#this was long as shit but i had to get my thoughts out

[thebearer]

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up. 

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home. 

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him. 

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before. 

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind. 

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively. 

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-” 

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum. 

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” 

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach. 

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.” 

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?” 

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-” 

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!” 

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you  now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-” 

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”  

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-” 

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you. 

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest. 

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!” 

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one. 

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for. 

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing. 

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat. 

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth. 

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear. 

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed. 

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt. 

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-” 

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in. 

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted. 

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger. 

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door. 

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again. 

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick. 

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber. 

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits. 

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance. 

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open. 

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him. 

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?” 

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question. 

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-” 

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it. 

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you. 

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left. 

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?” 

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony. 

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left. 

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him. 

And he’d driven you away. 

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself. 

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete. 

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went. 

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything. 

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you. 

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you. 

[formulamoons]

Hiya! I love love love your works so far, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of it. You're current Lando works are giving me thoughts…

Hear me out. First time with rich boy!Lando. They've been dating a while and haven't really fooled around much, they've kissed but Lando has had to initiate it every time. He's convinced that she's a virgin and he’s going to have to take the lead. He's hyping himself up, getting advice from Max, the works…

His dork ass plans it all out with flowers and candles, showering her with gifts, the perfect date to lead up to it, etc. Only she sees it all and tells him to lie down and be good and he's just turned into mush 🤭

Food for thought. Hope you're having a good day 😉

- Sweets

content.- fem! reader, unprotected sex, minors do not interact

“Good boy,” you praise, watching his lips part with breathy groans as your pussy finally touches his cock, sinking down on him. Your hands rest on his chest, helping you raise and lower your hips.

His eyes wander, trying not to miss the way your breasts bounce or the pleasure curling your eyebrows, yet also entranced by the sight of your hole enveloping his cock, leaving a white ring around it every time you lift yourself up.

“God, look at you taking me so well,” he murmurs, one hand settling on your hip while the other massages your breast.

Your back arches with a cry, desperate to feel his skin against your breast as you roll your hips in desperation. “Ahhh Lando—so big,” you moan.

“Yeah, hun? You feel me here?” he asks, pressing a hand to your lower stomach just enough to make you moan.

Incoherent noises are all you can manage, your brain turning to mush from the sensation of your boyfriend’s cock filling your gummy walls.

You squeak when his hips jerk upwards, thrusting deeper into you, as your rhythm falters.

“Shit, baby, you don’t know… Ahh, she’s gripping me so tight right now,” he groans, feeling your walls clench around his length.

Cock drunk, you're unable to respond, babbling his name between choked moans as you clench around him, your head falling back as you come undone on his cock.

A/n.- I tried my best, but I definitely don't think smut is my strongest suit, which is why it took me so long. Thank you for your patience, sweets. I hope you like it <3 and thank you for request.

read more about rich boy lando here

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you seen how expensive food is getting? When I was at the grocery store last, I had to actually elbow other people out of the way when I was trying to shoplift. All these amateurs, doing it for their starving families, trying to sneak past the new security guard with an entire box of Lucky Charms tucked under their suspiciously un-seasonal winter coat. That's why he's there, now!

Because of this, I've thought really hard about starting a farm of my own. There's only two big obstacles: my property is entirely covered in shit-box cars, and I don't like hard (or even soft) work. So I had to figure out how to trick someone else into using their property to grow healthy, tasty vegetables for the rest of the community. That way, I could go back to cramming large quantities of mass-produced corporate corn-syrup-injected synthetic food into my bag and then not paying for it.

Here's something that's fun: the university has a lot of free land. And if you trick eager students into doing anything that looks good on their resumés, they will work an infinite amount of hours for no money. They're feeding their fellow citizen! A truly noble endeavour that not even mean old Dean Carbuncle could stand in the way of. Of course, I first needed to make it look like a legitimate enterprise. Have you ever shoplifted raised garden bed planters from a Home Depot? It's surprisingly easy if you wear a hard hat, orange apron, and bring your own forklift. Loaded a couple of those bad boys onto a flat-bed rental truck, signed it out myself ("J. Not-Fakington,") and headed for the campus quad and the co-eds eager to interrupt their high-falutin' studies with some dirt farming.

In a few weeks, the students were getting interviews with the news. One of them got an internship with the United Nations because she figured out how to hyper-grow corn cobs – they're like three meters long, you need at least two people just to lift them – and now the university is paying people to come and take them away. The grocery stores are again empty of all but the ultra-rich and my sticky, sticky fingers, and we've learned that although crime doesn't pay, a whole lot of crime sometimes benefits those around you.

[weird-is-life]

hey lovie! what about a remus x reader where he sees her asleep in the back of the library one evening on his prefect rounds and he wakes her up. he is more concerned on how long she’s been studying/asleep since it’s so late…on their walk she just walks with him during his rounds because they are just chatty

they both fancy each other but neither of them think the other thinks the same. he walks her back to gryf tower snd he finally says what he’s wanted to say for years

(i hope that makes sense and if ya hate the idea, no problemo lol)

xoxo

Hii lovely🥰 ty for the request. I tried my best, hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, use of y/n, like one swear word, (0.9k)

Remus has seen you many times before. Either in the common room, halls, dining room, and the most in the library.

Remus always sees you in the library. Sitting quietly more at the back of the room. Either reading some book or doing the assignments for the classes.

So it's no surprise to see you here even now. But it definitely catches him off guard seeing you here so so late. Remus was on the last one of his prefect rounds before heading to bed himself, and he wasn't expecting to see you in the library.

Remus, from a shorter distance, notices that you are asleep. Softly exhaling one breath after another. Something stirs in Remus's heart at the sight of you, but he ignores it.

Remus approaches you, and tries to wake you up as nicely as he can. He doesn't want to scare you. He gently shakes you by your shoulder, and whispers your name a few times.

You rouse from sleep, blinking,  completely baffled by Remus's handsome face.

Remus thinks you are even more cute when you are half asleep. It's not doing any favors to his feelings for you. But he wills those thoughts away, and says, "sorry, y/n. You fell asleep in the library, and it's getting pretty late."

The sleep haze quickly dissappears when you realise where you are. You are up on your feet in a matter of seconds, packing your things away.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I was reading, and-and I must have fallen asleep," you explain in a mild panic. You would be in a lot of trouble if it was anybody else other than Remus that had found you here. Students aren't allowed out of their dorms this late at night.

"It's alright," Remus reassures you with a warm smile," I've done that so many times. I can't even count how many times James or Sirius had to walk down here to retrieve me."

"Really?" you giggle quietly, still very much sleepy and a little stressed.

"Yeah, really," Remus chuckles, too. "Now c'mon, let's get you to your dorm. I'll walk you there. Well, that is if you don't mind."

You shake your head. Indicating that you don't mind at all. Your cheeks go pretty pink as Remus and you start to walk towards the dorms.

You've always thought that Remus was so handsome, and so so smart. You'd never done anything about your crush, of course. Too scared to say anything. But that doesn't mean you haven't been admiring him. You have just-........from afar.

"Why were you in the library so late?" Remus asks to fill in the awkward quiet between you. And also he's a bit worried about you staying there until so late.

"Just studying, I couldn't figure out one assignment," you sigh. You still haven't figured it out, even if you stayed in the library for so many hours.

"The one for the potions?"

"Yeah," you admit in defeat," I've read everything I possibly could, but still i didn't find the answer."

Remus gives you a hesitant smile. You two are just a few steps from the dorms. You were walking too long in the awkward silence, and now the flowing conversation is about to end.

"I can give you the answer. I'll give it to you right away if you give me a second to look for it in my room," Remus instantly offers.

He's spent good few hours trying to find the answer too, so he understands how frustrating it can get. So he's very willing to give you the answer just so you don't go to bed with that on your mind. And also because he likes you, like a lot, and he would give you literally anything if you'd asked for it. He's down that bad for you.

"Really? I would really appreciate it, Remus," you say, happy about his help. You can't even think of how you could possibly thank him for it.

"Just give me a second," he turns towards his dorm, but he suddenly freezes halfway to the door.

Remus abruptly gets a better idea or well it depends on how well it goes. He just can't help his feelings for you any longer, and he needs to know what you feel, too. Even if he may get rejected, and end up with a broken heart.

Remus slowly turns around to face you again, a shy smile on his face.

"Or-r," he starts," we could go to Hogsmeade during the weekend, and I could explain it to you there. With something nice to eat and drink." Remus blurts it out in one breath.

Your eyes go very wide. Is Remus Lupin asking you out on a date or are you still very much asleep in the library, dreaming of this moment?

"L-like a date?" you sheepishly ask, blushing, and looking everywhere but him after your question.

"Yes. Exactly like a date." Remus states, looking nervous and hopeful at the same time.

You look up at him with a smile, you can't really believe that this is happening, " I think, I'd love that."

"Really?" Remus questions happily.

"Yes, really," you nod your head, sending a reassuring smile his way.

"Great. I can't wait," he tells you with a visible excitement.

"Me too," you admit bashfully.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow. We can sort out the time then. Goodnight, y/n," Remus says, giving you one more soft smile of his.

"Yes, tomorrow then. Goodnight to you too, Remus," you wave him goodbye, and quickly dissappear into your dorm before you can collapse on the spot from the way your legs have turned to jello.

You think you can hear pretty loud cheers of the Marauders as you head to change into your pyjamas. A shy giggle escapes your mouth when you think about Remus telling his best mates about your date, and them being so happy about it.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 5: Truth

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You labour.

Hello, all! I've had some deadlines at work delay this one, but we have A BAAAAABY so I hope this is worth it! We're progressing through the timeline now, and we're nearly half-way through the time gap between Episodes 7 and 8. From here, it's likely time will speed through a little more, though don't take my word for that. Some plottening stuff happens in here, too, though this is mostly off-screen. Lotta dialogue as well. The chap comes with its customary long word count (approx 7000 words), so settle in. Lemme know if you enjoy!

Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for betaing this chapter for me! Thank you to @emilykaldwen for giving me some valuable tips to tidy this thang up!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, implications of forced pregnancy/marital ab*se (not main pairing), semi-graphic childbirth.

You look up from the letter, your gut sinking at the revelation therein. From your position—propped up and thoroughly barricaded in by mountainous cushions—you watch your sister pace, her hands clenched before her so tightly that her skin is white as bone.

“We knew this was bound to happen,” Daemon says from his perch at the end of the bed, near enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the covers.

Bouncing Rhaenar atop his knee, your uncle’s free arm bears the weight of Aelys, who busies herself hanging off him and stamping her feet on the ground in a facsimile of walking. He ought to appear as a nursemaid, but he carries his undertaking well, a certain automaticity about him that grants him an air of nonchalance. Perhaps he had done the very same with you once, long ago.

With no small degree of condescension, he adds, “Was this not the purpose of Alicent’s little plot? A waste if the boy were not to seed her eventually.”

Not for any lack of trying.

Disdain pulses through you at the thought of your half-brother, at the thought of what you know he had done to Helaena to get his ilk on her, what he had been doing to her before she was ready and willing to abide it. This is not something you can tarry on for long without anger.

Your eyes rove over the words on the page, seeking within them some semblance of the girl you knew. She has not written this. She would not have said this. ‘Tis too grand, too devout. No—this is the work of her mother. Your lady stepmother has made a blatant show of her daughter’s children to bolster Aegon’s cause, and the notion makes you angry. There is indication here as to Helaena’s true feelings, as to how she might have come to discard her moon tea and let her womb bear fruit.

Why did she never mention it in any of her letters? you think hopelessly. How could she not tell me she was with child? Have we truly been driven so far apart now?

Worse than this, you wonder if she had been found out. If this odd reticence is a product of some sort of imprisonment, a consequence for betraying her duty. You wonder and you hope, fervently, that she has not been forced to birth her brother’s babes—by her mother, more like, as Aegon does not seem the sort to concern himself overmuch about such things—for her sake and for the innocent lives so newly brought into the world.

Rhaenyra scoffs, recapturing your attention. “Forgive me for assuming her barren. It has been near two years since they wed, and naught to show for it.”

“And now she’s borne twins of her own. A shame.” Daemon sniffs derisively. You cannot quite see his expression as he regards his boy and girl, but you imagine it is one of smug arrogance as always. “Perhaps the Realm would give a shit if hers had come before ours.”

“It is a matter of succession, not innovation! Your children”—she gestures irascibly to Rhaenar and Aelys, both as fascinated as the other by the sight of Rhaenar’s bared toes dangling from his papa’s lap and unconcerned by the rising volume of their aunt’s voice—“are not at risk, but mine are. This will give the Greens all the more reason to accept my half-brother as the rightful heir.”

She cuts herself off, taking several deep breaths to steady her temper.

 “He is already the firstborn son of the King,” she says, quieter, more measured. “And now, with a son to further his claim… what chance do I have?”

Your poor sister. She has been on edge since Laenor departed. This cannot have helped her state of mind any.

“First son, yes,” you tell her softly. “You are the firstborn. Father named you heir. He has never reneged on that, never named Aegon instead. Do not forget that.”

She sinks against the wall, anger gone as quickly as it had sparked to life. “What if he changes his mind? It would be easier. Rhaenys told me once… that men would sooner see the realm put to the torch than have a woman on the throne.”

“Why would he?” Daemon asks. “The boy is a man now, or near enough. He declared for you when you were much younger. If he were going to change his mind, he’d have done it already. And Rhaenys can be a sanctimonious cunt when she wants to be. Ignore her.”

Perhaps. But our cousin is right—for had she not been in the very same position near thirty years ago? She had the stronger claim, and yet was passed over for Father. The lords have long favoured manhood over seniority.

You keep these thoughts to yourself, though. No good can come from pointing out exactly why Rhaenyra has reason to worry.

“Hm.” She does not sound overly reassured by your husband’s words.

He continues, unconcerned. “This news is of little importance. Does the hare not multiply in abundance? Offspring it may have, but it doesn’t give them divine right any more than the same gives the Hightower spawn. Calm yourself.”

It is precisely the wrong thing to say. You stifle the urge to roll your eyes, steeling yourself for the inevitable backlash.

“Do not tell me to calm down, Daemon,” is her irritated response.

“Then do not storm in and disturb us so.”

“May I remind you that you reside here by my—”

“Perhaps you can postpone your quarrel to some other time?” you ask loudly, drowning out the end of whatever riposte Rhaenyra had concocted. “Preferably when I do not have to hear it?”

Your children turn, startled by your sudden interjection. It is as though they have just realised you are present. Rhaenar kicks his feet a little, gaze fixed on you. You can tell that he wants you, though he is far more patient than his sister. Aelys drops her hands from Daemon’s arms, using the bedframe to keep herself upright as she sidles closer to you, whining for “mama” with a steadily growing frown. You wish you could lean over and lift her, but the effort of doing so might well push this new babe clean from you.

Daemon carries on with his exchange, though his eyes do flicker to the girl watchfully. “Exactly,” he says to your sister. “Now fuck off.”

The day either of my children make use of such foul language, you decide, is the day their father will be sleeping on the floor.

Rhaenyra levels him with little more than a sardonic quirk of the brow, as though his conduct is but mildly irritating. “Give me a reason to exile you from this island, Uncle. Go on.”

It is a jest, clearly, one that tugs at the edge of your lips with the threat of amusement. Her nostrils flare with concealed victory at his dismissive grunt, the rigid lines of her figure easing into something approaching serene as she moves towards the side of the bed.

Though she readily hoists Aelys from the floor to kiss her downy-soft cheek, it is not what your daughter desires—she twists and reaches out for you, doing her best to squirm away. Daemon stands, free arm held out. Rhaenyra passes the infant to him, cooing when she inevitably begins to cry with the frustration of once again being denied her mother. While your husband murmurs platitudes to her, bouncing the twins in his hold lest the spell of despair pass from one to the other, your sister turns to you.

“Rest.” Leaning forward to press her lips to your crown, she smooths your hair back and takes the missive still clutched between your fingers into her grasp. She waves it about as she says, “I… I will send our congratulations to the capital.”

You nod. “Alright.”

Aelys is still fussing as Rhaenyra leaves, clinging to her papa’s neck and wailing directly into his ear. So illogical it is, to latch oneself onto the very person keeping them from their desire, but such is the nature of children, you have found. Rhaenar begins to bleat, stirred by his sister, and Daemon is succeeding little in quelling either protest. It is valiant of him to try and keep the twins away, beleaguered as you are by constant aches and soreness now—but the comfort they are after is not one he can provide.

You sigh, tugging the laces affixing the front panel of your shift to the sides. The fabric drops. “Give her to me.”

Obligingly, he places Aelys onto the mattress, chuckling as she inches forward, eager to get to you. You try not to wince as she elbows you in her scramble amongst the cushions to situate herself, head pillowed against the protuberance of your belly while her hands and mouth fasten to your breast.

She is old enough now that your milk is no longer strictly necessary for survival, but you cannot deny her the sweetness of nursing when it brings her such security. You hear her suckling, feel the flexing of her fists against your skin, the familiar tugging sensation as she pulls and swallows. It is more powerful than a calming tonic, a bolt of love in its rawest form spreading throughout your body.

The mattress dips beside you, and you can feel your son clambering over your legs, though your gaze upon your daughter does not break. Daemon’s calloused finger strokes along the meeting point of her lips to your nipple.

“She just about hangs off your teats, doesn’t she?” he asks, deep and warm.

You smile, running a soothing palm up and down her back. Her lids have begun to droop. “It is comforting, I think. There isn’t much there for her.”

With the new child set to arrive any day, you know you will begin to make that precious first milk for them soon, thin and yellow and essential for good health. Your twins may need to take sustenance from Freda only until your supply renews itself properly. It is worrying to think of, for you are certain neither will be very enthusiastic about the change in routine.

