence yourself. He watched how your eyebrows furrowed slightly when he brushed over your clit just right, and how your eyes stayed almost permanently shut. He thought you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Eventually, a blissful moan slipped from your mouth as his fingers hit the perfect spot. His eyes rolled back slightly, soaking up the sound. “That’s it, baby.” He encouraged you, fingers never stopping.

The words of motivation helped ease your tension. Your stiffness dissipated, your shoulders relaxing back on the pillows a bit. Your neck let your head fall back, leaving you completely at ease for the time being. A few more short-lived moans fell from your lips, all hitting him with a stronger force each time. “Doing so good, princess.” He said, noticing the effect his words had on you last time. “Cum for me, baby. You can do it.” He whispered. The demand went straight to your core, and you started to feel a sensation grow in the pit of your stomach. It was a feeling you’d only ever given yourself; it was way more intense when produced by another person.

“Fuck, Sam.” You whimpered, a gentle warning that you were getting closer. His heart drummed against his chest, clearly excited at the obscene proclamation. He took a risk, removing his thumb from your clit and lowering his head until his lips were touching you. You didn’t realize what he was doing until his tongue darted over the sensitive nerves, causing an involuntarily buck of your hips. He used his hand that was hooked under your leg to hold you down on the mattress.

Your fear of not being able to cum was quickly diminished with the new, even more unfamiliar feeling. It was heavenly. You let a low groan out, feeling the knot in your belly tighten. You slipped your hand down and tangling your fingers in the roots of his hair. He pulled his mouth off you only for a second, just to get one more praise in. “Taste so good, princess.” He said, slipping his thumb back in place of his mouth. You could only whimper in response, already missing the feeling of his tongue. “That’s it, baby. Look at you,” he whispered the last part more to himself than anything else. He only let his eyes hover over your expression for a moment longer, returning his tongue to you.

It didn’t take long to get to where he wanted you to be. Within a few minutes, you were gripping at his hair, panting and moaning, your orgasm begging you to let go. His tongue was moving at a steady pace, and his fingers curled with every re-entry, hitting a spot inside you that nothing ever had before. You let your head fall back, feeling the pressure reach its peak. A wave of pleasure overtook you, setting every nerve in your body on fire. You managed his name through the slur of moans, clenching around his fingers as you came. He only tapered his speed when the intensity began to die down. He removed his mouth first, then slowly pulled his fingers from you. His eyes flickered towards your face, lust clouding his eyes as he did so.

He slowly moved upwards, placing a few kisses over your collarbones and up onto your neck. You finally found the strength to open your eyes and look to him. He caught your gaze and gave you a dopey smile, eyelids heavy and your arousal glistening on his lips. “That’s my beautiful girl,” he hummed, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before leaning in for a kiss. “I’m so proud of you.” He whispered as he parted from you. He placed another kiss on your lips, sweet and full of emotion. The anxiety that had been plaguing you on and off was now gone, replaced solely by a desire for him that you’d never felt for another person before. “Did that feel good?”

“So good, Sammy.” You said, your lips still ghosting over his. You could feel his erection straining against his sweatpants, pressing into your leg.

“My name sounds so good when you say it like that.” He sighed, one hand roaming your exposed torso. His touch was light, tickling the sensitive skin over your rib cage as he did so.

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting your cheek against his, basking in the affection.

“Don’t have to thank me, princess.” He replied. “If anything, I should be thanking you.” You let out a small laugh at his words, finding his gratefulness charming. You reached up and cupped his cheek in your hand, lifting your head to pull him into another kiss. He was hesitant to let you go when you pulled away.

“Do you wanna…?” You trailed off, feeling a bit too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

“Do you?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed, never more sure of yourself in your whole life. He gave you a smile, making a move to stand. He undid the drawstring on his pants, then pulled them down, ridding himself of them and leaving himself clad in only his boxers. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyes wandering but eventually settling on the bulge barely contained by the fabric. He noticed your stare, a smirk making its way back onto his lips.

“Condoms?” He asked, catching your attention. Your eyes widened, realizing that you didn’t have any.

“Oh, I uh- I didn’t really expect… I don’t..”

“That’s okay,” he chuckled. “I have some in my room. I can go get them.” You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, realizing that he’d been keeping them for a reason. You pushed the thought away, not wanting to focus on the idea of him being with someone else. He was here with you, and that’s what mattered.

“I, uh, I am on birth control, if you’re clean.” You squeaked, slightly embarrassed at the statement.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He said, his tone firm.