You let out a laugh as Rhaenar finally finds your other breast, mirroring his twin against your belly. The pressure is not quite comfortable, but it is manageable enough. Your boy is slower, gentler than Aelys, preferring to take his time feeding rather than guzzling it all down as quickly as he can. Your uncle’s hand enters your line of sight, ruffling the dusting of silver-white capping his son’s head.

“What do you think?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. The question has nothing to do with your present circumstances.

“I… I don’t know.”

You truly don’t. You do not know how to think, how to feel about little Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, or what it means that their mother had kept them concealed. You settle on the simplest conclusion you have come to thus far.

“Rhaenyra is right,” you say. “This complicates matters.”

It sounds weak even to you. Daemon pulls away, taking his warmth with him. He stares at some fixed point on the wall, the ridge of his brow casting a shadow of restrained ferocity over his face. His jaw is set. When he speaks next, it is colder than he has sounded in moons.

“Only to those who have no loyalty to the true heir. That bitch”—Alicent, your mind supplies unhelpfully, ‘that bitch’ being all he will deign to call her since he had learned of her schemes—“may have named her son for a king, but he will never be fit to sit the Iron Throne.”

“There are men aplenty named ‘king’ in past ages who have been ill-suited to it,” you remind him carefully. “It is not for love of Aegon that support is with him.”

He snorts, though there is little humour in it. “I would sooner set the Seven Kingdoms ablaze than bend the knee to the spawn of a Hightower.”

You believe him, and that may well be the worst part. Who could ever stand against the wrath of a dragon?

“Will it come to that?” you ask, clutching your babes to you. It is all you can do to prevent your voice from quivering. “Truly?”

“For the Realm’s sake, it had better not,” he says darkly.

True. It is not a future with a peaceful aftermath, that is certain. But the gleam in his eye tells you that, should such a day come, it is not only his enemies he would seek to punish, but the world itself. War calls to him as you have feared for so long, and you know not if he has the power to resist it.

The same thought plagues you again. Am I enough for him? Are we enough for him? You wonder if you will ever know the answer.

You recognise the pains for what they are this time. When you wake in the morning to a twinge at the base of your spine and radiating tightness throughout your lower body, it is as sure a sign as any that the babe intends to make their way from you in due course.

It is pointless to panic. These sensations had begun the eve before the twins’ birth, and so you know there may well be hours until anyone need be alerted. Still, it is unpleasant enough that you ask your ladies to prepare a bath, hoping that the warmth will dull the worst of it.

You find it helps. You feel less weighted down, and while the pain does not dissipate entirely, the water suspends you in a state of perpetual serenity. Periodically, the maids remove water and set it on the hearth to boil before slowly tipping it back in, allowing you to remain in your haven for as long as you wish. Steam rises in whorls, heating the chilled air and sticking to your skin.

“Princess?” Jeyne sounds anxious. You crack open your lids to find her peering at you, wide-eyed. “Should… should I fetch the healer?”

You hum through a more insistent spasm, focusing on keeping your breathing steady through it. It recedes, a wave retreating from shore but ever-present on the horizon. You know it will return, and soon.

“Mm. Yes,” you say, cupping your belly. It is almost buoyant in the water. You feel strangely calm. “This one will be born today.”

For all the flurry that quickly takes place, you find yourself unable to take much notice of it all. New voices float in and out of your periphery, rustlings and thuds and scrapes resounding as everyone else makes way for the child’s imminent arrival. You care for none of it, watching the constellation of colours across the insides of your eyelids as you breathe and breathe and breathe.

It is odd. You have spent moons worrying about this precise moment. Now that it is here, all you can think is that you have done it before, that you had had strength enough for twice the work and been given two babes for it, alive and kicking like goats. They had come easily enough—why not this one?

I am not my mother, you think. I am not Laena or Alyssa or Daella or Gael.

You vaguely register Ūlla snapping at her attendants from the other side of the room, your mouth curling up at the sound.

“Should we help her out, milady?” a midwife asks. “What if the bath is too hot?”

“She look too hot, girl? No. Leave her,” is the dismissive response. “She come out when ready.”

The well of fondness for your strange healer woman fills itself to the brim, fluttering in your heart as the babe twists about in your womb. ‘Tis unquestionable, her loyalty, her faith in you. Without saying it, she reminds you that you are the one in control here. It is your body, your babe, your battle.

You were a youth before, with the twins, unfamiliar with all that comes with childbed. Of course you had needed her hovering assistance, and of course the fact that you had needed to perform double the work necessitated so much fuss and fuddle. Now, though, it is far quieter. Fewer midwives, no maester, no fingers and instruments prodding about where they are unwanted. Just you, attuned to the rhythm within, counting the moments as they pass in irregular surges.

In. Out. In. Out. With each inhale and exhale, the pain grows and grows, unstoppable. Your insides knot together, tighter and tighter, each release feeling less and less like relief. The shakes set in, and nausea rises, though you cough up only bile over the side of the tub. You have not yet broken your fast, and you suspect you will take no food until these proceedings are at an end.

Inevitably, the tempest that is your uncle sweeps in, scattering the hush to pieces and banishing it hereforth.

“… have fucking sent for me earlier. Look at all this.” A clatter. Whether it be him discarding his blade or worse, kicking some sundry item in his foul mood, you know not. “Time to set up, but no time to fetch a page. Useless fucking—”

“Ñuhus jorrāeliarzus.” My love, you call him. It exerts you to push your voice so. With closed eyes and outstretched hand, you beckon him. “Māzīs.” Come.

He is no hound, but still, he obeys. You hear his heavy footsteps, and quick enough, your fingers are enveloped in his, the side of your head bearing the pressure of his as he crowds over you.

“Aōma iksan,” he murmurs, buzzing through your bones. I am with you.

“Rhaenar? Aelys?” You try not to whimper, but it is all you can do not to cry as it is. Even though the sight of you would surely set their tears aflow, you want them, an impulse that compels you to shore up your domain in times of vulnerability and stress. But more than this, you want them safe.

“Rhaenyra has them,” Daemon says, clothed arm disappearing below the water’s surface to cup the fullness of your belly, testing the give of it. He does not seem surprised by his findings, though his palm remains firm to your skin. His expression is neutral, if forced, belied by the stiff set of his shoulders and the thin line of his mouth. “They’re fine.”

The whisper of worry flitting in the very back of your mind dissipates like smoke, a lingering doubt you had not known existed until its disappearance. It allows you to fully descend into your labours, to block out the world around you as age-old instinct takes over.

Your awareness ebbs and flows with the spasms of your belly, just barely cognisant of the ever-enduring heat of the water surrounding you—Daemon’s work, you think, for his voice rumbles harshly even if you pay little attention to the precise sounds he forms—and the unrelenting throb of your lower body, cramping and seizing and working its way to a grand finish. The draughts of tea fed to you by Ūlla do little but blunt the edge of pain, transforming sharpness to a bottomless, muscular ache, so intense that your mind cannot pinpoint the source of it even if you logically know the way of things. The babe moves impatiently within you, reminding you that there is a prize to be won for your great suffering.

They are eager to depart the prison of your body. You are eager to let them.

Soon, the pain grows too great to abide. Your heavy breaths turn ragged, then to moans, giving the hurt a sound with which to herald it. Your belly drops low, almost between your legs, so tight and hard to the touch that you can trace the outline of the child’s rump through paper-thin flesh.

“I want to get out,” you gasp, startling all who surround you. It does not seem so sudden to you, though you suppose so long without action had lulled the others into complacency. “I want to get out.”

You flail for a moment, entirely incapable of bearing yourself up, but your uncle’s sure and steady frame holds firm as he guides you to standing, supporting you as you step out on each wobbly, unsure leg.

“Careful, my girl,” he says, or perhaps he only mouths it to you, presses his fear and his love from his lips to your ears. “That’s it…”

The water you leave behind is cooler than the air that clings to your slick frame. After the attendants cursorily dry you off, you lean into Daemon, fighting the natural urge to sink with the heft of your womb, to meet the cool ground below with the rippling solidity of skin that feels ready to burst. Naked as the day you were born, you move forward and forward and forward, grunting with the strain of it, for it hurts now to even walk, to do so simple a feat, your thighs unable to come together from the protruding spread of your middle and the deep threatening sting of your stretching inner mouth, an immense force just waiting to cleave it open from inside.

Your pulse pounds away behind your eyes as you reach the birthing stool, finally giving in to that all-encompassing desire to lower yourself, not to the seat, no, but to your knees before the chair, fists curled around the snarled wood of its frame and nails digging into the surface.

“You should sit on stool, Princess,” Ūlla says behind you, or mayhaps before you. It is so, so hard to tell. “I can help—”

“No.” Daemon responds for you, on his knees by your side. His voice is firm, unyielding. “This is where she wants to be.”

Speech is beyond you now, but your hand jerks from its iron grip to swing outward, seeking him. He takes hold, fingers wrapping around yours. You squeeze tight as the pressure mounts.

“You know me,” you wish you could tell him. “You know me to my soul.”

“I’m here,” he murmurs aloud, other palm flat to your back, pushing down against your lower spine. It brings a strange relief, though it does not ease what you feel. “I’m here, sweetling.”

The babe bears down, and so do you, imagining it in your mind’s eye as you strain. You feel lightheaded, unable to breathe, and you think you might be making some horrible noise that emanates from your gut with the force of your muscles contracting. Your legs tingle, your arms shake, your entire frame overcome and overtaken by the focal point between your legs.

“Good girl, Princess!”

A damp, warm towel presses against your opening, and then heat bursts inside, no, not heat, fire, stinging and blazing, and you wonder if you really have caught alight inside, burning from the inside out, for nothing could be more painful than this slow and excruciating torment. You feel like a wounded animal, snarling and cringing away from itself, unable to escape as each swell comes faster and faster, blurring and rolling into one single, irrevocable chasm.

Oh, how it hurts—

You must age ten summers by the time it all reaches its very worst, most searing agony. You rip apart, it is the only way you can describe it, and you do not even know if you are right and you have split open from navel to back, a great mass making itself known right at the precipice between you and the open air. A shriek rattles around the room.

“Feel that, boy—the head—”

“I can feel it—”

Daemon laughs once, quick, exhilarated, forehead collapsing atop the base of your skull as rough digits feel along the stretched seam of your entry, mapping the circumference of this new babe.

“A big one, is it not?” he asks, terrified and overwhelmed and overjoyed all wrapped into one.

“Very big. Push hard, Princess, very hard—”

And it is very hard, so very hard, but you are not alone. Daemon is here. He is not just lounging about and indulging in ale and raillery with his comrades like any lord would. He is here with you as you bring this child into the world, feeling what you feel, holding fast rather than backing away. The very essence of him melds with yours, and you picture yourself grasping onto it tightly, no longer afraid. Whatever happens now, he is here.

If you live, it is here with him. If you die, it is here with him. The pain will fade, but the joy? Oh, it will bloom, sure as the sun rises each morn.

You feel your belly constrict and you bear down, panting shallowly, ending in one long, shuddering scream and a gush of fluid.

A beat, and then a cry.

You wilt in relief, sobbing openly as the babe lets themselves be known, their angered protestations drowning out any praise or felicitations. It is done. It is done. You made it through, and you knew you would, but still, it is glorious relief that fills you. It burns to fall back on your haunches, right in the mess of liquid on the bedding sprawled between your legs, but you make yourself sit upright in time for Ūlla to pass you the babe, squirming and squalling and covered in blood and muck.

Daemon’s lips press firm against your temple as you take your son into your embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers, but you scarcely notice.

“Look at him,” you say, staring down in shock, surprise, wonder. “He’s here.”

You did not know if you would see him and feel love when the time came. Now it is over, and you cannot imagine why you had ever thought you would not. He is large, much more so than Rhaenar or Aelys were, both in size and plumpness. Your arms are still shaking, held up with Daemon’s assistance, but even so, you can feel how heavy he is, how substantive. His skin is purpled, but that is fading, flushing from the force of his wailing. Tiny fingers, tiny toes, tiny cock—“that’ll grow, I hope,” Daemon says—and, rather oddly, a matted thicket of blonde locks, dark, not silver like his siblings, like his papa, like you.

“My mother’s hair.” Your uncle’s fingers tremble as they stroke across the top of his new child’s head, as if touching a memory brought back to the mortal plane. When he speaks next, it is a choked sound, wrenched from his gut. “He is beautiful.”

The babe’s cries slow to snuffles, nosing along your breast as he starts to root, and you help him shift to latch on. It is familiar enough now that the sensation does not surprise you, so you pay it no mind as you continue admiring your son.

The world turns quiet and small. The people around you speak, move about, but you hardly hear them through the fog that settles over you. Laying your head against Daemon’s shoulder, you sag into him, exhausted. Your womb continues to squeeze upon itself, though it is milder now, or perhaps you simply cannot care to focus on it anymore. Your body works to expel the afterbirth, and it soon enough exits onto the towels and cloths you sit upon, followed by a rush of warmth.

You feel Daemon tense. Your heart beats rapidly, in a peculiar rhythm.

“Give him to me,” Ūlla says, pulling the child from your breast.

He was not finished—he fusses, legs kicking, and you try to take him back, but you are too weak from your labours. You barely have the energy to protest. She passes him to a midwife, and he is carried away, still whining.

“What’s happening?” Daemon barks. She ignores him.

“Time to get up,” she tells you. Though her voice is calm, you sense her urgency. “Bleeding, more than I like. You are okay, Princess.”

You try to stand, but your legs are limp under you, wobblier than a foal’s. Your vision spots black, sickness rising up your throat, and you shake your head. I cannot. I cannot. The words will not come.

Daemon lifts you from the ground himself, forcing you to shut your eyes lest the sudden movement sends any remaining contents in your stomach spewing from your mouth. You catch a glimpse before you do—of sheets and towels soaked in wine-dark, marring the white of them irreversibly.

One moment you are in the air. The next, you are laid out on the bed, atop a lumpy woollen covering that is most decidedly not your mattress. Attendants rush around you, wiping your skin with rags doused in warm perfumed water, and lavender wafts through the air, tickling your nose. Your legs are parted for the healer to check over you.

“Mm. Tear. Small. But womb bleeding, too,” she mutters, packing cloth between your legs. The pressure is gentle. “Not good.”

“You will fix it.” It ought to be a question, but Daemon’s tone is not at all querying. It is a demand, or mayhaps a rare avowal of confidence.

“We see.”

You care not to ask what is in the tincture she pours into your mouth, earthy and bitter and foul, coating your tongue and sliding unpleasantly down your gullet. With eyes remaining shut, you let yourself focus only on the orders Ūlla gives you: when to hold the tincture she keeps feeding you inside your mouth, when to swallow in small increments, when to wash it down with wine watered down with milk. Your fatigue is too great for fear. If you were more alert, perhaps you would be thinking again of Laena, whose bed of blood was the prelude to her inevitable passing only days later. Or maybe of your mother, your grandmother, your great-aunt, or any of the other women of your family who had faced these same circumstances and lost their lives. But you cannot. It is too taxing.

At some point, a thin blanket is tucked carefully over your naked form. You had not realised you were cold until your skin is shielded from the room. Floating in twilight—eerie in how it detaches you from your surroundings—you continue to take in the healer’s medicines every few minutes, your mind fixed on your children.

You want your babe with you. You want Rhaenar and Aelys. It feels wrong now to be empty, to not feel the weight of a child kicking in your belly. It frightens you.

“I want my son,” you say. It hurts to talk. “My son…”

“Soon, my girl,” Daemon tells you tenderly, palm to your cheek. Through slitted eyes, you see his sleeve covered in blood. Your blood. “Sh.”

“Sit up now, Princess,” Ūlla says, bustling around the bed to help shift you up and lean back against the pillows.

For an instant, you are afraid the movement will renew the pulsing wet below, but you try anyway. You do not feel so dizzy as you blink, taking it all in after so long in self-imposed dark. Everything appears kaleidoscopic, an edge of unreality to the mundane objects and clutter that fill your bedchambers. The healer sits beside you, staring straight into your eyes with fingers pressed to the inside of your wrist.

“Well? Is she alright?” In your periphery, your uncle is pale, the weathered lines on his face pronounced with how tense his every muscle is. He stares down the healer with so much intent that it would make a lesser man wish to jump out of his own flesh.

It is silent—then, she relaxes, turning to regard him. “Yes. Heart is calming. Bleeding slower. Sleep, and eat, and then rest will take care of her best now.” To you, she asks, “How you feel, Princess?”

“A bit dizzy,” you say. “Tired.”

“Yes, yes.” She chuckles, passing you yet another dose of milk and wine. You do not like the taste in combination, but it settles in your stomach and warms you well enough, satisfies the hunger that is beginning to rear its head. “After that big boy? You earn it!”

“Where is he? I want him.”

Obligingly, she nods and moves away. One of the midwives—Lina, you think—brings a wrapped bundle forth, though your view is momentarily shrouded by the shift that is tugged over your head. You accept the attendant’s help in dressing, pulling the fabric down to your waist. A thick coverlet is draped across your lower half.

“We give you more tonic, make sure bleeding is done. And I will stay a while and watch,” Ūlla is saying. You are only vaguely aware of her, far too absorbed by the heft of your child delivered into your waiting arms.

Finally, finally, you are at ease. The babe is clean and dry, drowsing after being swathed in blankets, though you loosen them to examine him fully. The cord at his belly has been cut and tied off with string, the stump of it as odd to see as it had been on your twins. You can see him clearer now. He is all Daemon, from the shape and set of his eyes to the slope of his nose, capped off with tresses that mimic the shade of his papa’s mother.