“Yeah, I am.” You assured him. “Like I said, as long as you’re clean.” You repeated the earlier comment, just wanting to be sure.

“I am,” he promised. “It’s been a long time since… yeah.” He let out a small laugh. You couldn’t help but feel better knowing he hadn’t been sleeping around, either.

“Then yeah, I’m okay with it.” He gave a nod, making a move to take off his boxers. You watched in admiration, excited to finally see him the same as he was seeing you. He kicked the fabric with the rest of the growing pile of clothes. He stepped back towards the bed, noticing your eyes never leaving him. “You’re… very pretty.” You whispered, unable to find any better words to describe him.

“I think you’re very pretty, too.” He smiled, nestling back between your legs as he grabbed a pillow from beside you. “Lift your hips up, princess.” You did as he said and he slipped the cushion underneath you. “Should make it a bit more comfortable.”

He guided your legs up slightly, not enough to bend you in an awkward position, but enough to make it easier for both of you. “Will it hurt?” You finally blurted out, the question begging to be spoken all night.

“May be a bit uncomfortable at first, but I’m gonna try my best to make sure it doesn’t.” He said, catching your gaze. “We can take it as slow as you want. If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

“Okay.” You replied, voice quiet. You were nervous, but very aware that you were in good hands. It was his only intention to make sure you enjoyed yourself. You watched as he spit on his hand, rubbing himself for a moment.

“You okay?” He asked, wanting to be sure.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be scared to talk to me, baby.” He reminded. You nodded, eyes only focused on his hand that was he was stroking himself with. He moved a bit closer, letting the tip of his dick rest against your entrance. He let you get used to the feeling before going any further. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

“I am.” You weren’t lying; the anxiety and nervousness was fully expected, but you were more than ready to have sex with him. You were sure of that before you’d even spoken with him, and it was only solidified further when you saw how accommodating he was being with you. He waited for any hesitation, but when none was given, he slowly pushed his hips forward.

You closed your eyes, trying your best to stay relaxed. He only pushed in a few inches, wanting you to adjust before continuing. “That okay?” He asked. You nodded, reaching out for his hand. He took his own from your leg and accepted the offer, intertwining his fingers with yours. He thrusted forward a bit more, studying your expression for a hint of discomfort. When he bottomed out, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“Not as bad as I thought it would be.” You noted. He laughed quietly, happy you thought so.

“You’re doing so good.” He whispered. “You feel so good.” His words sent a jolt of arousal through you, enjoying the praise more than you imagined you would. He slowly built up a pace, moving his hips with caution. Once you’d fully realized the sensation was less than uncomfortable, you relaxed against him. After a few more moments, you began to enjoy the feeling.

“You can go faster,” you sighed, a ghost of a moan in your words. He was hesitant to do so, but he gradually sped his thrusts, admiring your expression. When he clued in to the fact you were enjoying yourself, he couldn’t help but let a groan escape his lips. Your eyes snapped to his face, thinking that was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. His pleasure ridden expression was enough to induce an orgasm on its own, you deducted.

He reached his hand between your legs, letting his thumb find your clit again. He continued his pace, now applying light pressure onto the sensitive bundle of nerves as he circled his thumb. The combined sensations caused a moan from you. Your fingers tightened against his hand, a silent expression of pleasure. “Fuck, Sam.” You sighed, letting your head fall back onto the pillows.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” He mumbled, trying to keep the speed of his hips and his hand the same. The pet names were unexpected, but you loved hearing them come from his mouth, especially when they sounded like that. “Wish I could have you like this forever.” He sighed, losing himself to the feeling a bit. It didn’t take long for another knot to form in your belly. With the consistency of his movements, it was much easier to get there than it was the first time. Sam noticed the slight change in your demeanour, the increase in the noises you were making. He focused on your face, wanting to watch you this time, feeling a bit cheated out of the moment the first time. “You think you can cum again, princess?” He asked, eyes burning into you.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, looking up at him. “Feels so good, Sammy.”

“Come on, baby.” He sounded as if he were begging you. “Doing so good for me.” With his encouragement, you felt your orgasm creep up again. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him, wanting to appreciate him as much as possible. He sped his thumb slightly, causing your breath to catch in your throat. His gaze never wavered, an unspoken plea for you to let go. It only took a moment before you came the second time. Your head fell back again, eyes screwed shut and mouth permanently agape. His jaw was clenched, holding himself back from his own release at the sound of you crying his name. “That’s it,” he moaned, wishing he could engrave the picture in his mind forever. As much as he wanted to cum, too, he was hoping to get one more out of you before the night came to an end.

The pressure from his thumb lightened, but his thrusts sped. You didn’t have time to recover, unlike the first time. The sensitivity was overtaken by the pleasure of him inside you, making it the only thing you could focus on. You looked back at him, realizing your mistake as soon as you did. He was still staring at you, eyes now a bit feral. The muscles in his jaw were taut, and he was quite unfamiliar to you, now. Although different, not in a bad way. It was intense, but far from menacing. You were captivated in the details of his stare, finding yourself unable to look away. He was breathtaking, and you couldn’t believe you were lucky enough to have him in such a way. You couldn’t believe that you had the power to drive him to such a feeling.

“You can give me one more, baby, I know you can.” His motivation was clouded with a bit of dominance, giving you the impression that he wouldn’t be pleased with himself if he couldn’t give you another orgasm.

“I don’t know, Sammy.” You groaned, unsure of yourself but still fully immersed in the feeling of him inside you.

“You can, princess. You can do it.” His chest was heaving with every breath, partially due to his movement, but more to do with desire. There was a glisten of sweat on his forehead, illuminated by the dim light flooding through the window. You didn’t think you’d be able to cum for the first time, let alone a second, or a third. The only anxiety you had left in your body was one fearing you’d leave him disappointed. Rationally, you knew he’d be content with whatever happened, but the louder part of your brain craved to give him exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t out of fear, but solely because you wanted to. From the minute he’d given you that first stupid smile all those months ago, you knew you wanted to be exactly where you were at that moment, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give it your all.

His patience and gentleness with you the whole night was endearing, but for you, the novelty of it being your first time had worn off, and the months of sexual tension was reaching its peak. You were both completely starved for each other in the best way possible, neither of you wanting to disappoint. Sam kept his pace steady, his thumb pressing into your clit again. To both of you, the idea of another orgasm not being reached was out of the question. “I can, but you have to cum with me.” You begged.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he grunted, letting out a long exhale. He knew that wouldn’t be an issue, he’d been holding himself back from the minute you’d started fucking. He rationed with himself as another string of moans left your lips, forcing himself to believe that waiting would be far more satisfactory than finishing before you. “Cum for me, angel.” The new term of endearment was unlike the others; this one hit you violently, such a graceful term for such a filthy display. You let out a cry of pleasure, your third climax hitting you without warning. It washed over you with necessity, as if you needed it to survive. He finally let go of your hand, fingers finding your hips to hold you on him as he came, too.

The room echoed with sounds of pleasure and obscene words, the essence of the moment settling into the walls and solidifying its place. The memory would never leave, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. He let out a sigh, finally losing his composure and resting gently atop of you. He placed tender kisses along your collarbones, small gestures of affection and appreciation to let you know he still meant everything he said to you. After you both came back to reality, he slowly withdrew from you. He tried to keep the mess minimal as he did so, wanting to keep the cleanup simple so he had more time to hold you before the night was through. “You should go pee, don’t want you to get a UTI.” He mumbled. You managed a nod, sleep calling to you like never before. Your mind and body were beyond exhausted, unable to keep up with the whirlwind of events.

He helped you up and to the bathroom, leaving you to your business. You cleaned yourself up and removed what was left of your makeup before returning to him. He gave you a dopey smile and a kiss on the head before going to do the same. You took a seat on the bed, mind still buzzing with excitement at the thought of what happened. When he came back out, he pulled his boxers back on and picked up his t-shirt from the ground. He handed it to you, almost nervous of rejection. You took the piece of clothing and slipped it over your head, more than happy to be wearing his clothes. “Did… did you maybe want to stay with me tonight?” You asked, nervous he’d say no. He took a seat beside you, pulling you into his arms and laying you both down on the mattress.

“Was hoping you’d ask.” He mumbled, pulling your back to his chest. He nuzzled his head into your neck, not caring about the tickle of your hair on his face.

“Thank you,” you finally said after a few long moments of silence.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“I don’t know,” you laughed. “That was… fantastic. You were fantastic.”

“I’m just happy you had a good time. That’s all I wanted.” He hummed, hand snaking under your shirt to rest on your stomach.

“I really did. I.. uh, wanted to do that for a while.” You said, rolling your eyes at your own awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah, me too.” He said, as if it were obvious. “All year I felt like I was in middle school again, crushing on the prettiest girl who didn’t know I existed.”

“I knew you existed.” You whispered, calmed at the knowledge you’d both been feeling the same way. “I thought the same about you.”