You glance at your husband. He has had the wherewithal to change his shirt, and while he now appears unmarred, his expression is haunted. You are not worried as he must be, though. If you were going to die, then surely you would feel fainter and the cover below you would be soaked with gore. Instead, you feel clearer, restored if not fully hale and hearty, even if the ache of so much exertion is beginning to throb between your legs.

You reach out to him. He returns to you, shuffling in until he is by your side, pulling you into the crook of his arm. His hold is tighter than necessary, almost uncomfortable, but you do not mind. If it is what he needs to reassure himself that you are safe and well and here, then you will accept it gladly. You lay your cheek against his chest, the both of you watching your newest son.

The babe is so different from his older brother and sister. And yet, you feel as though you have known him all your life.

“What should we call him, then?” Daemon’s voice is hushed. Again, his palm caresses along the boy’s hair. It seems it is something he is most fascinated by, and you cannot blame him. A long time has passed since he had received such a reminder of one he loved so dearly. “Shall it be Rhaegar, or Daeryx?”

This is how you named the twins: he had come to you with two names he liked best for each and put it to you to make the final choice. Aelyx or Rhaenar. Valaena or Aelys. Your only true condition had been that they would be names no other Targaryen in recent history had been given. It is difficult enough to carry the visage of a ghost—worse still, you imagine, to bear their epithet and know that you would forevermore be compared to some hero of an age past, always falling short. Even so, you know Daemon has a particular partiality to Visenya and Baelon. Perhaps you will eventually grant him these, one day. You have many years of fertility left.

“Hm.” You study your son. All you can see in him is your uncle, and oh, how it wrenches you to your bones and sweetens the very air you breathe. Your heart decides before you are truly conscious of it. “I think… Daeryx.”

Daeryx, Daemon. Daeryx, Daemon. It is a perfect homage.

“Rhaenar, Aelys and Daeryx. They fit well.”

They do. You are tempted to ask that the twins be brought to you, to have your whole little family together, but you know that you are too drained to entertain excitable infants at present. It can wait. You have all the time in the world.

For a long while, you sit together in silence, just staring at Daeryx. You stroke his tiny knuckles, the arch of his feet. You trace the line of his mouth, the curve of his ears. You lean down to take in his sweet, perfect scent, of milk and skin and love love love.

You and Daemon do not need to speak, not truly. But when he opens his mouth, you already know what he will say, and you hoard his words greedily, storing them in the place in your mind where all your most precious memories reside.

“I have waited all my life for this,” he confesses, low and raw and real, never once looking away from your son.

He does not just mean Daeryx, this you know. This is a child of his own, three now where he had barely been allowed to hope for one. This is a family he could feel respected by, trusted, like he belonged. This is a home, full of light and love, something that had for so long been out of reach. And not just for him.

“So have I,” you whisper back, kissing his collarbone. “So have I.”

“Ah. Gentle, please.”

Your lips quirk fondly as your little brother coaches Aelys, grasping firm to her elbow to guide her hand slowly. Aelys makes a funny aaah sound as her palm settles on Daeryx’s head, her fingers clumsily petting through his hair.

“Isn’t he nice?” Daeron asks, careful to make his voice soft. “Daeryx. Can you say it? Dair-icks.”

Aelys beams gummily, wiggling on her bottom. “Dair.”

He shrugs. “Close enough.”

“Pa,” Rhaenar adds to the conversation, clapping excitedly. He has been squirming ever since Daemon lifted him onto his lap. “Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa.”

“Yes, darling?” Daemon asks indulgently, bouncing his knee only once.

Your eldest smacks his father’s knee, then points at the sleeping newborn nestled next to him. “Ba.”

“That’s right. Baby. This”—he lifts his arm, bringing Daeryx closer—“is your brother. He is small, so be careful.”

Your uncle could not look prouder if he tried. Holding both his sons, his daughter right beside him, he is the very image of a devoted papa, his exuberance bursting out despite his paltry attempts to school his expression. He almost seems overwhelmed by it. With three of them now, you cannot blame him. Even you find yourself disoriented by the fact that you are outnumbered by these strange little creatures straight from your body.

These next days, weeks, moons will be hard. From what little you know, little you have witnessed from the sidelines when watching your elder sister bear one then two then three boys, ensuring each child feels equally seen and loved by you shall be the most important task. You suppose you know what not to do, though—had your father not devoted all his care to a single child, neglecting the other and outright ignoring the ones to come?

That will not be me, you vow.

Even now, when they are young and have yet to become their true selves, you cannot fathom allowing any of them to think they are not just as valued as their siblings. It makes you wonder what your father has been thinking all these years. It makes you question whether or not you can really blame your younger brothers for any deficit they possess. If you had been the boy Father craved, the one he all but murdered your mother in pursuit of, and you had known that not even possessing a prized cock between your legs was enough to warrant any moue of notice or care, what would you do? To what would you turn—and to whom?

“You are all so far away,” you say. Trapped under the covers as you are, you pat the space beside you. There is plenty of room for them all. “Come sit with me.”

Daeron readily takes hold of his niece, and she cleaves to him with the easy grip of someone who knows full well that they are surrounded by love. He brings her to you, lazing about on the edge with a careless affect and easy grin. You kiss your daughter’s face and scent her sweet-smelling hair once she has crawled to you, tucking her into your side as Daemon rounds the other side of the bed. He sets Daeryx on your lap, dropping Rhaenar at your feet. The boy cackles as his papa descends to tickle his belly, wriggling across the mattress toward your brother.

“Get back here,” Daemon growls playfully, grabbing his ankle and dragging him backward.

Rhaenar squeals as he is beset once more, the flurry and chaos inevitably drawing Aelys into the fray. She inserts herself as she so typically does, demanding attention that is readily granted. Quickly enough, both are shrieking with delight as Daemon launches his attack, the sight enough to make the normally reticent Daeron belly laugh. The commotion does not seem to concern Daeryx overmuch—he blinks up at you, stirred by the noise but disinterested in determining the cause. All he seems absorbed by is his mama.

It is such magnificent anarchy, here in your apartments. Your head begins to throb from the pitch of your twins’ joy, matched by the ache that spans your entire body. None of that matters. It all pales in comparison.

Once, you had worried about how you might manage sharing your love with a new child. You worried it would mean less for Rhaenar and Aelys, or that you would not have anything left to give Daeryx. That love is finite, fixed, and that you must carve it up as best you can. But it is nothing like that at all. Love, you now know, does not falter. It doubles, triples, multiplies upon itself with each person to whom you give it. The wellspring never runs dry.

I cannot love them any more than I do right now, you think as you look upon the scene before you, listing them out in your mind as if carving their memory into stone. 

Daeron. Daemon. Rhaenar, Aelys, Daeryx. Rhaenyra, too, and Jace, Luke, Joff, Laenor, Baela, Rhaena, Corwyn. Helaena, and Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, whom you know not if you will ever meet but you will cherish all the same. There are more people now than fingers upon which to count them. 

This is the most I will ever feel such love in my life.

You are wrong. You know you are. Love grows and grows and grows. And that is the greatest truth of all.

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[theladybrownstarot]

Pick-A-Card : What does your feminine side wants you to know ? (Collab : @tarot-by-e11e♡)

☪︎ Here's my masterlist for more !

☪︎ Make sure you like/reblogg/follow/Comment for more pacs like these !

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. Pile 4.

˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖

Pile 1 .

Namaste pile 1 ! Let's get with your reading :-

cards pulled out : 10 of wands rx, 8 of swords rx and The sun .

☪︎ You people are literally stressed out and burdened with a lot of things that can be felt through the reading . Are you people having teeth pain out of stress because i can feel that . Your feminine side says that stop for second leave others and prioritize your mental and physical well-being ! take proper sleep do not over-do anything because there's always a limit . Your feminine side says even though you got lot of potential inside you but still take how much you can do.

☪︎ Next , some of you might be going through some legal problems and if not then you are full of unecessary thoughts which needs to filtered out seriously otherwise you are going to face lot of problems. Doing work out fear , insecurity or any other negative emotion is not gonna help you out . You might be facing some kind of injustice and i really feel that your feminine side says that you are not taking any proper action against it this tells me the need to have proper boundary for yourselves .

☪︎ last but not the least , your feminine side says that she is going to beat the shit out of you if you cannot enjoy and let yourselves get drowned in that sadistic pool of thoughts and actions ! let yourself be happy and really bring out that child inside you that craves to go out and do whatever it wants , be positive your world is not going to end .

˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖

Pile 2 . [@tarot-by-e11e]

Thank you so much for being here ♡ @e11e27

Cards pulled out : 2 of Cups, 8 of Coins reversed, Temperance, 7 of Swords, 3 of Swords, Queen of Wands, Hierophant, Knight of Wands, Judgement.

☪︎ The time in my clock is 1:01 pm as I sat down by my window enjoying the cool summer rain, so that I can interpret for my dear pile 2.

☪︎ Angel number 101 shares an undeniable news about growth, progress and new beginnings. There is this welcoming message of growth and collaboration with your feminine side. This makes me feel like my pile 2 are either: finally taking baby steps in wanting to lean more into your feminine side OR you've reached a certain point of burn out, that you feel called to want to learn how to graciously accept the help from the universe and your guides.

☪︎ With the 2 of Cups, there's this gentle whisper of unity and mutual respect for your feminine side. It would seem that pile 2 might have "girl-bossed" a little too hard this past few weeks/months, so much so that you’d rather push your body to the point of exhaustion than actively allowing yourself to rest and recuperate. There's also this air of hypervigilance caused by the lack of genuine support and healthy role models growing up.

☪︎ More like, Pile 2 was surrounded by who they promised they will never want to become. With the first card alone, the message your feminine side wants to tell you: Let yourself be open to others again.

☪︎ It seems that Pile 2 had experience betrayals and has been in survival mode to God knows how long. To be so disregulated that you feel guilty for even purchasing skincare, even if you are not financially struggling anymore, is quite a heartbreaking situation to be in. Your feminine side is telling you: "Self - Care = Self - Love", so pile 2 can be the type of person that struggles to be okay with putting themselves first. It seems this pile is for my people pleasers.

☪︎ The songs, "You don't know" by Katelyn Tarver popped in my head. Particularly the lines, "I know you got the best intentions, just trying to find the right words to say..."; this line makes me feel like a line you want to tell anyone who wants to help you out. In this case, this is a song you dedicate to your own feminine side. But here's the thing sweetie, your feminine side DOES KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE YOU...

☪︎ Your feminine side, as much as they want to help you out, they can't seem to outscream your insecurities and troubles away. Your feminine side is soft spoken yet firm with their love for you. Your feminine side wants you to know they'll always be here for you, they're just waiting for you to sit quietly in your feelings and take the time to hear them out. They're always ready to help, they're just waiting on your signal. And you choosing this pile, your feminine side is welcoming you with open arms, with them, you are allowed to safely get vulnerable, without judgement or shame. They're always ready to welcome you back into helping you feel like *you* again.

☪︎ So first thing your feminine side wants to tell you is: "Welcome back home".

☪︎ With 8 of Coins reversed, your feminine side wants you to forgive yourself for only taking the time to only want to hear what they have to tell you. It's okay, you're safe with your feminine side. Remember, no judgement or shame will ever come from them.

☪︎ With how much you have on your plate in your life right now Pile 2, having debts and bills to pay, responsibilities piling up higher than your bookshelves, alot of people depend on you for everything, even on things that they can easily deal with themselves, yet they actively decided to pass their burdens to you. Seeing as your attention, focus and efforts are needed elsewhere, it's okay that you only felt the need to sit down to what they have to tell you.

☪︎ The more I interpret for pile 2, the more I can imagine that this pile is for the chronic workaholic people pleasers, it also has the vibe of the sole provider and/or oldest sibling energy. The heavy feeling of burn out is so prevalent in this pile, so much so that you tend to be the type to drown in work while your friends and family barely got a chance to spend time with you.

☪︎ Just know, they love you and miss you so much. They do appreciate your efforts to keeping a roof over everyone's heads and food on the table, but you tend to forget that you deserve to be taken cared for too. This is a strong message from your feminine side, let others show how much they can take care of you. Let others into your life. Learn to let love in again in your life again. Betrayals in any shape or form had closed the gates of your heart, to the point of self-imposed isolation, guised as working hard to provide. It seems that pile 2 overworks to hide their pain. It's like, "Working more means less time to feel".

☪︎ With Temperance, your feminine side suggests you start reassessing your current lifestyle and curate your daily routines to cultivate a "healthy work life balance". I can already feel some of pile 2 are rolling their eyes back so far inside that they can see their brain cells barely surviving from fatigue. And yes, I'm also lovingly call out those of you who leaned back as you begrudgingly "ugggggggggghhhh..." into surrender.

☪︎ Definitely my burn out overwhelmed workaholic people pleasers pile. You're so conditioned to always Go, go, go to the next task before letting yourself catch your breath. My dear, unless your line of work is in ER surgery, you allowing yourself to rest won't lead to someone's demise. So if you work in the medical field pile 2, your feminine side is way more stricter with you about work-life balance. I heard the words "It's non negotiable at this point". So pile 2, please, for the love of rainbows, cookies and butterflies, please curate your daily routines into a healthy work-life balance.

☪︎ With 7 of swords, your feminine side is asking you to keep quiet about your plans for self-love and self-care. This was a rather odd card to show up but with the multiple instances of me mentioning betrayal with the previous cards, it seems pile 2 is surrounded by people who benefit from your lack of boundaries. That's actually the kind of betrayals you've consistently dealt with. People taking your kindness and generosity for weakness, as if it's an invitation to openly abuse your giving heart. Oh no dear pile 2, I'm so sorry you are surrounded by people who can't stand you stepping into your power.

☪︎ This message feels rather severe but your feminine side is asking you to keep your happiness and achievements under wraps and offline. Don't post anything celebratory, it seems that evil eye and ill wishes from jealous and insecure coworkers and/or family members tends be your usual cause of bad luck. So with that, cleanse and establish healthy boundaries with people who have proven that they have no intention of wishing you well. Keep those kind of people out of your life. Take that message in any shape or form that you feel called to interpret it as.

☪︎ Your feminine side urges you to let yourself be nurtured again. You don't have to always be assertive; you don't have to also be the one that leads. You are allowed and you deserve to receive. So let yourself be on the receiving of your friends and loved one's care.

˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖

Pile 3 . [@tarot-by-e11e]

Thank you so much for being here @e11e27 ♡

Cards pulled out : High Priestess, Ace of Swords, 4 of Wands, King of Cups, 4 of Swords, Strength, 6 of Coins

𐙚 My dearest pile 3, right off the bat, this feels like the “Stepping into your power” pile.

☪︎ Starting with the High Priestess, this talks about listening to your intuition, leaning more onto your spiritual practices, and, in this specific question, leaning more into listening to your feminine side. I feel called to share a little way to discern the difference between intuition, anxiety, and wishful thinking.

☪︎ Wishful thinking feels self-gratifying and short-lived, and leans more toward satisfying an urge/itch in the moment; like having a quick dopamine fix from doomscrolling. It’s the easiest to fulfill and do, out of all the three.

☪︎ Anxiety is fear-based and meant to keep you safe; there are certain times when safety, when taken too far, leaves you stuck and resentful; If any negative thought starts with “What if..”, this is an example of an intrusive thought that’s rooted in anxiety. It feels comfortable because it’s familiar, but it leaves you regretful and resentful for not pursuing something else.

☪︎ Intuition is sometimes like an invisible cord that’s pulling you into doing something you subconsciously feel is the right thing to do. There are times when intuition makes you feel uncomfortable, if you are in a period of stagnancy; but there are also times when intuition feels right, when even without logical and substantial evidence to back up the decision, you feel in your gut that it “just makes sense.”

☪︎ With Ace of Swords, your feminine side shares that you will receive some sort of clarity/breakthrough once you learn to listen to your intuition more; it takes practice to differentiate fear and inner knowing, so be kinder to yourself as you go about this journey. The more you listen to your gut, the easier it is for you to have new ideas and have a sense of focus towards the vision of what you want your life to unfold as.

☪︎ 4 of Wands is about your community, stability, and a sense of belongingness. With this, your feminine side suggests you put yourself out into the world to call in your soul tribe/chosen family. More like, the more you become the person you know you are meant to be, the easier it will be to naturally draw in your like-minded community.

☪︎ With the King of Cups, your feminine side urges you to embrace a compassionate approach in life, not just towards others, but particularly, towards yourself. Try to strike the balance between duty and nurture. Try to find a way to hone the skill of living a balanced life.

☪︎ Pile 3, your feminine side urges you to let yourself rest in the 4 of Swords; taking a nap while overthinking is not resting; sleeping and feeling guilty about not being productive hours before is not resting. (Damn, the call-out is real in this pile). Your feminine side asks you to truly let yourself rest and recuperate, unapologetically. How about this: whether you rest later, or rest now, your responsibilities remain; so if you rest properly now, you’ll have more energy to do your tasks wholeheartedly, and the chances of you producing results beyond your expectations is a high possibility. But if you push yourself too hard now just to have something you can “produce for the sake of having an output”, 9/10 the result is half-assed, and this will lead you to have more reason to stress and be filled with regrets. So the choice is up to you.

☪︎ The Strength card feels like your feminine side is telling you to embrace your inner power. If you’re the type that’s made to feel small, now’s the time for you to step out of your comfort zone, and try to build your confidence. You don’t have to make a huge. Life-altering change overnight. This feels more like building that steady foundation of your self-confidence. Learn how to reassure yourself that no matter what, you’ll get through everything because you are sure about your decisions and dreams in life.

‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖

Pile 4 .

Namaste pile 1 ! Let's get with your reading :-

cards pulled out : The world rx , The hermit , Knight of pentacles , Ace of penatcles rx and the emperor rx .