“Seems like we were both a bit dumb, then, Picasso.” You could hear his smile in his words.

“Guess so, piano man.” You both fell into a silence again, but like all the other ones, it was nothing short of comfortable. You felt yourself melt into his touch, sleep begging you to close your eyes.

“You’re okay, though? You’re not sore, or anything? You’d tell me if you were, right?”

“Yeah, I am, Sammy. Promise.” You reassured him. He’d done an excellent job at taking care of you and ensuring you were comfortable. It was the best possible scenario you could have imagined for your first time.

“That’s good, I just want to make sure.” He whispered. You settled into the mattress, prepared to go to bed. “So, if we’re talking experience wise, like a three star review?” He broke the quiet once more, causing both of you to fall into a fit of laughter.

“Mmm, I was thinking more of a five star, actually.” You pretended to ponder.

“Don’t stroke my ego, Picasso.” He dismissed the compliment.

“Maybe we’ll have to try it again sometime, then I can give a proper review.” You moved your hand under your shirt, too, resting it on top of his. He laced your fingers together, more than accepting of the contact.

“I think that would be quite alright.” He placed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. It sent a shiver down your spine. “So it was good enough to make you want to do it again,” he noted. “I’ll have to put that one on my resume.” You laughed, shaking your head at his antics.

“Goodnight, piano man.” You said, finality in your voice. He propped himself up, trying his best to lean over you for another kiss. You turned your head back to meet his lips, much more confident in the action, now.

“Goodnight, Picasso.” He settled back in behind you, closing his eyes, too. “I can’t wait to take you to breakfast in the morning.” No more words were exchanged, but you both fell into a slumber with a permanent smile stuck on your lips.

[mazeinthemiroh]

hey!! idk if you’ve already done this but could u do something like skz as ex’s? cause i think chan would be the type of ex to be friends after the break up (unless you’ve done something really bad) and i’d like to know how you think the other members would be

- 🦭

stray kids as ex boyfriends

genre: headcanon; hurt, angst

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cursing, jeongin's hurt the most (gotta warn yall <///3 )

thank you for requesting! please like and reblog if you enjoy <3

bangchan

the friendly one

this is purely depending on circumstance because if you hurt him or any of his members in any way he's literally cutting you off and out of his life

but that is if the situation is severe

most of the time he likes ending on good, mutual terms if possible. he knows things aren't going to be completely the same or aren't going to be particularly smooth but he's willing to work past that

especially if you have been a good friend before dating each other

so he will make an effort to talk to you at social events if you're in the same friendship group. just a casual catch-up to see how you are doing

it might be hard seeing you without being able to be the same touchy, loving way he's used to. he feels he has to hold himself back quite a lot

i can see him being hurt if you have moved on and are in another relationship and he isn't

minho

the messy one

feelings are... complicated

and minho is too

he's a very intricately formed human being, filled with unpredictabilities and chaos, good and bad.

minho as an ex can be messy. you'll see him sometimes during social gatherings; he will avoid you most of the time, but occasionally interact with you as if you're his best friend

he'll be sarcastic and make snide remarks with that shit-eating grin on his face

sometimes he'll lure you back into his life, his heart

other times he wants to forget he's even known you

you guys are on and off and on again. the wannabe ross and rachel, if you will

but all of the craziness boils down to the fact that he misses you, more than he expected

and the only way to fill the hole in his heart that you left him is by chasing what you had together

changbin

the self-improvement one

changbin tries to move on as quickly as possible

he thinks it's healthier that way: no point in dwelling in the past when he knew he wasn't going to turn back to you

he needed to put the past behind him and focus on himself

which means a lot more working out, more than he had ever done before

eating healthier, going out more and with different people, making sure he had enough rest

his friends were worried, at first, that he would over-do it, perhaps burning himself out in order to deflect the feelings of loss you left him

but he's never felt better as he looks ahead rather than dwelling on what once was

still, there are moments, perhaps when he is alone, where he catches himself missing you. your laugh, your smile, your body to hold at night. yeah, he missed that a lot...

hyunjin

the one who's still in love

it would be hard for hyunjin to move on

whether you hurt him, or he hurt you, or you both end on good circumstances, he's not ready to leave you

life without you? well, up until now he hasn't even begun to imagine life without you. and why should he? he thought you'd be together forever

so now he's devastated, trying to forget you when really you never left his mind

oh and he'd write poetry about. lots and lots of poems about the heartbreak and the longing and everything in between. he's a wistful guy, and it's a way of coping with the loss of you

but it's not very... 'coping' of him. coping would require him slowly but surely moving on

but he doesn't do that

no. instead, he holds on to the memory of you and what could've been.