☪︎ People your feminine side encourages you to move forward and no to give up because you are almost the half way to what you need , i feel you are going through major setbacks and still you people trying to do everything you got to make yourself come out of the situation you are in currently and you will actually .

☪︎ Your feminine side encourages you to go for deep self reflection and take time-off from people and other things to sort out what needs to be , she says that you already have got all the wisdom and solution you are seeking that was because of the constant experience , i feel there's a mistake or an action that your committing again and needs to be stopped . She encourages you to meditate and take rest and don't seek help outside because you got it all !

☪︎ Some of you might be having some male relation issue or an issue with authority which will resolve quickly but you being encourages to take your stand .

☪︎ Your feminine encourages or warns you to be aware of any future scam or money investment you are doing , you need to change your long term financial plan or need to revaluate for better , I feel some of you might not get the desired job as of now and it could be that you facing job related issue which resolve quickly withing 2-3 months or before just do not stop .

₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚☽◯☾˚₊‧⁺˖

©️ @theladybrownstarot 2023 all rights reserved. Any stealing Or copying of work will be a punishable offence.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:14 pm]

(cw: cursing, reader is a lil teensy weensy bit toxic but it's fun!!!)

"Did you still want to go get food?" you ask from your position on gamer!Haechan's bed. The same spot you'd been in for the last, wow, almost 3 hours.

"Fuck off! Get my 6 motherfucker!" Haechan yells, before answering softly, "yeah, of course, baby."

You rolled your eyes, he wasn't even listening to you. He had been listening to you when you showed up 4 hours ago when he was very calmly showing you all the changes he made on his Animal Crossing Island. Then, and this was smart, he slid his Switch over to you and told you to make any changes you'd like. So you spent about an hour on his Switch, placing decorations and buying clothes to send to your own island before you realized he was keeping you busy so he could play Fortnite.

Just like he'd been playing last night when he insisted you call him to talk. That casual, and some might even call it cute, conversation lasted all of 20 minutes before he was screaming so loud, you heard him across the room even when your phone wasn't on speaker. Since he'd been so adamant about playing last night and played for so long, you thought today he'd be over it. WRONG! Apparently, there had been some update or something and that reignited his Fortnite obsession.

"Well, do you want to go out like we planned or do you want me to order something?" You asked, turning to lay on your side.

"Of course, my love- oh you stupid fuck! Get back here!" Haechan groaned as the keyboard clacking got even louder.

You pulled a blanket over your face to muffle a groan of your own. A groan of annoyance an frustration more than anything. You'd give him 10 more minutes and then you'd take drastic measures.

You checked the time, 2:14, perfect. You figured you could have at least a little fun while you waited.

"I think it would make you totally ugly if you shaved your head, but why not do it anyway? What do you think?" You asked with a smile.

Haechan nods, "Totally agree, babe. Someone come get this stupid ass little 10 year old that tried to steal my loot."

"And you should pay for our food! And dessert!" You added.

"Of course, baby! Oh, oh, dude! Dude! Headshot! That was a headshot! Holy shit! That was gold!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"And I was thinking maybe after dinner we can go sell your whole set up. Maybe to the first guy we see for like a dollar even less!"

"Yeah, definitely. Dude, I'm out. Fuck, I lagged. Let's join a new game, I'm tired of playing with these fucking kids," Haechan groans, running his hands down his face.

Perfect, you stood up and quickly moved to his computer, pulling at some random plugs until the screen shut off. You placed your hand over his mouth with a sickeningly sweet smile, "We're going to go eat now. Then, because you agreed, we're going to shave your head, you're going to pay, and then we're going to sell your little computer and the whole set up."

You could feel his lips moving beneath your hand, "But-"

You tsked with a fake pout, "Baby, you agreed."

"I wasn't listening! I don't remember what you said!"

"You don't listen when I talk?" You ask with an arched brow.

He opened his mouth and quickly closed it to take a second to think. He hummed, "I promise, the next time we have plans I won't get distracted by games." You gave him a look as if to ask, and? he cleared his throat, "and I won't try cheap gimmicks to distract you. And I will pay for dinner and for the rest of the day all my attention will be on you and no one or anything else. But I won't shave my head or sell my set up."

You smiled, "I was joking. I just wanted to see if anything would catch your attention. Now, let's go, I'm hungry."

You were both on your out when Haechan asked, "do you think I'd look good with a shaved head? Is that why you asked."

You couldn't even look at him, choosing instead to focus on the sidewalk beneath your feet, "yeah, baby. Of course..."

[vivwritesfics]

hiii!!! if you can can you please make a fanfic like (sorry for my bad explaining) basically a fluff fic with oscar piastri and y/n where they meet at like the streets of paris or something romantic like that? (you can give it any ending you want lols)

one of my best friends is from paris and we talk about how it's not the romantic place we all fantasize it to be. but i got you boo

Paris, France:

The hotel was awful, just awful. But that was what she got she got for booking her holiday on a budget.

The bed must have had bedbugs. She saw one review online (after she had checked in) that suggested it. And, ever since, she could feel the little fuckers crawling all over her skin.

If the bathroom wasn't down the hall, she would have been throwing up from anxiety. But, instead, she shut her eyes and tried to fall asleep.

And then her neighbours started shagging. Like, bed hitting the wall behind her kind of shagging. Holy shit, she needed to get out of here.

Grabbing her jacket and placing her valuables into her pockets, she headed out of the hotel.

The streets of Paris were a little bit terrifying in the dark. If one of her friends had just done with her, they could have gotten a nicer hotel and she wouldn't have been terrified to walk the streets in the dark. She shouldn't have been out there, she knew, but it was either have a panic attack on the disgusting floor of the hotel room or get out for some fresh air.

It was like there were eyes on her all the time she was walking. She pulled her jacket closer to her body and walked a little faster. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she pretty much marched down the streets of Paris.

Her body collided with somebody else. "Shit," she cried as this persons arms wrapped around her, stopping her from falling.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice not accompanied by a French accent. "Sorry, I should have been looking at where I was going." He shook his head, floppy, Prince-Charming-from-Shrek hair falling in front of his face.

"It's okay," she said, tightening her grip on the things in her pocket.

He released her. "I'm Oscar," he said, holding out his hand.

She didn't take it, but she did smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Oscar," she replied, not giving her own name.

It was almost like a game, on the streets of Paris. Oscar twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. "Where are you headed? Do you need me to walk you there?"

The red flag in the back of her head was taking a long ass time to raise. "I'm good," she said, because he was still a stranger on the streets of Paris. She began to walk past him. "It really was nice to meet you, Oscar," she said and began walking again.

Santorini, Greece:

The view from her balcony was so fucking pretty. The glittering ocean, the pale sand, the gorgeous architecture. It was a far cry from Paris.

Even on a budget she'd managed somewhere nice. A lot nicer than that hotel room in Paris. Here she felt safe. She left her valuable things in her hotel room (in the safe) and went out to dinner.

It was so damn peaceful. This was the getaway she needed, not those few nights in Paris. This was fucking bliss.

But then he showed up. She was in a little beach front restaurant, having a drink when he came walking past. What did he say his name was? Oscar? What the hell was he doing in Greece?

Her initial reaction was to think he had been followed. But the way he was looking at her, all confused before that look of familiarity crossed his face, it was all so genuine.

"Are you following me?" He asked it in such a teasing way, she immediately knew he wasn't serious.

She kicked out the chair in front of her. "Come have a drink with me, Oscar."

He obeyed and sat himself in the seat opposite her. Almost immediately a waiter came over to take his drink order. As soon as the waiter was gone, she was staring at him. "So, tell me about yourself, Oscar."

"Aren't you gonna tell me your name?" He asked as she sipped her drink.

She thought about it for a moment. "Tell you what, tell me about yourself, and I'll tell you my name."

He held out his hand, and this time she took it. "Deal."

Italy:

Italy had never been on her list of destinations. She didn't understand why not, because it was gorgeous.

But seeing the sights was such a small part of it. She walked behind Oscar, Oscar Piastri the Formula One driver, as he led her through the paddock.

"This can't be real," she said for the fourteenth time since they'd climbed out of the car.

Oscar laughed at her. "It's real," he assured her as he took her to the McLaren garage. He stopped for a second and gave her a minute to step closer and take his hand.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were a race car driver," she said as she squeezed his hand. It wasn't a comforting squeeze, but it had Oscar laughing, again.

"I did," he insisted.

"Yeah, after we'd had four cocktails!"

He led her through the garage, to his drivers room. "Okay, okay. How can I make it up to you?"

He shut the door behind him and she stepped closer. "Hmm," she said and pushed his hair out of his face. "Take me back to Paris?"

"Paris?"

She hummed.

"Okay," he answered, still holding her hand. "I'll take you back to Paris."

[chunghasweetie]

Haiii i've never submitted a request so bare with me.

What do you think about a criminal jk who's been in prison for over a year (don't know what crime u can pick honestly) him and y/n are in a established relationship and she's been waiting all this time for him to get out. Anyway he comes home and yk.. i'm sure you can get the rest ;)

𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐘 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x criminal!jjk

— summary | (sorry it took so long!🩷) jungkook’s been locked up for 4 years and he’s finally back to see you !

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

unprotected sex, cursing, praising, daddy kink, dirty talk, crying, fluff(?)

— word count | 3.5k words

— song suggestion | wrong in the right way — chris brown

It was his first night freed from his 4 year jail sentence. After having a buddy drop off his car on the way to her, he was finally there.

Locked up for assault and battery and countless other charges he was finally free and finally able to see his woman again.

His tatted, muscular body stood at her doorstep, “Fuck,” He exhaled, taking a drag from his cigarette.

He was anxious to see her after endless phone calls and letters for years. He surprised her a day early. He finally stopped thinking about it and knocked at her door.

“Coming!” She hurried down the stairs, not expecting any guests at that hour.

She was in her pajama outfit, hair lightly curled and her face bare beside some eye brightener.

She opened the door, and she had almost gone into shock.

She came to a full body pause, color practically draining from her face when she seen him. “J-Jungkook!”

Jungkook's eyes softened at the sight of her, seeing the tears. He stepped forward, grabbing her in a tight embrace.

“I missed you so fucking much Y/n.” He mumbled into her hair. His hands ran up and down her back, holding her close.

She sobbed, “You bastard! Why didn’t you let me know you got out early?! I would’ve picked you up, done my makeup better, took you to dinner—“ She rambled.

Jungkook pulled back, gazing down at her with a smirk.

“Because I wanted to surprise you, Y/n. And you look fucking perfect just like this.” He ran his hand through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Finally face to face with my queen.”

“Fucking come in.” She sniffed. “All standing here in my doorway.” She hurried him in.

Jungkook stepped inside, his eyes scanning the apartment.

It looked a lot different than what he had remembered. It was a lot more modern and a bit girly. But it still felt like home.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. He followed her to the living room, his eyes locked on her as she walked away from him. He couldn't help but grin.

He was finally home.

“Missed you so much” She sniffed. “I didn’t fucking plan anything— Shit. You gotta be hungry right? Are you cold?”

“Relax baby. I didn’t expect you to be completely ready tonight,” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close to him.

“But yes, I am fucking starving. Even thought I just wanna sit here and hold you.” He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her scent.

“No baby— Gotta take care of you first. Probably want to eat good. Prison must’ve been so rough.” She pouted, babying him.

“Yeah, it was. But nothing's worse than being away from you, ma. You know that, right?” He pulled away from her, turning her around to face him.

He cupped her cheeks, his thumbs rubbing against her soft skin. “I missed your smile, your laugh, your attitude. Everything Y/n.”

“I missed you more than you could imagine Jungkook.” Her lip quivered. “So much.”

“I know, ma. You always made sure I know. You were always the one person I could count on, even behind bars.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft and gentle, but it held a depth of passion that only they could understood. “I love you.”

“I love you more. So much more.” She kissed him back, “I’ll cook for you. I’ll show you to our room— I fixed it up for you!”

She led him upstairs, rushing him due to her excitement. “Are you ready to see it?”

“I'm more than ready, ma. I've been dreaming of this moment for so long. I've missed our bed, our room, all of it."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "You look stunning, ma. You've never looked more beautiful to me."

Their room looked more homey and relaxing. She bought him a whole new closet full of clothes and shoes to his liking.

“I bought you some new ashtrays to put on your nightstand.” She told him. “There’s some lighters down there too.”

“You're spoiling me. And I’m more than grateful. I can already smell the smoke wafting through the air. You know me more than anyone." He grinned, running his hand over the new clothes.

"I love what you've done here, ma. You really outdid yourself for me and I couldn’t thank you more.” He added, thanking her once more.

“Anyrhing for you. I wanted you to come home and feel comfortable and relaxed.” She smiled.

“Now go shower, change, whatever you need to do to get all that prison time off your skin.” She laughed. “I’m gonna go downstairs and cook you some food that’ll knock you the hell out.”

Jungkook smiled, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. "You're the best, ma. I love you so fucking much." He whispered, giving her earlobe a gentle kiss before pulling away. "I'll be down in a few.”

“Take your time baby. Really.” She pecked his cheek, hesitant to leave him while she walked down to the kitchen.

Jungkook grabbed her hand before she could walk away, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Thank you again baby— Seriously." He gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently.

She left him and headed back downstairs, prepping dinner for him.

“I’ll miss you!” She called out from the kitchen, blushing and giggling in excitement.

She couldn’t believe he was really out of prison.

For years she spent everyday fantasizing and day dreaming about him finally living at home again. For him to actually be here was ground breaking.

She had devoted herself to that man the entire time he’d been away. Her friends would try to encourage her to see other men to fill in the gaps of his absence but she absolutely refused.

She had many opportunities. She was a beautiful woman.

But no other man could ever compare to Jungkook.

She started preparing a quick yet savory meal for them to eat while he was showering.

She had prepped wonton soup for the actual night of his arrival but she had enough ingredients to make it for him tonight.

Jungkook was upstairs. He stripped down to his white tank, revealing his well-built, tattooed body.

He smirked at himself in the mirror, satisfied with how much he had grown during his time.

He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature to his liking before stepping in.

After scrubbing and shaving after what felt like forever, Jungkook hummed to himself as he stepped out the shower, feeling refreshed and anew.

He dried himself up before wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped into the kitchen where his girl was. “Smells amazing baby, what is it?" He kissed her cheek, leaning on the counter.

“I made a homemade wonton soup with a side of rice.” She smiled, “You look clean. Someone’s already comfy back home.”

Jungkook chuckled, “With everything you’ve done, you made it easy.” He grinned as his stomach growled, looking down at himself.

“Go put some clothes on and dry your hair. You’re gonna get sick. I laid out clothes on the bed.” She instructed. “Use my hairdryer in the bathroom. Should be hung up in the bathroom.”

She took care of him and she tried his best to always pamper him. "Yes ma'am." He smiled, standing up and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. "I'll be right back, baby."

Jungkook went back to the bathroom and dried his hair then put on the clothes she laid out for him.

He took a look at himself in the mirror and smiled. He had been evaluating their home since he arrived, she had really good taste.

He walked back into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck and inhaling her scent once more.


Couldn’t get enough.

“So much better huh baby?” She hummed, lost in his embrace.

“Definitely, baby. You always make me better." Jungkook whispered in her ear before giving her a soft and lingering kiss.

He reached for the food she was cooking, but she stopped him. “No. I’ll serve you. Go sit down.”

“Body” He obliged, not able to help it but steal another kiss before sitting down to eat with her. "This smells amazing, love."

She served him his soup along with a cup of jasmine hot tea.

She placed his bowl and cup on his side of the table. She served herself after him, sitting across from him. “Let me know if you like it. Too hot, too cold, too spicy, too salty. Anything like that.”

Jungkook blew on his soup before taking a spoon full, burning his tongue a little bit but he didn't care.

He was just desperate for a home cooked meal.

"This is so fucking good, Y/n… like really fucking good." He glanced up at her, giving her a little smirk before taking another bite.

“I’m not just saying that either.” He munched, lost in the taste of his food.

She laughed, “Glad you’ like it.” She enjoyed her soup across from him.

Jungkook finished his soup, but didn't finish his whole bowl of rice.

He sat back and took a sip of his tea. "So how was your day today? Besides making me the best fucking soup I've ever had?"

“I just spent today prepping for you to get here. Cleaned all day.” She exhaled.

“Was the rice not cooked right? You didn’t finish.” She looked at him, concerned a bit at his action.

Jungkook shook his head. "The rice is fine, love. It's just not my favorite thing to eat."

He took another sip of his tea and reached under the table, squeezing her knee. "It’s all I ever ate when I was in there— not really my favorite at the moment."

“Oh my gosh!” Her eyes widened, “I wasn’t even thinking!”

“Baby you make rice with every meal. It’s like muscle memory for you.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You’re too cute to worry.”

“It’s my man’s first night home from prison. Of course your opinion matters to me.” She sighed.

Jungkook smiled at her and looked down at his empty bowl. He reached for her hand and glanced back up at her. "You don't have to care about anything when it comes to me. I’m amazed by everything you do.”

“Mm so sweet.” She blushed, “Go relax.” She seized their bowls, washing them in the sink.

Jungkook laughed, "I just want to make sure you're happy too. Wouldn’t want my baby like that in her own house" He stood, slowly making his way around the kitchen island.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and moved his lips to her neck, giving her a soft kiss. "Smell so good baby. Can’t get away from you.”

She blushed at the close proximity, continuing the dishes.

Jungkook pulled away from her neck, his eyes glancing over her face. He enjoyed seeing her blush more than he thought he did.

"What's going on in your head? You can tell me you know." He leaned against the counter, watching her intently.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “I’m just happy you’re here. More than happy I’m just— thankful.”

She started getting emotional, blinking back tears. “I just thought— I thought you’d have to stay longer.”