jisung

the one who keeps coming back

he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it

oh he tries, but soon he finds himself staring at your number on his phone screen, tempted to drop you a text or even, at times, call you

it's weird. he thought he'd be fine after the breakup. he thought he would be able to have his moment to grieve and then move on

but if that was the case... why was he still thinking about you?

that's a question that tortured his mind to no end because he had absolutely no answer for it

he couldn't like deeper inside himself to realise he still, ultimately, has feelings for you

and so he always ends up coming back into your life, usually by accident

he calls it manifesting but is it really manifesting if its at the worst moments?

like when he bumped into at the supermarket, running on 0 hrs of sleep with eye bags bigger than his eyes. yeah, that wasn't a good day

but any chance he runs into you, there is a flicker of hope you could end up back together with him. so he will take all the chances life throws at him

felix

the sensitive one

similar to hyunjin only, perhaps, less severe

he cries over you often

and everything seems to remind him of you

sometimes he is okay. sometimes he is really okay. perhaps too okay. the members would look at him in surprise as he woke up one day, bubbly as ever. it's as if he hasn't been crying the whole week at all. nope. he's a new man now. and when he looks in the mirror, he gives himself a smile and a nod. "today is a new day and i'm happy."

and then a small thing will set him off all over again

perhaps he will find one of your hoodies that you lent him one night when he was cold. and he kept it because it smelt like you

but now, seeing this makes all his newfound positivity dissolve instantly. soon, he was grabbing the material of your hoodie and stuffing his face into it, sobbing his heart out

seungmin

the nonchalant one

he's the definition of unbothered

of course, it hurt at first to have to leave you, but it will all depend on the circumstances of the breakup

if you guys left each other on bad terms, he'd be a lot more bitter about it. he will most likely ignore you and make every attempt not to run into you because he just doesn't need that in his life

but if you guys are on good terms he is more likely to get over it quicker. that way, he isn't dwelling on the bad feelings and being wrapped up in his own negativity

rather, he has left that all behind and tried to be productive, focusing on himself

that way, if he happens to run into you again, he would probably feel indifferent

there is a sparkle of feeling that he misses. the feeling of familiarity that only you bring

but he hopes that most of his feelings are long gone noe

jeongin

the one that wants to forget

perhaps you were his first love

perhaps he thought that you'd end up together, forever

and ever

and ever.

perhaps he was a bit naive when it came to his approach to his relationship with you. he knew he shouldn't be thinking in such a rose-coloured, idealistic romantic way. he didn't think he'd feel like that at all. but you made his life infinitely better

and now you're gone. how is he supposed to cope?

he just wants to forget everything. forget his life with you. because if you weren't in his life anymore, what was the point?

its painful to reminisce so he makes a conscious effort not to dwell on the past

because once he does, he loses himself. the tears start to brim and flow down his cheek

if he didn't remember such happier times, it wouldn't be this hard

skz taglist: @hearts4sungie, @seokshineswiftie, @alyszaen, @jtrstp, @a-wandering-stay, @hyungenie5

[apompkwrites]

rules of a roseheart || riddle rosehearts

masterlist characters: riddle (platonic) genre: angst contains: riddle's mother, reader is very indifferent with how they're being treated summary: the story of (name) rosehearts. notes: planning to make this a multi-chapter thing because i wanna spend a good amount of time elaborating on these ideas :)) also probably gonna redo my blog theme so apologies for the weird things going on parts: og post | [rules of a roseheart (1)] | [school life of a roseheart (2)] | [mysteries of a roseheart (3)] | [name pending (4)]

"do this" and "don’t do that" were words you grew up hearing. every action you made was dictated by a set of rules and expectations.

you grew used to the words your mother spat out, disguised as instructions that were all for your wellbeing. she followed her shrill cries and shouts with coos of encouragement once you followed her rules.

your older brother, riddle, was no exception to this life. he lived through the same things you did, albeit a bit different.

see, riddle was what can only be described as a test drive. your mother was inexperienced at first, seeing as how riddle was the first born. when she got to you, however, she had corrected her “parenting” styles and cultivated them to be perfect (or so she says).

that’s why she decided to discipline riddle in front of you most days.

your mind had so graciously blocked those memories out. all except one. the one day riddle was caught sneaking out during independent study to play around with neighboring children. you knew one was named “tr…” and the other “ch…” all from riddle’s muffled cries from his room that night.