Jungkook walked towards her, his finger pushed her chin up, making her look at him.

"Don't cry on me now, damn baby. Making me feel guilty.” He wipes away a tear that fell down her cheek with his thumb. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

“Sorry sorry” She apologized, fanning herself.

Jungkook smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, moving her to clear her teary eyes. "Don't apologize for showing your emotions to me. I love how much you care for me."

“You smell so good too.” She hummed against him. “Better than that nasty fresh out of prison smell.” She laughed.

Jungkook grins, sniffing himself to remind her of the smell she meant, his arms squeezing around her. "If you thought it smelled bad..."

He kisses her cheek, “Imagine when I wasn't this clean for four years.” He teased, laughing.

“Ewww.” She giggled, “I’m okay not thinking about that.”

Jungkook chuckles, pulling back to look at her, cupping her cheek and wiping away loose tears with his thumb. "You're so cute."

He was laughing again. "Y/n, I missed you... I really fucking missed you. I don’t care how many times I told you tonight.”

“I missed you too Jungkook— Writing and calling you definitely isn’t as good as having you here at home with me.” She admitted.

Jungkook smiles, his eyes bright with happiness. "Yeah, I know... I fucking hated the phone. But-" He takes her hand in his.

"Being here now, being able to show up in the morning and see you again and again will make up for it all." He flashes her a wide grin.

“Four years was such a long time.” She groaned, walking out from the kitchen and walking up to their bedroom.

Jungkook nods and follows her, watching her hips sway as his thoughts drift to more primal thoughts.

He felt bad for wanting to get straight to it. But she had been teasing him in those

"It was. But hey-" He says from behind her. He wraps arms around her mid-section. "I'm here now. Should we get to it? Break our bed in together?"

“Oh my gosh you’re so annoying” She smacks his arm, “Go put on a movie while I change. You’re gonna be scrolling for a minute. I’ll be back.”

Jungkook laughs and lets go, jumping onto the bed. He grabbed the remote off the nightstand, surfing through the different streaming services.

He hadn’t seen anything like this in quite some time, but he already knew what he was looking for. She was definitely wrong about him scrolling for a minute.

She changed into a pajama set, being sure to show off a bit by leaving some buttons undone.

She knew what was gonna go down tonight, she just wanted him to wait for it.

She made her way back to the bed, resting her body beside him closely. “What’re we watching?”

“Starting tonight we’re gonna watch every Marvel movie made since I got locked up.”

“Are you serious?” She groaned. “That’s an insane amount of movies.”

“But,” He pouted cutely. “Your baby has been locked up for sooo long.”

“I hate you.”

He wraps arms around her mid-section, resting his head on her waist. "You know you love me, ma... and I sure as fuck love you."

“I love you more” She laughed and pecked his lips, playing with his hair as they watched the first movie together.

Jungkook hums in contentment, closing his eyes and letting her play with his hair.

Throughout the movie, Jungkook couldn’t help but grow more and more desperate.

He was on edge for the past few months. In prison they called and wrote letters but recently her letters had been more

Seductive.

Letters that consisted wordy details of her burning desire and unstoppable urge to have him.

“One more? Please? Last time really.” He pleaded.

“Fine.” She pecked his lips.

A few minutes later.

“Please?”

“Okay.” She pecked his lips.

More minutes go by.

“One more? Last time really.”

“Ugh fine.” She groaned, pecking his lips once more.

“Fuck I can’t take it." He groans as she pecks his lips, unable to help but leaning in and making out with her as their movie plays in the background.

“Don’t know how you expected this to go when you look like this.” He mumbled against her lips, mouth getting messier. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Need to make love to you since you got locked up” Her kisses grew more demanding.

Jungkook flips them over, pinning her down onto the bed and kissing her harder in return. "I needed you to fuckin' kiss me that hard when I was locked up.”

His hips buck up against hers, grinding his hardened cock against her thighs. “Dreamt about this every fuckin’ night.”

“I know baby fuck— me too” She grunted.

Jungkook reaches over to unbutton her pajama pants, before sliding them down her legs slowly— trailing kisses down her thighs as he does. "Take 'em off, baby. I wanna see how fuckin' wet you are for me already."

“Wanted dick since you got locked up— Been wet since you got released.” She couldn’t help the bashful expression all over her.

Yeah?" Jungkook grins, slipping his fingers underneath her panties and teasingly spreading her lower lips, his fingers slipping and teasing over her clit. "And how wet are you actually baby?"

“Fuck” She could cum at the contact alone. “S-So wet.”

Jungkook snickers, slipping a finger deep inside of her and pumping it in and out slowly, moaning at the tight and hot feeling around his fingers. "Fuckin' wet and tight girl hm? Huh baby?"

“F-Feels good daddy” The sensual nickname slipped from her lips, making his ears ring at the sweet sensation of her voice.

Jungkook groans at that nickname, thrusting his finger in and out of her faster now. "Shiiit, baby, you know I love it when you call me that."

He then pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean. “Love the way you taste. Needed that for years.”

“C-Can’t take it” She whimpered at the feeling of his retracting fingers.

Maybe it had been too long for her. By herself it took a good amount of work for her to get off but this was ruining her in seconds.

Jungkook smirks at that, pulling his pants down, his already hard length flopping out. "You’re gonna take it good baby?”

“Daddy please—“

“Is that all you got?" Jungkook taunts, teasing her entrance with his tip. "Beg some more, or you ain't getting this dick."

His dominant and demanding voice was coming back into play, almost better than what she remembered.

“Want it so bad. I’ll take it good, I promise.” Her voice cried, “So desperate.”

Jungkook groans at her begging, slowly pushing inside her. "Mmm fuck— so damn tight, just like that baby.”

“Take Daddy's dick." Him fully entering into her in a slow, but deep pace.

Her chest rose as he slid inside her. She swallowed, adjusting herself to his length.

Jungkook smirks at her reaction, gripping her hips as he begins to thrust in faster, a low moan leaving his lips.

“Missed this wet ass pussy” He stared her down. “You miss that, baby? How Daddy fucks you like this?"

“Y-Yes”

“Fat ol’ ass and huge ass tits— And a pretty face. God, you're so fucking hot." Jungkook grunts, picking up the pace, thrusting harder and faster.

The sound of skin on skin filling the room, making sure to hit that sweet spot. "This what you wanted, huh baby?

“All I-I wanted— all I needed.” She whined out. “Fucking amazing.”

“I thought I was desperate." Jungkook growls, slapping her ass hard. “Such a pretty girl. Didn’t try to play me once.”

The room is filled with even louder wet slaps of his hips against her ass and his smacks. His thrusts becoming more erratic, his cock growing desperate for release.

“All for you, all yours. Been with no one but you.” She moaned, truthfully speaking.

"Good girl." Jungkook leans forward, nipping at her neck before whispering in her ear.

"Say my name, Y/n. Who's dick are you on?" He grips her throat.

“Fuck! Yours Daddy! Yours!” She was a mess on his cock, eyes rolling back.

“That’s my girl. All fucking mine.” He was watching as her body shudders from his touch.

He admired the way she was breaking down in front of him, going dumb on his dick.

The way her body twitched, he knew she was growing closer.

He watched her, clearly enjoying her lack of breath. The way she squirms, his to control and use.

"Gonna cum on daddy’s dick baby? Gonna let go for me?" He's almost there, wanting to finish strong.

“Want your cum— Need it.” She whimpered, eyes growing teary from the overwhelming pleasure. “Please daddy.”

“So fucking hard to say no to you." Jungkook snorts, pounding into her mercilessly. He was seeking his needed high so he could cum right with her.

The couple both reached their orgasms, moaning each other’s names before giving in and cumming together.

“Fuck— so in love with you.” Jungkook grunts, emptily filling her up. He catches his breath, panting with her.

She could hardly get out of the bed because of him, she was limp.

She was shuttering from her orgasm. Her legs were a trembling mess.

He watches her collect herself, loving the sight of her. The way she looks so used and satisfied, only at his hands.

Once she was all together, she got back in bed with him, kissing and chucking with him as the two panted together.

“I still got it.”

“Goddamnit Jungkook.” She hid her face. “Yes- you do.”

[minhosbxtch]

Snap (pt. 2)

Eris x reader

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, suggestiveness but no smut... yet ;)

2 weeks.

It'd been 2 fucking weeks since you'd seen your mate.

2 weeks too long.

You would've thought he'd forgotten about you if he hadn't sent tugs on the bond ever so often, to which you returned with 2 tugs of your own.

The first time you had thought you were having a heart attack because it was so strong you had to sit down. And good thing you did. As soon as you did wave after wave of emotion came down the bond. Anger, regret, self-disgust, and the most surprising, anxiety.

In response you sent waves of calm and appreciation back. Responses that you had needed before and Eris had given you.

These days you were just filled with excitement and longing despite how much you wanted to admit it.

Just like you had helped him, he did the same for you.

One night your thoughts had gotten particularly bad and had you almost reaching for your candle once again before an urgent tug stopped you.

This time, it wasn't necessarily emotions he sent to you, but nostalgic comforting memories. A hug, being bundled in blankets, laying out in the sun, wave after wave until you fell asleep.

You had asked Rhys to give you extra work to get your mind off and he obliged thankfully, but that didn't stop your mind from drifting off.

Your work had led Eris to get panicked before and tug in the middle of a job to which you had dropped everything to respond, letting the man get away.

You also spent your free time in the library, trying to figure out how to close your side of the tether on command so poor Eris wouldn't have to feel your emotions 24/7.

Today, you returned to Velaris after being away for the past 2 days hunting a former Illyrian commander and his men who defected and tried rebel against the High Lord.

It was exhausting work but it kept your mind busy.

Arriving home too late for dinner, you went to your room, showered, and changed before collapsing in your bed and letting sleep drag you under accompanied by waves of calm.

You woke up to dim sunlight shining through the gaps in your curtains. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes and sat up.

Swinging your legs over the bed you grabbed a pair of pants that you tugged on under your sleep shirt.

Not bothering to look in the mirror, you trudged downstairs to get breakfast only to see the Inner Circle having dinner.

Feyre looked up at you and smiled, gesturing to your empty seat, already prepped with a plate.

Giving her a grateful smile you sat down and began loading your plate.

"I think that's the most I seen you ever sleep," Cassian remarked turning to you.

"I don't know why but I think that's the best I've ever slept in my life," you said, voice hoarse.

At Feyre's knowing glance you suddenly became very focused with your food.

Only her and Rhysand knew Eris was your mate due to the simple fact that everyone hated him. You wouldn't be able to stand their sympathetic glances and their shit talking about a male you were destined to spend your life with and who was the only one that helped you.

Rhys gave you a small smile before clearing his throat and saying, "As common courtesy, we will attend the celebration of the Autumn Equinox and the start of Eris' reign next week."

Mor and Cassian groaned while Az, Nesta, and Elain simply frowned. Amren would probably not attend. Other Courts found her creepy.

Rhysand ignored their unenthusiastic response and continued, "It will take place in 6 days time at the Forest House. I expect everyone to attend and look presentable. They are our allies and we will treat them as such," he said with a strict tone.

You didn't say anything, didn't react, just stared at your food.

The idea of seeing your mate was nice, but actually facing him and the whole prospect was a lot more daunting. Especially with the rest of the Inner Circle.

The rest of the dinner passed without any other events. The silence was mostly filled with Mor trying to decide on what dresses would look best on everyone and Cassian joining in, joking to try to lighten the mood how he should wear a dress as well.

Feyre and Rhysand were clearly communicating telepathically for a couple minutes before you felt a light tap on your mental walls.

You already knew what this would be about but Feyre's soft voice saying, You don't have to come if you don't want to, confirmed your suspicions.

Yes I do. If I don't show up that'll just make it all worse, you shot back.

Rhysand didn't comment, but you could feel his relief and agreement. He wouldn't have forced you to do it but he would've definitely pushed you.

Feyre on the other hand would've gladly gone to war against the Autumn Court if it meant that you would not have to do something you were uncomfortable with.

And you adored her for that.

You knew she would argue with you but respected your decision so she just sighed and left your mind.

Rhysand did as well but his sounded more like a sigh of relief.

6 days later, Mor was pulling on the strings on the back of your dress tighter than you had thought possible.

"If you tie this dress any tighter than I won't be able to eat," you complained between her tugs. That was one of the only reasons you ever went to these things. The food was immaculate.

Rolling her eyes she sighed and said, "Well when you're in dresses you aren't meant to. And besides, you look like a goddess."

At her words, you had a small flashback to when Eris called you the same thing.

He was going to be there. But, he couldn't show you any affection, you knew since there would be an audience.

Honestly, you would kill him yourself if you had the opportunity. Somehow, his very existence pissed you off.

"Ta-da!" Mor exclaimed, turning you around to see the mirror.

Your hair was elegantly styled similar to Nesta's braid crown but had pieces that resembled horns over your temple in a way that made your face look regal and imposing. Mor had also weaved small strings of silver around the horns and throughout the remaining hair, giving a aura of silver glow around you.

Your eyes were accentuated by silver eyeshadow and sliver brushed along your cheekbones, making them look a whole lot sharper that they really are. Silver jewelry adorned your ears and neck.

Your dress was black had a flowy skirt that started right at your waist and a slit that went up to mid thigh but if you wanted to, you could clasp the small, nearly invisible hooks to hide it. The bodice looked like it was painted on, with black vines climbing from your waist up to your collarbone, forming a sweetheart neckline. They flowed down your arms. Under them, there was a sheer fabric that gave the illusion that they were really part of your skin. Small crystals were dotted all along the skirt, giving the appearance of stars.

Mor squealed and grabbed your arm.

Before she could speak a knock sounded at your door and Cassian's voice said, "Rhys said you both look fine and need to hurry up and get out here."

Both of you turned to glare at the door as you heard the footsteps retreat.

Mor bent down and picked a pair of relatively simple silver heels and shoved them into your hands before giving you a thumbs up and rushing through the doorway, probably to down a few drinks before the party.

Now that you thought about it, that wasn't to bad of an idea.

Slipping the shoes on you went after her and caught her in the kitchen, drinking straight out of the bottle.

Voices were approaching from down the hallway and Mor motioned for you to keep quiet and you mouthed to her, Sure but save me some. She grinned and nodded before shoving the half full wine bottle in the cabinet.

Rhysand led the group with Feyre on his arm. They looked devastatingly beautiful with their matching black attire.

He gave you a nod of acknowledgement and turned to the rest who were trickling in through the halls.

Rhys clapped his hands loudly, getting everyone's attention before he spoke. "Don't get too drunk, don't start a war, don't mess anything up,'' he said as he glared at Cassian.

Cassian gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged while saying, "I have not a single inkling of thought of why you'd be looking at me."

"That's because you've never had an inkling of thought in the first place," you muttered.

He turned to you with an offended look as Nesta beside him snorted with agreement.

Rhysand just rolled his eyes and ushered everyone together, acting like the mother hen he was.

You ended up between Mor and Feyre, who gave your hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled warmly before turning to Elain and saying, "You'll take care of Nyx right?"

She nodded but she wasn't looking at Feyre. No, she was staring straight at Azriel.

You rolled your eyes and turned away. You weren't jealous, no not anymore, but it just pissed you off.

Feyre clearly mistook your frustration as impatience and gave you a teasing smile before the world fell beneath you.

The outside of the Forest House appeared gradually. Blinking at the change in lighting, your mouth fell open at the sight. There was autumn in the Night Court but it was nothing compared to this.

It seemed like each leaf was a different color. Every shade of red, orange, and yellow were on the trees. The castle itself was also gorgeous and was made of grey stone and wood, with large trees arching over entryways. Adjacent to the building was a stream that led around the castle. Fallen leaves from the trees flowed slowly along the current. The scent of earth and growth was in the air.

You felt like you and the Inner Circle was incredibly out of placed dressed in black and silver among the warm golden colors.

It was almost funny how this land could be so beautiful and the people so cold.

Several guards lined the stone pathway into the castle, their faces blank staring straight ahead as if they were merely created by the stone that surrounds them.

Everyone took their designated "places" among themselves. Rhys and Feyre obviously led the group, with Mor and Nesta directly behind them. You were in the last row between Cassian and Azriel who were dressed in their "formal" leathers.

They both obviously had to leave most of their larger weapons at home but had several knives hidden, as did the rest of the Inner Circle.

You had two in your hair and another two hidden beneath your bodice along with one along your thigh and another on the bottom of your heel.

Your role here was the same as Azriel's and Cassian's, to protect the High Lord and Lady.

As if they needed protection.

That was what you were told but you knew that it was also for Eris to know that they held you and if he wanted to try anything, he couldn't, not without risking you.

As you approached the entryway, you entered a small garden that had an assortment of bright flowers and flowy trees.

Another arched doorway led you inside where you were met with yet another doorway that led to stairs which led upwards to the ballroom.

The ballroom was somehow more gorgeous than you could have imagined. The walls were a light orange and had intricate golden details. The floor was a white stone the seemed to shimmer when you stepped on it. Tendrils of ivy and other assorted plants curled over the walls and the tables and tables of food.

Food.

You sighed in discomfort as you knew you couldn't make a beeline to the food as you still had a job to do, despite how pointless it was.

Straight ahead from the doorway you came in, was a golden throne that seemed to be carved out of a large tree. Each one of the branches was bigger than Cassian's torso and reached across the ceiling of the ballroom. Occasionally leaves would fall down but before they could reach the floor they dissolved.

Apparently that rule only worked if it was the floor as many of the guests had leaves either on their outfits or in their hair.

The branches curved around the centerpiece of lighting which seemed like a big ball of fire. Tendrils of in dangled down, occasionally sparks flying off before disappearing before reaching the guests.

It appeared that your Court was not the only one that showed up. No, you were just last.