you made your first and last decision that night. you promised yourself you wouldn't end up like your brother. you promised yourself you wouldn't make the same mistake he did. you promised yourself you would live up to your mother's rules until the day you died.

you never had a good relationship with your older brother. you never had a bad one, either. in fact, you were entirely sure that there was no relationship and there never would be.

your mother kept the two of you separated, even more so after the whole sneaking out debacle. you had only asked her one time (questions weren't outright banned by her rules) and she only responded with a simple "distractions must be cut" and left it at that.

whether she was referring to you or riddle as a distraction, you never knew.

when riddle went off to NRC, your mother turned all of her attention to you. and you thank the great seven you pleased her when riddle's old training regiment fall onto you.

you had observed her behavior with riddle enough to know what was coming up. you were lucky she was a methodical woman obsessed with keeping techniques and training the same.

she didn't praise you as much as she did with riddle. no, in fact, she was a bit more apathetic when she dealt with you (not "took care of". she never took care of you. only dealt with you). you got the occasional "good job" or "keep it up" but you were sure it was only because she knew that verbal praise was beneficial for a growing child.

while she wasn't wrong, her efforts never really helped you in terms of training. you accepted it, but it was only out of the thought that if you didn't she would reprimand you.

you were compliant in all of what she wanted from you. you never argued, never resisted. only followed her orders because you knew it was the easiest thing to do.

when the black carriage came to pick you up from your home, you didn't know what to feel. you recognized it from when riddle was picked up but you didn't feel pride like how he did. you didn't feel fear because of the new standards and rules you would have to learn. you didn't even feel relief when you were granted the opportunity to escape from your mother.

all you felt was apathy. a strange sense of apathy washed over you as your mother handed you your bags. a strange sense of apathy washed over you when you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness. a strange sense of apathy washed over you when you woke up in a coffin and were ordered to step out to prepare for the dorm sorting.

and that strange sense of apathy remained when you stepped in front of the mirror, your name escaping your lips in a mere whisper that was loud enough to send gasps and mutters about your family name.

[bisexuallsokka]

ok hello i have found that i have no choice but to introduce you to my "divorced zukka but slightly to the left" headcanon for a modern au. basically, a pre-transitioned zuko and sokka have a one night stand at the end of their senior year of high school, and never speak again. roughly six years later, sokka is starting his job at an elementary school (not a classroom teacher, like technology or something) and meets izumi, who is so sweet and cute and i swear thats the face katara makes when she's annoyed, and one day happens to see her dad pick up and huh he looks and AWFUL lot like that person i went to high school with and OH GOD some quick math brings an idea to mind.

So sokka attempts to confront zuko who is very much NOPE DO NOT TALK TO ME, but finally breaks down after a series of shenanigans that def do not involve mild stalking. but only to admit that yes, izumi is sokka's biological daughter, and would like to leave their interactions at that, except sokka has NO interest in SIMPLY leaving it at that because!!! he has a kid!!! that he knew nothing about!!! for six years!!!

zuko very much would like to continue living his life without sokka bc being a single young parent is hard enough but he has a good routine and good relationship with his daughter and he doesnt need this, this, SPERM DONOR to just come in here and mess everything up! the guy hasnt been there the last six years, there is absolutely no reason for his to get involved now!! BUT sokka absolutely would have been there if zuko had only TOLD HIM, but how was ZUKO supposed to know that, and did zuko really think so little of him?? except it was a one night stand and zuko didnt even realize he was a boy until right after and he originally wasnt even planning to keep izumi, and HOW could he have just given up their CHILD without ever even telling sokka about her and given him a CHANCE to take her, and WE WERE JUST KIDS AND HE WAS SCARED-

its complicated. and involves a lot of trying not to shout around izumi, who is just over the moon that her dad and her favorite teacher know each other outside of school. and there's a lot of heartache over sokka having to come to terms with the fact that yeah, hes not izumis parent, and there's only so much he can do without stepping on zuko's toes, and he only wants what is best for izumi, and zuko seeing that maybe sokka really does want to be all in for izumi even if zuko thinks sokka really doesnt fully understand what that means, and would it be such a bad thing? not that either of them are going to admit this to the other.

so it starts with small things, like sokka being allowed to pay child support (which hes been begging to do since day one), and maybe it turns out that zukos new coworker is sokkas friend and they end up at the same party where they can really see each other interact with izumi, and a chunk zuko's summer child care plans for the summer fall apart so sokka offers to babysit since his summer job is remote which feels BIG but also reallyyyyy too convenient to reject,

and then something bigger happens where izumi gets hurt at school and while sokka is blaming himself he's also panicking bc the hospital wont let him stay with her bc hes not an emergency contact so he steels himself and later tells zuko he wants to make his relationship to izumi legal. hes not going to have a custody fight, he would never ask for that, but he wants his name on her birth certificate and wants his name on her list of emergency contacts, and its the first time zuko understand that sokka 100% knows what he's getting into here and is willing to be in this 100%.