Of course Rhysand had to have his dramatic late entrance.

Before Rhys could dismiss you Eris walked in and sat down with an older Fae women who stood solemnly next to the throne.

The ballroom went quiet at his entrance as did any doubtful thoughts of yours.

He looked ethereal wearing a long sleeve red tunic with a high collar and gold detailing and a dark brown coat with tan fur around the top. Gold earrings dangled from his pointed ears and a golden laurel wreath sat upon his head. There was a faint but definitive glow around him that radiated power.

His hair was a bit longer than when you had last seen him, it was almost like each time you saw him he got hotter.

You remembered what he had said last time and your cheeks burned.

"Your hair looked better long."

To be honest his hair didn't matter. He looked beautiful either way, but the short hair gave him a cold, sharp, godly look.

He chuckled before saying, "If you liked it better then I'll grow it back out for you. But not as messy as that brute."

He arched an eyebrow as everything at the silence and waved a hand, simply saying, "Continue."

At once the music started playing again and people resumed to dance as well as chatter started.

A light brush against your arm caused you to jerk out of your trance and look around to see Feyre smiling at you. She leaned in closer and whispered, "You're drooling it's a tad bit obvious."

"I am not," you bit back, embarrassed.

She only gave you a knowing look and walked back to Rhysand's side to dance.

Only then did you notice Mor, Azriel, and Cassian glaring daggers at the new High Lord.

Currently, you stood to the side, nursing a drink while watching your High Lord and Lady dance.

Since they had dismissed you, Cassian and Nesta were also dancing, perhaps less gracefully but happy nonetheless.

Mor was somewhere else on her fourth cup of wine and Azriel was standing in the corner, brooding.

You looked up at the dais which held the throne and saw Eris sitting alone staring into space with a glass in his hand.

At your spot next to the tables, the Fae lady that stood up there earlier stood next to you and stared at the dancers as you were doing.

"Can I be of assistance, my lady?" You asked, not unkindly.

"I would only like to know my son's mate," she said simply.

At her words, your gaze snapped to her in disbelief, "Your son?"

She turned at met your gaze slowly and said with a gentle smile, "Yes my son, the High Lord and your mate."

You quickly grabbed your skirts and attempted a curtsy before she waved you off.

Over her shoulder you could see Eris' piercing gaze focus on you and his mother.

"I would love if you could join me and my son for dinner sometime," she proposed gently.

You blinked in astonishment before saying, "I would love to if my Lord and Lady will allow it."

She grinned, "I'll talk to them during the feast," she said giving your shoulder a light touch and walked away, almost floating.

Immediately Mor came up and stared with you and asked, "What did she want?"

Feeling slightly defensive, you said, "Oh she was just talking to me about strengthening the relationship between courts."

Technically no lying done.

"Huh, I figured she would've talked about that to Feyre and Rhysand or me," she said giving you a suspicious glance.

''Yeah I think she didn't want to disturb them," you said, gesturing to the High Lord and Lady dancing joyfully.

"Yes but I could tell them just as well as you can."

Clenching your teeth you just said, "I don't know why she just approached me."

You walked away to the food tables. You knew Mor didn't entirely mean what she said, she was partially intoxicated so granted somethings would slip out. But if she knew the Lady came over to talk to you about her son, your mate, she would flip.

And to be honest you didn't have that kind of patience tonight.

The next hour or so was spent exchanging pleasantries with people from other courts. The only High Lord you had talked to directly was Helion who had unfortunately left soon after.

After suffering for an hour, a stuffy important man announced it was time for dinner.

Several servants ushered the guests into the dining hall where table among table was placed in a line. The dining room was decorated similar to the ballroom and there was yet another large tree that housed another throne that was at the end of the large table.

The table was made of a giant slab of wood and all the chairs were made of a darker wood with deep red cushions. In the center of the table was assortments of yellow, red, and orange flowers in sage green vases.

In front of each chair was a placemat with a large green plate and a smaller one adjacent to it. There was also three different glasses along with a teacup and four forks, two spoons, and three knives.

On top of the big plate sat a creme napkin with a ruby napkin holder and a orange card with the persons name on it.

You walked past what seemed an infinite amount of seats, scanning the names as you walked past.

Keefe, Kaz, Jacks, Regulus, Five, Minho, Klaus, Stu, Rafe, Maven.

Five? What type of name is Five?

Eventually you found your seat. It was just two chairs away from the end.

On your right was the Lady of Autumn and your right was Azriel who was seated next to a farmer from the Autumn Court who talked his ear off about his fields.

Luckily, you were across from Feyre who would ever so often give you a reassuring nudge with her foot.

After everyone had been seated, servants brought out the food. Your mouth watered at the sight. Several glazed hams, chicken, and plenty of turkey were spread out. There were smaller dishes of sweet potatoes, corn, and brussels sprouts. There was also several casseroles that you couldn't name.

There was also bread. So much of it. Garlic bread, cheesy bread, sourdough, monkey bread, toasted bread, and so many more that had unknown toppings.

Several unnamed fish were also passed around along with sauces to dip meats in. There was one particular dish that looked interesting. It had small noodles in it with a bright yellow sauce.

You could see Eris in the corner of your eye as you hesitantly eyed the dish. Turning your head he nodded to it and gave you a small smile before mouthing, 'Try it. It's good.'

Deciding to trust him for once you got a small scoop and added it to the quickly growing pile of food on your plate.

Why isn't anyone eating? Mother I'm starving.

Then you realized what everyone was waiting on- for Eris to eat the first bite.

You gave him a nasty glare to which he gave you a questioning look.

Mouthing back, you said, 'Hurry up and take a bite so I can eat.'

Eris raised his eyebrows and smirked, saying, 'You're my mate and therefore will be equal to me. You may eat whatever, and whenever you'd like.'

Without your permission, his words kicked up a storm of butterflies. Your glare faltered before returning as you gave him an obscene gesture to which he laughed before winking and taking an annoyingly slow bite of ham.

As soon has he swallowed, the clinking of forks sounded and servants brought a cart of drinks into the room.

Thank the Mother.

Instantly you dove in. After about 30 seconds of eating, you felt a gentle nudge on you shin. Looking up your High Lady gave you a glance to which you straightened your posture, adjusted the napkin on your lap and starting eating in much smaller portions.

A quiet chuckle sounded from the obnoxious male to which you gave your best glare. Eris gestured with his fork to the yellow substance you still haven't touched.

Rolling your eyes, you speared a couple noodles with your fork and brought them up to your mouth to taste.

Holy shit.

Your eyes must have betrayed your surprise and delight at whatever this holy concoction this was. It was cheesy but with the perfect balance of creamy and smooth.

You quickly devoured what little was left and cursed yourself for how little you took. Scanning the table told you that just as you had expected, there was none left.

A hand reached over your shoulder which jarred you from your loathing of the people around you that took the rest of whatever food that was.

It was a servant. You gave them a smile that they ignored as they didn't look anywhere else besides your glass and the floor.

One glass they filled with water, another with red wine, and another with white white. The teacup was left unfilled.

After half an hour, the servants went around to collect the empty serving dishes and plates and to refill and empty glasses.

A couple minutes later they brought out desserts. There were cakes of all kinds, brownies, fruits, puddings, pastries, pies, and crazy confections.

That was it, you had definitely died and gone to whatever life existed beyond this one.

After dessert, most of the guests started, but Rhysand and Feyre were talking to the Lady of Autumn.

Well it was mostly Feyre and the Lady talking. Rhys was just standing there, a dangerous look in his eyes.

He just looked pissed.

Suddenly he nodded once and walked over where the Inner Circle was standing.

You started towards them as you were sitting on one of the couches in the corner of the room, next to the window.

But as you stood up, a hand grabbed your wrist and spun you around.

"Hello Eris."

"Hello love."

"Can I help you?"

"Your very presence does just that."

"Well my presence will be exiting shortly," you said, turning around.

"Wait,'' you stopped, "I also just wanted to give you this."

Sighing, you turned back around to see Eris holding out a dish covered in a lid.

"What is is? Are you trying to poison me?" You said, arching a brow.

"It's called macaroni and cheese," he said unveiling the food that you had been so entranced in earlier. He cleared his throat, "I saw how much you had enjoyed it earlier."

Smiling softly, you took the food and said, "Thank you."

He let out a breath and put on his usual smirk and took your free hand and kissed it before leaning down to whisper in your ear, "See you tomorrow princess. Oh, and wear something colorful for once," before walking away.

As soon as he left, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Rhysand. No wonder he left.

If he saw Eris' and yours encounter, he didn't speak of it, only choosing to say, "Come on we're leaving."

The next day, you sat in Rhysand's office, smoothing down your skirts of your light green dress. It was rather simple, more of a long sundress style.

Rhys had eyed the odd choice of wardrobe but hadn't said anything about it.

Clearing his throat he said, "We will pick you up a couple hours after dinner, if you would like the leave earlier, that just try to reach out to me of Feyre. Both of us will be on the lookout for anything."

Nodding you stood up to leave, barely able to contain your nerves and excitement.

"Oh," Rhysand started again, "don't forget where your loyalties lie."

Rage and annoyance flared up and you opened your mouth to respond but the door opened, revealing a smiling Feyre.

You turned to her and put on a nice smile.

"Ready to go?" She asked.

Ready to get away from your mate yes.

"Yep," you said, matching her cheerful energy.

She motioned you to follow her out of the office. Once you got out of her mate's earshot she looked at you seriously and said, "He probably told you to remember what we did for you but here, listen to me. Eris is your mate in your life. Preferably don't just abandon us, but I won't tell you not to pursue him. Also, don't listen to us. Find what you want to do more. I won't try to stop you."

There were no words to express your overwhelming gratitude to her so you just hugged her.

As you pulled away she said, "Green really suits you," taking your hand.

Before you could thank her you were falling.

The Forest House was just as beautiful as you remembered it. Except this time, there were only two guards stationed. Instead of a servant greeting you, Eris was standing there, hands clasped.

He was wearing a simple red tunic with a long coat with fur around the hood. There was a simple brown scabbard attached to his belt. The sword inside looked simple for a Fae sword. It had a plain gold pommel and cross guard and had a worn leather grip.

Gold rings adorned his fingers as well as a couple gold earrings complimented the laurel crown.

Him and Feyre nodded at each other once before he turned to you and pointed to his mother and said, "You can follow her and she'll show you to the table."

Swallowing, you nodded and went to the Lady of Autumn.

As you turned around you could see Eris and Feyre talking.

Completely civil.

Calm.

"Hey Y/N, just let me know if you need me to bring anything,'' Feyre called back.

"Don't worry it'd definitely be you that I'd call," you yelled back with a smile.

Her laughter echoed before she vanished back into the Night Court.

This time you didn't go to the large dining hall that you'd been in last night.

As you walked Eris leaned down to say, "The hall you were in last night, we only use for large events."

Your head snapped to him and you narrowed your eyes, "Stop leaning down."

"Terribly sorry, let me just get on your level," he said crouching down so that he was shorter than you. "Is that better, your Highness?"

You raised an eyebrow before pushing his head down further so that you could rest an elbow on his flawlessly styled hair, mussing it up. "Ah, now it is much better pheasant," you said in a snooty accent.

"My apologies your Grace."

"Hmph, completely unacceptable."

"You know, you aren't High Lady yet, love."

Immediately the playful vibe vanished and a heavy silence settled. Looking ahead, you saw that the Lady of Autumn had vanished.

Eris cleared his throat and pushed open the set of double doors, "Here we are."

The room was spacious and was decorated in shades of light green and orange. The back wall was completely open and led to a patio overlooking a garden. Spread throughout the room were couches and paintings, as well as an easel. A large marble fireplace took up most of the right wall.

Eris led you to the table and chairs on the patio and pulled out your chair and gestured for you to sit down.

He sat down across from you, leaving the chair next to you open. Almost immediately, two servants started to bring out food. These dishes weren't nearly as fancy as the previous ones, but there was more that enough food.

Most importantly, macaroni and cheese.

Two bottles of wine were set out along with a water pitcher and a teapot.

With less than a minute after, your plate was completely piled up with various foods and you waited impatiently for Eris to finish getting his food.

He noticed you weren't eating, but looking at him expectantly and chuckled before saying, "Sweetheart you don't have to worry about me. As I said you can eat whenever you'd like."

Instead of giving a response you dug in.

Mother, if I died right now I'd be happy.

The food was just as good as you remembered it.

Soon enough the Lady of Autumn came back and sat down and started eating as well.

Easy and light conversation flowed between the three of you, onnly pausing once dessert came out. After your meal all three of you fell into silence as you all watched the sun set over the garden, giving the appearance that the trees were on fire.

Strangely enough, you weren't cold at all. But, that may be due to the steady heat that came off of Eris.

Too soon, you felt the familiar tap on the outer walls of your mind. Feyre.

Hey Y/N, I'll be there in a few minutes to come pick you up.

She must've sensed your hesitation because after the first message she followed up softly, with, 'If you want to stay a bit longer than let me know. I can cover for you if you need.'

Slowly, you stood up and said stiffly, "Feyre said she will be here in a few minutes to come get me."

Eris also stood up and offered you his arm, saying, "I'll escort you the the front."

You and the Lady exchanged your goodbyes and you let Eris direct you through the winding hallways.

As you reached the front, you could see Feyre waiting at the end of the walkway.

Before you could leave, Eris grasped you by the wrist and pulled you in for a kiss. It lasted for only a few seconds before he pulled away. Holding on to his coat lapels, you yanked him back down for your lips to meet again. This time much longer and filled with much more enthusiasm.

When you finally pulled away, you both were panting.

"Stay. Stay with me," Eris pleaded, staring into your eyes.

Pressing your lips together you thought about what Feyre said. "Okay," you said slowly, "Just let me run and tell Feyre."

Before waiting for his response, you ran out and met Feyre. She gave you a slight alarmed look due to the fact you were flushed and panting.

Grasping her hands, "You said you could cover for me, right?" You blurted out quickly.

She beamed back at you. "Yes, I'll just tell them that I sent you on a job or you're staying at an old friend's house."

"Thank you so much, Fey. If there's anyth-"

"Shh. Now go. You're mate is waiting," she teased before vanishing.

Turning around, you met Eris' eyes and nodded. Walking back up to him you yanked him down again.

He was smiling against your lips and he tapped the back of your thighs. Getting his message, you jumped. He threaded your legs around his waist and started walking back to the house.

Oh Mother. It was gonna be a long night.

@minaethrym, @glitterypirateduck, @lady-targaryens-world, @annieeees, @mybestfriendmademe, @inloveallthetime, @b0xerdancer, @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris, @acphengene

[tonguepiercedanyway75]

Phone call - Matty Healy

18+ mdni matty is away and you thought you’d surprise him with a toy, which he gladly uses while being on the phone with you

contant warning: phone sex, male and female masturbation, sex toys, dirty talk

You’re jolted awake by the insistent buzzing of your phone on the nightstand. Groggy and confused, you reach for it, squinting at the screen. It’s 3 a.m., and Matty’s name flashes, making your heart race.

“Hello?” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

“Hey, love,” Matty’s voice comes through, warm and teasing, his British accent a comforting lilt in the quiet of the night.

“Matty? It’s 3 a.m. What’s up?” you ask, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

“Well, I was going through my bag, and I found something interesting,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

It takes you a moment, but then you remember. Your heart skips a beat as you sit up in bed. “Oh, you found the note?”

“Yeah,” he replies, chuckling. “It said ‘Call me before you open x’. So, here I am, calling you at this ungodly hour.”

You smile nervously. You actually bought him a sex toy, hoping for him to feel good when he’s gone for a long time. Hoping he’ll use it and call you every time he does. You feel giddy thinking about his reaction.

“Should I open it now?”

“Go ahead,” you say, feeling a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “I’m dying to know what you think.”

You hear the crinkling of paper as he unwraps the package. The suspense is killing you, and you imagine him sitting there, a mischievous grin on his face as he uncovers your gift.

After seconds he didn’t say anything you think you fucked up. “Matty?”

“Blimey,” he says finally, his tone a mix of surprise and delight. “You really went for it, didn’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to be too lonely on your trip,” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckles, “what the fuck, Bluetooth-controlled male masturbator,” he reads out, and you burst into giggles. “Haven’t used a fleshlight since I was 16 or some shit.”

“Fleshlight with vibrator,” you correct him.

There is lube in the box as well because you didn’t know if he had some with him, very unlikely actually.

“You’re a menace,” he says, opening the box to pull the toy out. “You actually bought me a sex toy.”

You picture him with it in his hand, imagining how badly he wants to fuck it, but he pulls himself together. He’s definitely half hard right now, sitting on his bed. You’re getting wetter with every second as well, squeezing your thighs together because this is supposed to be about him.

“I did, and I’ve set everything up so you just need to use lube and turn it on.” You hum, laying on your back with your legs bend. Only in some panties and a shirt of Matty.

“Oh, so you want me to use it now?” He teases, grinning into the phone.

You think about the question for a second. It’s his choice if he wants to have some fun but you do want to listen to him.

“Yes.”

Matty groans, fiddling with his belt, squeezing his bulge over his pants. “You’ve got a toy as well, right?”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “yeah.”

“Go on and get it f’me.”

You turn to your bedside table, pulling out your purple vibrator. “Got it,” you say.

“Perfect,” he says. “Give me a minute, just sit there and be my patient girl.”

His praise goes straight to your core, a rather uncomfortable ache between your legs. You hear shuffling across the room.

Matty pulls his shirt over his head as he also gets rid of his jeans, leaving him in his impossibly tight boxers. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Your shirt and panties.” You breath, lifting your shirt a little, so you can rest your hand on your bare skin.

“Bra?” He asks, plopping down onto the bed, his hand stroking him over his cock.

“No bra,” you answer, hand trailing up, your fingers ghosting over your hardened nipples. You hiss at the cold feeling.

Biting his lower lip to contain his moans, Matty jerks dick for a bit, before his hands go down to play with his balls. Small beads of pre-cum danced at the tip of his cock and he uses them to better and more smoothly stroke himself. “Wish I could see you right now.”

He closes his eyes, hissing through his teeth as he pictures you, naked with him, begging to be fucked.

“Touch yourself, love,” he says, picking up the fleshlight, “I’m gonna use your little gift now.”

He grabs the lube from his bag and lathers some onto his fingers. Parting the folds, he sticks his slick fingers into the hole and spreads the lube around, quite impressed at how lifelike and real it feels.

Having made it sufficiently slick, Matty doesn’t hesitate to place the toy right over his cock and slowly plunge into it. He throws his head back and moans at the feeling, the tightness of the wet walls around his cock excruciating.

“Oh, christ.” He pulls up the toy before plunging it back down, ready to fuck it mercilessly when his attention is suddenly diverted to your little moans.

You’re starting to rub your clit over your panties in a circular motion, Matty’s sounds compared to the sounds of the toys making you so horny.

“How does it feel?” You ask, “turn it on.”

Matty does as you say and he surprises himself with how loudly he moans. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, fucking his hips forward. “Oh, fuck.”

“How does it feel?” You ask again.

“Fuckin’ good,” is all he can say. Now that you’re talking, now that he can hear the breathiness of your voice and the buzz of your vibrator in the background he can barely keep himself from coming apart. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Want you so fuckin’ bad. Feels so good. Want to press this up against your pussy and show you what it feels like.” he growls.

“Yeah? God,” you moan, dipping your fingers down your panties to spread the wetness around your pussy. You pull your panties down your legs and throw them away. “You sound so hot doing that.”

Matty is leaning back against the headboard. Lube is all over the toy, leaking out onto the soft curls between his legs and balls. He glides the toy up and down his length at a steady pace trying not to cum so soon already. His mind races with vivid thoughts of you.

“What do you think about Matty?”

He pulls his cock almost all the way out of the toy only to slam it back down hard causing him to groan loud.

Biting his lip to stifle another moan.

“Thinkin' about you squeezing around me." He breathes heavily in your ear. "Wishing this was your pussy instead of some..F-fucking toy.

Sinking his cock back inside making a loud schlick noise you can faintly hear in the phone. Pumping his cock while his other hand runs along his abdomen. He's trying to balance the phone between his shoulder and cheek praying he doesnt drop it. His face and chest flushed a crimson red. He lets out a loud moan when he thrusts upward. "Good god.”

You bite down on your lip hard listening as he fucks himself while talking about you. You want to touch yourself so badly.

“Need a m-minute, jesus,” he pulls the toy off of his soaked, angry red cock. “Can’t focus on anything when I’m fucking this, need to focus on you, can’t neglect my girl.”

You whimper which makes him laugh.

"I want you grab that toy and put it to your clit. Can you do that f’me?" He gets his voice low again. You bring the vibrator to your sensitive bud and gasp when you feel the vibrations.

"Good girl, think of my lips wrapped around your clit sucking so so softly. Imagine my face buried between your legs.." He's breathing heavier into the mic, tempted to let the toy sink down again.

However you struggle with making yourself come and especially over phone, he knows it.

“I bet you’re so wet, fuckin’ dripping down your thighs.”

You sink further into your bed as the vibrator continues working on your clit. Your hips bucking up as you writhe on your blanks, taking in every word he spoke. The phone keeps falling from your ear the more relaxed you become. Your mind in a fog while you listen to him say the dirtiest things.

“C’mon, baby, use your fingers now like I do it.”

You keep the vibrator right where it is at while you gently bring two fingers to your entrance. You slide them between your wet folds, getting them covered in your juices. You bite your lower lip hard as you tease around your dripping pussy.

You hear him groan in the other end of the phone. You gently dip your two fingers inside you, getting them as deep as they possibly could go. "Matty, fuck.” You moan in his ear.

“That’s it, find your pace yeah?” You whine, saying his name again, “feel good?”

“So good,” you moan, your fingers hitting your spot over and over while your vibrator is stimulating your clit.

Matty takes the toy and sinks it down onto his cock, letting out a gravely moan. “Fuck, bless you for giving me this.”

His cock is steadily plunging in out of his toy in a brutal pace. He's getting closer to his release, his other hand moving to cup his balls mimicking how you massage them. His hips thrusting up and all you can hear is the squelching sound his cock is making in the toy.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, c’mon fuck yourself faster.”

"Miss you so much," you slur, your movements stuttering as the device works your body in ways you didn't know is possible.

“Miss you too.”

You are completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You are crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fuck yourself harder.

“Good girl,” he groans, “M’so close, fuck- can’t last in this.”

He flips over on his knees and lets himself fuck into the toy, the vibrations sending him into a different plane as his cock throbs, sticky come pulsing into the wet clutch of what he wishes was you. You’re wailing his name on the other end, and he imagines you underneath him, warm and soft, as he shudders to a halt. 

“Fuck, fuck, are you close?” He asks and you moan in return.

“Y-yes.”

“Please- Christ, want to cum with you.” He torturously slows down, moving his cock out of the toy before slowly thrusting in.

Your fingers are pumping harder as you curve them upwards to rub against that sweet spot on your walls. Your thighs shake as you arch your back off the bed. You feel a tightness in your core building up, and you know you're getting close.

"Close,” You whine.

"That's it be a good girl and cum." Cum all over your fingers." He groans

The vibrator on your clit helps to bring you closer to your release. You spread your legs even further apart. You're moaning louder into the phone. You can't even hear Matty’s voice anymore. Fucking yourself with your fingers is becoming difficult the closer you are to your release. Your walls clenching up tightly around them, and your pulse quickening.

Matty is speeding up again as well, fucking the toy relentlessly, closing his eyes imagining it is you he’s fucking into.

“The second I’m home, I’m going to fuck you in every room,” he promises, “fuck, want to cum inside of you, not in this-.”

His words bring you over the edge, your legs shutting involuntarily, and the vibrator falls from between your thighs. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm rips through your body with so much intensity. Your vision goes black, and you stop breathing for a second. The phone lays abandoned next to your head, having dropped it long ago.

“Gonna cum- fuck- love,”

He groans louder. With a few more strokes and he's spilling his cum inside the toy. Still pumping his length, milking himself of every drop. His cum spilling out and coating his balls. He lays there in bed, phone still on his shoulder. His head all foggy, and his vision is blury.

You’re both panting into your phones, smiling to yourselves.

“You feeling alright?” He asks, putting the toy on his nightstand, hissing when he cleans his cock with some wipes.

“Mhm,” you hum, putting the blanket over your body. “Miss you Matty.”

“I miss you too, love,” he says, “just have to hold on a few more days and then I’m all yours, you still have my hoodie right?”

Your head is currently wrapped up in it, that’s why you giggle. “Yeah, but it smells more like me now.”

“S’ a bummer for you, just go to my closet.”

“Can't move my legs," you mumble, the sound muffled by the way your cheek is squished into his hoodie. "Need you to come carry me."He chuckles which is replaced by a yawn. He tells you that you both should sleep but you groan and tell him you don’t want to say goodbye.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself quietly, “i know exactly why you’re my girl.”

You stay quiet, ignoring that the sun is slowly coming through your curtains, enjoying the heavy breathing of Matty.

Matty hears that your breathing is still, he smiles to himself. “Sleep well, my love.”

[anundyingfidelity]

OUT OF MIND — Soldier Boy/Ben

Summary: Ben believes he's alone in the lab, that you're just a product of his imagination and insanity. Is not like that, you're more real than he ever thought.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 1.3k.

Warnings: sexual content, p in v, blowjobs, handjobs, heavy non-con (such as reader taking advantage of Ben), nudity, some angst, mentions of torture and being unconscious.

Note: *another one* this is part of @artyandink Jensen's drabble marathon (if it can't be due to the content of this is totally okay tho!) Anyway hope you like this dark piece of crap I had on my drafts because I could never write a long fanfic ever again, I'm taking so damn long to write.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

The last doctor left, metal door closing behind his back, leaving you all alone with the man lying down in a too uncomfortable stretcher, hands and ankles tied.

The doctor's instructions were clear. He didn't care what you'd do to the experiment in the room. No one cared. As much as a scientist you were yourself, you stayed until late, admiring the former hero at your complete mercy, with nowhere to go or a voice to yell for help. Not that he might needed though.

The room was cold as you paced to remain by his side. His chest going up and down, eyes closed as he slept thanks to the dosis of gas you always administered before taking the tests of his blood and getting into the good part: the torture.

Tens of scientists and doctors stepped the lab to test his strength and powers, gifting him of endurance and new abilities along the way. You were one of them. And this was your price for making him indestructible instead of killing him, switching completely the main objective of the reds. You never really talked to Soldier Boy, more than just the silent moans and gasps leaving your mouth when you actually got into business. Ninety nine percent of the time he was unconscious under the effects of the gas, but he did caught you on top of him a couple of times, or just sucking him off until he was hard in your mouth. The only thing further than talking was his green eyes staring at you, just as he woke up from the slumber. But that made it a thousand times better.

With your fingertips, you traced his bare arm. The skin hot against your hand, finding the way up to his muscular chest, and then down his stomach, stopping right above his crotch. Your mind started wandering all over with the past memories of you and him inside that same lab room.

It was wrong, but you couldn't stop.

You've done this countless of times, what was with doing it again? Besides, he was a piece of shit of a man as far as you knew, using women as appliances and then tossing them like garbage once he was bored. You had to have fun too. Your hand went under his pants, softly playing with his shaft, as your free one went to brush away the mess his hair was doing on his forehead, so delicately.

His cock grew hard thanks to your touch, jerking him off smoothly. It only made you yearn for him more, the wetness between your legs increasing as you rubbed your thighs together to feel some friction that could relief you for a moment.

You pushed your skirt up and took off your panties, completely desperate to feel him inside you. But before you pulled his pants down enough to free his dick, ans you leaned down to take the tip of his cock between your lips, sucking him just right to earn a somewhat loud gasp from his throat. You took him deeper in your mouth, soaking his shaft with your saliva and stroking with your hand what couldn't fit.

Just as you tasted some pre cum, you pulled back and climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs and lining his cock with your cunt, rubbing yourself on his length. You moaned softly sinking down on him, your tight, wet walls engulfing his dick, until your ass met the hot skin of his thighs. His cock twitched inside you as you rolled your hips in slow, deep movements, that soon became desperate. Biting your lip, you unbuttoned your blouse and pushed your bra down. Quickly, you held on his chest with the palms of your hands, riding him.

Soldier Boy brows furrowed, his breathing became unsteady as much as yours. Sometimes he looked like he would wake up in any minute, but he wasn't really able to. The features on his beautiful face used to change as you had your way with him because it was natural, and you loved to be in control. The only thing you'd regret was his big hands not being put into good use because of the restraints around them. You were so close to your climax that you wished he could bury his nails on your ass and mark it red while you're bouncing on his cock. Maybe someday you'd do it the right way. But not right now. Control suited you and you liked being on top anyway, playing with your tits at your own pace as they bounced with every thrust.

His cock met the deepest parts inside your pussy and you played with your clit and your folds, reaching sweet release and coating his cock with your juices. You continued the steady rhythm of your hips, going for a second orgasm, his dick throbbing so hard you would just fuck him until he spilled inside.

You let out a raspy moan as he came, filling you up and triggering your climax again, thighs shaking. You recovered your breathe, feeling his cock softening inside your pussy. His brows went back to normal, but you felt his heart still racing. Shifting on top of his cock, you reach his bearded cheek, caressing his features.

"I wish I could see underneath all this," you mumbled. "But I'm afraid you'll wake up for real and kill me."

You smirked just a little at the thought. Probably he'd just agree to fuck you if he was awake and back to his old self again, not drugged, not put into sleep. He was the perfect toy nonetheless.

But then, his eyes fluttered open softly. He thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, watching your face as the bright, white lights iluminated the room. Soldier Boy often believed you were a ghost from his twisted mind, that there was something inside his mind tormenting him to the point he was being used for sexual pleasure by an unknown entity. But your touch, the heat of your body, and your weight over his own told him otherwise. You were fucking real, straddling his lap, with his dick buried balls deep in your tight cunt, tits out and messy hair and lab coat. Soldier Boy groaned, hands clenching into fists.

He spent so much time, decades, inside those concrete walls that there was this primal need inside that couldn't be met. And you were there to make it true from time to time, even if he wanted it or not.

"Good morning, sunshine," you mocked when he tried to free his wrists, but was too weak to do so. "The gas effect is fading away I see."

He grunted as you pulled off from him, climbing down to fix your clothes and putting your panties back. Soldier Boy tried to scream, but his throat was sore; he had to fight the restrains on his limbs, however it was useless. He was so powerless and fragile for a moment.

"Shhh, it's okay," you whispered, putting your hand on his forearm. He looked at you with a mixture of fear and rage. "You're gonna be okay. I always take care of you," you smiled as the stretcher began to shake while he tried to set himself free. "Now don't try it, you're a good boy. Aren't you?"

Soldier Boy groaned like a scolded puppy once you combed his hair with your fingers.

"You've been here for a long time, and no one has ever taken such good care of you as I do," you said, leaning down until your lips were close enough to his ear. "So you better obey me and keep being a good bitch for me."

Once you pulled back, he got the perfect close up of your face before you turned around and left the room, the sound of your heels echoing before the metal door finally closed. In less than five minutes, the chamber was filled with novichok.

Before sleeping again, Soldier Boy knew it was real.

The woman fucking him on his dreams and living nightmares was so damn real.

Soldier Boy taglist

@delaynew

@k-slla

@thesilmarillionblog

@onlyangel-444

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake

@jackles010378

@mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

@drasticemotions

@stoneyggirl2 @sapnaploves

@believeinthefireflies95

[skinnybritishdudes]

So, holy shit. I, a person who has not written fic in a good fifteen years, suddenly decided to take a crack at this prompt from my own post the other day. It's got a bit of flirty/confident Edwin, some catwin, jealous Charles, and smooching.

I don't have AO3 yet so I'm just going to (trepidatiously) post it here and hope for the best haha don't be alarmed by my extreme vulnerability

3500 words, teen rating, no warnings.

The Case of the Tempting Mirror

“Of course it isn’t dangerous,” says Edwin. He’s standing just in front of the mirror in the corner of the office, wearing the green sweater Charles associates with the day he saved him from Hell. He’s looking back at Charles with an infuriatingly relaxed smile, head tilted slightly to one side. “He wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“He’s not the only threat out there, is he?” Charles huffs. “We ran into loads of dodgy stuff in Port Townsend.”

“He’ll protect me,” Edwin says. “Honestly, you don’t have to worry. It’s only that I asked him to gather some plant samples for me and told him I’d be by to check on his progress. It’s for research, Charles, and won’t take a tick. Nothing to get so worked up about.” He takes a step backward toward the mirror.

“He’ll protect you,” repeats Charles, nodding sourly, his mouth a downturned line. “Alright. Go on, then.” 

“We’ve been over this before,” says Edwin, more softly. “I can handle myself, and–”

“Right, got it,” says Charles. “I said go, didn’t I?” He flops down on the couch, looking straight ahead into the room instead of at Edwin as he leaves.

Edwin nods with a small sigh. “I will not be long,” he says, and takes another backward step before turning in one swift pivot to walk forward through the mirror and out of the office. 

The moment he’s gone, Charles growls loudly, his hands becoming fists on his knees. 

The fucking Cat King. Again. Couldn’t they ever be rid of that wanker? The first time Edwin said he was thinking about popping back over to see him, Charles thought he must be joking. 

“He was kind to me about Niko’s death,” Edwin had said, looking down. “And I think he’s sad, you know. I find myself wondering if he’s alright.”

“If he needs a friend he’ll have to find someone other than you, mate,” Charles had said. “He’s trapped you before, and you said yourself he’s a trickster. You can’t trust him.”

Edwin had been completely sure he’d be safe, though, and he wouldn’t entertain the possibility of Charles coming with him. He’d been so stupidly stubborn about it, and they’d bickered until the argument was exhausted unless Charles was willing to escalate it into a fight. Though he was panicked and angry at the situation, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt desperate enough that he would be right to beg or threaten or shout if that’s what it took to keep Edwin safe, but he knew he couldn’t be Edwin’s best mate and also be the guy who tries to control what he does by threatening and shouting at him. If Edwin wouldn’t see reason, what could Charles do? He makes his own choices, in the end.

This was the fourth time. Each time with Edwin so irritatingly determined to go, so unmoved by Charles’ obvious visceral concern. Each time with the same tense mini-argument before Edwin swivels away from him so easily. 

Charles stands up, his hands still in fists hanging at his sides. He rolls his head around as if trying to ease tension in muscles that aren’t there, then begins pacing in long strides back and forth across the office. 

And Edwin says stuff like “just a tick,” and then comes back three hours later. Every minute of waiting is agony, with Charles never sure if he’ll be back in a moment or if this is just the beginning of a much longer nightmare. He never knows how long until it’s reasonable for him to be as afraid as he has been the entire time, at which agonizing moment his barely-contained panic might become appropriate. 

The most nauseating thing of all - if Charles could truly be nauseated - is the sort of lightness about Edwin when he gets back from his visits with the Cat King. He returns in a good mood, the subtle smile at the corner of his lips lingering for hours. It makes Charles want to hit something, and then he worries about himself over that urge. Not rational, is it? 