So maybe sokka moves into this "uncle sokka" role, because zuko still refuses to tell izumi that sokka is her other dad, and yeah that hurts, but sokka would rather have part of izumi's life if he can't have all of it. and sokka gets a better look inside their lives and discovers that its HARD being a young single parent, why would zuko have risked everything he worked for to mix in some guy he barely knew who might decide that zuko wasn't good enough and take izumi away? and zuko sees the pain sokka has from missing out on so many key moments of izumi's young life, and the more sokka is proving himself as a second parent, the more guilty zuko feels. they go through some shit together and its more and more evident that sokka doesnt just want to be that fun uncle, but he's ready more than willing to be a PARENT even when it means being the bad guy.

and maybe they start falling for each other a little, because they are starting to have this LIFE together and its not just about izumi anymore its the way zuko rolls his eyes and gets the new fancy ice pack out of the freezer when a limping sokka brings izumi back from the park, and its the way sokka makes zuko genuinely laugh after a long day at work, and its like their lives are getting fully intertwined-

except that they arent. and they couldn't. because if sokka decides its too much. because if zukos good favor runs out. if it didnt work out between them. they couldnt do that to izumi. what they have is good, its fine, (even if its not enough) they dont want to risk anything that could disrupt izumi's life. shes the priority. and sure, she's already asking questions about the two of them, but what if they don't work right in a real relationship? the way things are now, either of them could back out, and everyone would eventually be ok. maybe. except every time they think about the possibility, it seems like they are already too intertwined, and either of them trying to untangle would just be a disaster, so imagine if they HAD to untangle, and-

so they just end up in an awkward stage of sad pining. because theres no way it would actually work out. because it would hurt all of them. and their life has never been better, but it's never hurt this much either.

ok so i didnt realize i could still write this long in an ask, but essentially i am not a masochist like you, and they do figure it out in the end. this could happen a number of ways, such as izumi just announcing that yeah this is my dad and his boyfriend, or zukka doing the "pining make outs that we never talk about until one of us snaps and we decide to let ourselves be fucking happy", or a very funny "we both snap and bone for one wonderful night to get it out of our system and then we dont talk about it" which leads to an accidental second baby where sokka and zuko both laugh and say whelp it must be fate lets do this the right way this time.

the most important thing is that they both forget to tell izumi that sokka is her biological father, so teenage izumi is very shocked and upset that shes just had to learn this from something totally mundane like applying for a passport, and sokka and zuko do the spider man finger pointing of "i thought you told her" "no, you were supposed to tell her" "did we really not tell her?" and its absolutely disgusting how cute they are

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

i love every single thing about this! sokka wanting to be a part of izumi's life and help zuko out....zuko being reluctant to accept but eventually seeing how sokka is proving himself.....the limbo period where they are both afraid it could end any moment....TOO GOOD! i love every single option for how they could get together for real like this is my favorite take on modern au divorced zukka by far!!!! <3 <3

[ccatskies]

this is my take on the initial episodes of queen of tears: so, um. hyunwoo’s reaction to haein dying. a lot of people were immediately put off by it and dropped the drama, calling him an asshole. i wouldn’t say the reaction wasn’t a little uncomfortable to watch as a viewer, but that’s only the case if you’ve never put yourself in the shoes of someone suffering immensely from a dysfunctional relationship.

the lack of overt affection was destroying him because his wife is so closed off and would rather care for him in a way that is impossible to be acknowledged by him, she humiliated him in front of his employees and he had to respond w “yes, ma’am” despite not agreeing w her bc she’s his boss, she didn’t stand up for him vocally when her family was berating him to no end, plus the family made him do their household chores against his will. he had to walk on eggshells around them, especially his wife.

it was so bad that there were multiple scenes where his hands were clenched together, trembling. he went to therapy and got strong anxiety meds prescribed in return. this abysmal marriage was crippling him emotionally and mentally (it’s safe to say haein put him through emotional abuse, even if she didn’t intend to affect him that way)

his initial plan was to divorce haein because he couldn’t take it any longer, even if it meant his multimillionaire father-in-law was going to stab him in the back (figure of speech). in fact, he preferred being stabbed over having to face the vengeance of the hong family.

the “window fantasy” isn’t fictional. there are multiple women, unwillingly dependent on their narcissistic husbands (not only bc they can’t go anywhere since their working opportunities have been sabotaged but also bc a bad rep will follow them if they leave or don’t yield to their husbands; tldr: there are consequences to leaving), that have wanted to be widowed at some point bc they couldn’t bear the trauma of the marriage. growing up in a south asian society, i know a thing or two about being stuck in traumatic marriages and the only way being out is if your partner somehow dies.

no one would invalidate an abuse victim if they wanted their abuser to die. so, are these women any different just bc they agreed to the marriage when their partner swore to carry out their commitment? only to find out none of their needs are being met and they’re stuck? are they not being abused?

so, people, to an extent, DO justify it when women want their toxic husbands to die because of terrible life situations.

now, back to QoT. i saw someone on twitter say that if the roles were reversed i.e if haein was the one who was wishing for hyunwoo to die, they’d be okay with it bc “yess go get revenge on your toxic husband and free yourself girl” bc misogyny is a systematic thing. it’s not easy to escape abusive husbands in our society especially when they hold power over their partner.

so, for the opposite to happen i.e the husband wanting his wife to die just looks “bad.”

however, queen of tears is a show where it is blatantly obvious that the gender roles are reversed. something that even my younger brother pointed out seamlessly. the hong “queens” family think they’re progressive for making their sons-in-law do their chores for them (something they did not sign up for). this is how many daughters-in-law are treated in modern society. the only reason “misandry” feels more real in the show, in terms of the hong family, is bc the women of this family certainly hold more power over the sons-in-law because of CLASS. haein is a multimillionaire’s daughter while hyunwoo is a villager’s son. they could easily take revenge on his family in irreparable ways. class distinction exists, power exists, abuse exists.

with all that in mind, hyunwoo might as well have been going through the “widow fantasy” where if he left his wife willingly, he’d have to suffer and if he chose to stay, he’d still need to suffer. the only way out was haein not being in his life anymore without him having to do anything.

it sounds cruel but it’s obvious he was pushed to the edge. he wanted to escape the trauma and it should also be noted that by then, he was completely out of love with haein (he told his therapist that he despised his wife the most). how much can you sympathize w someone you can’t even look at without feeling small?

so, in that period, he must’ve went through an overwhelming amount of emotions while he was on survival mode, not allowing him to think straight, or even consider what he had w haein in the past bc much of that was long gone. furthermore, i don’t think he would’ve been that obsessed w the will revision if yanggi didn’t motivate him to think that way, with the intentions of getting compensation for their poor excuse of a marriage.

so yeah, i wouldn’t say he was being a good husband to her initially. but rather, he was being selfish… by looking out for himself for once. he’s always had to clean up the hong family’s mess, looking after their reputation, never getting peace of his own.

then again, it takes two to tango and the marriage failed bc of both hyunwoo and haein’s lack of efforts. but i would say it was more complicated for hyunwoo bc haein always kept him guessing (and she was indecisive as well; the wedding anniversary issue) and he’s grown up in a pretty communicative family, so not taking his partner’s words at face value isn’t something he’s used to. he felt the most unloved.

so, personally, it was hard for me to sympathize with haein until a few more episodes into the show (this is coming from someone who relates to haein a lot, kind of opened up room for a lot of self reflection). she was a bad wife to the point her partner wanted to die. can’t say if the feeling was mutual on her part. haein herself admitted that she was a terrible partner, understanding why he did what he did, despite it being heartbreaking.

another thing i’ve noticed people say is that hyunwoo was pretending to be the good guy and hiding behind his “kind” actions but you could tell his actions became more genuine and he started to catch feelings again, albeit he was in denial at the beginning. when the divorce agreement papers leaked, he told her the honest truth without coming up w excuses, acknowledging that this whole ordeal hurt haein more than it hurt him. he didn’t take advantage of her memory loss (the rain scene w the cat “aeong”) to cut himself some slack and to make sure haein wouldn’t immediately be plotting against him.

he wasn’t hiding behind his actions or claiming to be a good guy. he was owning up.

he started to care, felt guilty (hotel scene in germany) and realized why and how their relationship failed, worked towards making it better. i think he would’ve been honest and told haein abt the divorce himself anyway but learning about it from her mother kind of broke the trust haein had on him.

anyway, i never thought i’d be on tumblr defending a man who was happy at the news of his wife dying but here we are.