When Charles asks him what took so long, Edwin will say they got caught up talking. It isn’t that he was whisked away to some kind of time-warp space like the first time, he’s just hanging out with his friend the Cat King, on the other side of the world, and lost track of time because he wasn’t thinking about Charles at all. But he never gives much of an account of what they talked about that lasted hours, and Charles never feels like he actually understands what Edwin is doing over there. 

It’s like he can’t even bring himself to suspect the thing he suspects. It couldn’t be, could it? 

No. It couldn’t.

He growls in his chest again. Could it? 

Charles stops his pacing in the middle of the room, sighs again, and turns to look at the mirror. It could be hours more of this. Likely would, in fact. Part of him wishes Crystal were here to distract him and wonders if he should go find her, but a larger part feels like it’s appropriate for him to be here and agitated. He doesn’t want to be distracted from his worries about Edwin, he wants to address them. 

He takes two long steps toward the mirror, then sits on the edge of the desk facing it. As always, for a moment he wishes he could see his reflection, but even his memory of that image is foggy now. He hasn’t seen his own face in thirty-five years and can’t quite conjure the details. These days when he tries to imagine his own face, he sees Edwin’s, the only one with which he’s so intimately familiar. 

The mirror ripples, just subtly, sending waves through the reflection of the bookshelf behind him. He isn’t even touching it - not yet doing the thing he knows he shouldn’t do but is thinking about anyway - but the mirror can already feel him searching for Edwin and is responding to his anguish. 

Charles holds his hand up two inches from the glass surface, just suspended there for a moment like he’s stopping traffic. He can feel the energy of the mirror reaching out to him, and though he knows he really, really shouldn’t do this in the end he barely hesitates before letting his palm touch the turbulent surface. It clears almost immediately, showing Charles a dimly-lit bedroom he’s never seen before. The space is lit by lanterns and a tacky neon sign, shabby but with a large, round, satin-sheeted bed in the middle. Edwin is sitting at the head of the bed, cross-legged, his posture as sharp as ever but looking relaxed and at ease. The Cat King lays curled around him on the mattress, his head at Edwin’s left hand, his knees tucked up on the other side where Edwin’s right hand rests on his ankle. 

Charles watches as Edwin gazes down at the Cat King, his left hand moving to bury itself in the cat’s loose curls. They both smile, the Cat King slowly closes his eyes, and Charles feels like he’s choking. 

~*~*~

“You did very well,” Edwin murmurs, running his hand through the King’s hair slowly a few times before settling in to gently rub and scratch behind his ears. The cat’s purring vibrates the bed, the sound filling the room as he moves his head into Edwin’s touch, his body squirming against his legs. 

“Thank you,” sighs the Cat King. “Right now I can barely remember all the traipsing through the filthy woods I had to do to complete your little scavenger hunt so I guess it must have been worth it.” He rolls over just a little, enough to expose a wide strip of belly through the undone front of his velvet robe. 

“Your help is much appreciated,” says Edwin, his right hand moving up to rub the back of his knuckles lightly, gently across the Cat King’s presented belly. “And I’m happy to be able to give you something in return.” He turns his hand over to pet more firmly with his palm, adding some gentle scratches.

The Cat King sighs contentedly, arching his back a little against Edwin’s touch, then frowns. “You could just come and see me, you know,” he says. “Without making me do your little errands.” He flips over onto his side in one swift motion, propping his head up on his hand while Edwins’ fall away. The ghost quickly brings his hands back, clasping them in his lap. 

“I thought you liked making me happy,” Edwin says, teasing and earnest at the same time. “That is what you told me, is it not?”

It was rather lovely, actually, the first time Edwin had come back to see the Cat King. First, he was oddly touched to find the King had had mirrors installed all throughout his warehouse in hopes Edwin would come through one of them. But the way he smiled when he saw Edwin had radiated such genuine affection, it caught him off guard. There had always been games between them before, tension and fear and deceit. But when he stepped through the mirror this time, not even fully able to account for why he was doing it but feeling compelled, the strange cat-man smiled at him with the unguarded elation of a long lost friend. Edwin couldn't help but feel an unexpected tenderness toward him.

And then the cat had been so eager to please him. They had spent most of that first visit with Edwin perched on the pallet throne while the Cat King sat below him, rubbing against his leg while they talked. The purring was actually remarkably soothing and satisfying, and Edwin found he enjoyed it very much. Something else he found satisfying was the feeling of the Cat King being at his command; of having him bound the way he had once bound Edwin to this town. So he took advantage of it, to both their satisfaction. 

“Yes,” says the Cat King with another sigh. “I did say that. And I meant it, dumbass that I am.” He pouts. 

“The knowledge you gather for me is useful,” Edwin says. “And don’t I always give you the reward I promise?”

The Cat King makes a hmphing noise in his throat. “I do like the petting,” he says. “But it also sort of makes it seem like you wouldn’t come and see me if I weren’t useful.” He pushes himself up and in one graceful motion is sitting knees-to-knees with Edwin on the bed. 

“You could refuse the tasks, you know,” says Edwin. “I’m not forcing your will in any way, unlike what you did to me.” His words have an edge, but there’s still a smile at one corner of his mouth. 

“You’re manipulating me with your adorableness and it’s humiliating,” says the Cat King. “It is like a fucking magic trick.” His frown softens. “I mean, look at your eyes. How am I supposed to live?” He leans forward, gazing into them sadly.

Edwin quirks his head to one side. “My eyes?” he says. 

“They’re, like, unfairly gorgeous. You didn’t know that?” 

“Actually, I–” Edwin fumbles. “As a ghost, I can’t see my reflection or be photographed so I haven’t seen myself in a very long time. I barely remember my own features.” When he tries, he sees Charles’ instead. That rich, warm, inviting brown, so full of kindness and compassion.

“That’s tragic,” says the Cat King in a breath, laying one hand on either side of Edwin’s face. “They are deep, deep, magical green. And so soft and beautiful. You deserve to know.”

Edwin looks down, embarrassed. He feels fluttery, too, though. Light and jittery. He flicks his eyes back up to look at the Cat King. 

“Are you ever going to let me kiss you?” the cat asks softly, hovering close enough to Edwin’s face to deliver if given the go-ahead. 

Edwin grimaces, and the Cat King groans, pulling back. “Are you kidding? You are the worst!” He throws his hands up. “Aaand I love you. What a disgusting nightmare.” The Cat King grumbles, his hand moving to slash across Edwin’s lips before the ghost has a chance to react. A glittery gold mark appears on his mouth and Edwin recognizes this feeling, knows he will be forced to tell the truth to whatever the Cat King asks now. It felt like a violation before and does again, but it’s also a dizzyingly liberated feeling.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” asks the Cat King, too frustrated to formulate a more thoughtful question. 

“I love Charles,” says Edwin simply, as if that’s the entire story. He supposes it is. 

“I mean, duh,” says the Cat King. “Everybody knows that. But does he love you back?” 

“No,” says Edwin. He doesn’t feel compelled to explain further; the truth isn’t complicated. 

“Then what’s the difference if you let yourself loosen up with me?” 

“I don’t know,” Edwin says. “I want to, in a way. That is, I–I believe I could because Charles truly doesn’t love me that way and I am increasingly intrigued, you know, by all these new feelings. And you are certainly not Charles but I cannot deny that you appeal to me, and I find myself wondering what would happen if I did try to let myself go with you.”

“You should let go,” says the Cat King, moving close to Edwin again. “Eternity is a long time to fucking yearn, and I can help you with that.”

Edwin moves his head without thinking, just a little and just in the right direction to indicate receptivity, and the Cat King eagerly moves an inch closer, so ready but wanting to be sure. Then Edwin exhales in a way that sounds like surrender and lets his eyes close, and the King closes the gap between them. Edwin is surprised when pushes back and lets his mouth move, firm and curious. They kiss only for a moment, and Edwin feels it: a tingle, a warmth, something more visceral than the sweet, chaste kiss he shared with Monty. The Cat King purring into Edwin’s mouth causes his whole being to feel like it’s vibrating in a way that isn’t unpleasant in the slightest, and he finds that even without a body he can still shiver. 

Edwin’s eyes are half closed and dazed as they pull apart, the Cat King exultant but meaning to check that he’s still OK before going any further. As it turns out, he doesn’t have time to ask the question.

“That’s enough of that, then,” says Charles in a rough voice, twirling his cricket bat as he emerges from the mirror at the far end of the room. He advances in battle stance, feeling very sure something is going to get smashed to bits tonight and the Cat King will be lucky if it’s not his face. 

“Charles–” Edwin begins, shocked, with no idea what to say next. He would blush if he could, embarrassed to have been caught like this but also surprised by the surge of emotion he’s feeling at seeing Charles this way. 

Charles would not have been able to describe what he was feeling looking at Edwin in this moment, either–the sharp ache and the rage that had sent him hurtling through the mirror, the need that is swirling in his chest like fury. 

“Excuse me,” says the Cat King, turning to face Charles. “You are not invited to this rendez-vous and I will absolutely fuck you up.” 

“We’ll see who gets fucked up, mate,” says Charles. “Get away from him or I’ll–”

“Oh, are you under the impression he’s not enjoying my attention, Charles?” the Cat King purrs, eyes wide with mischief masquerading as innocence. “Look, he’s still got my mark on him, so he can’t lie. Edwin, didn’t you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” Edwin says, his voice emphatic but his face miserable. He sounds like he’s choking, and it reminds Charles painfully of that day on the stairs in Hell. “But only because I know that Charles won’t.” He gulps. “You were right, eternity is a long time and I’ve been longing more and more to experience–oh, do take this cursed thing off my mouth, please!”

The Cat King touches Edwin’s lips perfunctorily and the gold mark disappears. He then scoots away from him and stands, crossing his arms and turning away, stung. 

Edwin turns to look up at Charles, standing next to the bed beside him, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Edwin, do you want me to kiss you?” asks Charles, before he can decide what to say.

“Yes,” breathes Edwin without a beat’s hesitation. “But not if you–”

While Edwin is answering, Charles is climbing onto the bed, his long limbs surrounding him in an instant. He drops the cricket bat on the mattress beside them and takes Edwin’s face in both of his hands. 

“I think the fuck NOT,” says the Cat King, kicking the mattress hard with one foot and sending Charles and Edwin sprawling, almost falling off the other side of the bed. “You two will not be having your big romantic moment in my fucking bed, thank you very goddamn much. Are you fucking kidding me?” He points at Edwin. “Don’t you dare come back here, do you understand me? You take your scrawny ghosty boyfriend and your nasty teasing lying manipulating–”

Charles and Edwin scramble off the bed and move quickly toward the mirror, holding hands. 

“I truly did not mean–” begins Edwin as he passes the Cat King. 

“Fuck you,” the King interrupts. Edwin grimaces, his eyebrows knitting together in remorse. He gives the Cat King one last look, then follows Charles through the mirror.

“But let me know if you need anything,” says the Cat King pathetically, flopping back onto the mattress. “I love you,” he whines, and it turns into a meow as a plume of pink smoke envelopes him. He becomes a sleek black cat with green eyes, slinking slowly to the head of the bed to curl up in the warm spot where Edwin had been sitting. 

~*~*~

The moment they’re back in the office, Charles turns and advances on Edwin, arms outstretched to embrace him. 

Edwin takes a step back and then to the side, moving away. “Wait,” he says, one hand on his chest. “Let’s take a breath. What is happening here, Charles?”

“You said you wanted me to kiss you, didn’t you?” Charles feels a desperate kind of urgency but forces himself to slow down, and he gives Edwin a smile. 

“I did, yes,” says Edwin, straightening his posture and casting his eyes to the side, trying to compose himself, too. “But I know that your feelings are not the same as mine. You don’t have to pretend for me, you know, frankly the idea of that is–” he makes a sour face.

“That’s not it,” says Charles. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry for spying on you. That wasn’t right, I know. But I wondered–I kept wondering what you were getting up to with the Cat King for all that time.”

“Oh? And that gave you license to invade my privacy, did it?” Edwin quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“It didn’t,” says Charles, his smirk becoming a bashful smile. “But I’m not perfect, and it’s what I did.”

“And you didn’t like what you found me getting up to, is that it?”

“Sort of,” says Charles. “But more like, I felt like I wanted to tear the Cat King limb from limb for touching you like that.” 

“A bit extreme, perhaps,” says Edwin, his face fighting desperately to crack into a grin. His exhilaration in this moment is palpable and thrumming, even without a heart to race.  

“Just a feeling, innit,” says Charles. “I wouldn’t actually have done it, of course. But it made me realize some important things.” He takes another step forward and reaches out to take one of Edwin’s hands in his, pulling him closer still. “Like how much I wanted to touch you like that. And that I didn’t want anybody else to, either. And once I knew it, of course I had to tell you, didn’t I? Especially since the alternative was watching you snog that creepy prick.”

Edwin doesn’t wait any longer, moving his free hand to the back of Charles’ neck and pushing himself up to kiss him with his joyfully irrepressible smile. Charles drops Edwin’s hand and winds his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight while Edwin wraps both arms around his neck. There is no room to regret that they don’t have skin to feel with as the explosion of love and delight reverberates all throughout their beings, crackling like electricity and unfurling like endless blooming vines. Like reality itself was exhaling in relief, the world becoming the way it was always meant to be. 

[memento-rory]

omg i thought of this as i was falling asleep, and i had to get it out!! i imagined streamer!reader (or any sort of cc) meeting schlatt at an event, and they’re freaking out because it’s so stressful and there’s so much going on. when schlatt offers his help, and he just offers so many comforting outlets, the reader is like ??? and completely sees that jschlatt is just a character, and the real deal is just a big old softie

okay enough rambling bye bye thanks for indulging me

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH i will always indulge you here 🩵

you wouldn’t say you’re a big fan of streamer events. the crowds all the different cc’s bring in are absolutely nuts, everyone is so loud and any empty space doesn’t stay empty for long. all the bodies in the convention center make it unbearably hot and almost suffocating, and it’s easy to get overstimulated.

you’re navigating your way through the crowds to find the room where your panel is, and people stop you for pictures or to say hi as you walk through them. you can’t help the stress that bubbles up in you and threatens to spill over as you start to worry that you’re going to be late. you look down at your phone to check your map, when you bump into a very tall someone.

when you look up, you see schlatt. you’ve never met him before — but you’re not really sure you want to, given the clips you’ve come across of him — but his expression is soft as he looks down at you.

“oh, shit,” he reaches out and grips your arms to steady you, “my bad, (y/n),” he says, and your eyebrows shoot up at the fact that he knows your name. really, you’d half expected him to tell you to watch where you’re going and go back to what he was doing.

schlatt stares at you for a minute, taking in your frantic look, “you doin’ alright?”

“yeah,” you sigh, looking back down at your phone, “i just — there’s a lot going on and i’m lost and kind of running late.”

“lemme see.” he gestures at your phone, and you hand it to him, pointing out the room you’re supposed to be in.

“i know exactly where this is.” schlatt says, starting to walk away with your phone. you don’t register that you’re supposed to be following him, and he looks over his shoulder at you. “you comin’ or what?”

you catch up to him, falling in step beside him. “this your first con?” he asks.

“yeah.” you answer.

“yeahhh, shit’s fuckin’ stressful,” schlatt sympathizes, “i’d like to say it gets easier but i kind of hate these things.”

you watch as he swipes away from the map on your phone as you arrive at the room you’re supposed to be in, tapping on your contact list and adding his phone number to your phone. when he hands your phone back to you, he smiles.

“you’ve got my number now. if you get lost again, you just text me and i’ll come find ya.” he says, before smirking. “or if you just wanna chat.”

you smile up at him and he winks, before patting your back gently. “go get ‘em, kid.”

[yoongiseesawmp3]

too sweet - san

summary: model!san x designer!reader. it's love at first sight when you see san. he's perfect...for your runway show! he's the top model right now, and everyone wants him. you want him a little more, but we'll unpack that later. can you get the it boy into your collection?

word count: 8.6k

warnings: afab reader

masterlist

"how many more?" you whine, collapsing onto the table in front of you. your dramatics shuffle all of the model cards out of order after you spent the last hour organizing them. your system is ruined, so your mood goes too. the only thing to pull you back to reality is jen, your right hand man. she pulls you up, encouraging words on her lips, and gets to reordering the cards you just messed up.

"we only have a few more," she reminds you. "and the last few have been good! i think we'll have plenty of options for your show."

"yeah, the girls have been great," you agree. "but the guys are all meh. i thought i was being all forward thinking doing a coed collection but now i wish i hadn't."

"oh come on," jen nudges you. "these guys were hot!"

"they're pretty, but this guy tripped, this one didn't bring a portfolio, and this one has conflicts from now until the show," you list off. "i need at least two more, or i'll have to cut the men's pieces."

"we'll find one," jen ruffles your hair. "you want me to go bring in the next model?"

"nah, we've got a few more minutes on our break," you tell her. "i'm gonna go get a coffee, do you need anything?"

"a water is fine," she replies as you slip out the door. you try to avoid the waiting area so you won't run into any potential models. you make it to the coffee machine down the hall, and of course it's just your luck that there's a tall skinny man already there.

"y/n?" he smiles. "i didn't know this was your show!"

"seonghwa?" you smile back. "i swear, you get taller every time i see you."

"what can i say? i eat my wheaties," he jokes, pulling you in for a polite hug. "how long have you had this gig?"

"few months," you reply. "i've been shitting bricks the whole time."

"i'm sure," he nods. "but you're doing a great job. i've never seen this many top models in the same place for years. everyone wants to walk for you."

"well that's very flattering," you mumble. "but you'd think 'top models' would come more prepared. half of these bozos have not impressed me."

"she's talented and determined," seonghwa notes. "guess i gotta bring my a game."

"i guess you do," you tease him. "hey, you don't know anyone who could come audition before the end of the day, do you? i need more guys."

"i could make a few calls," he thinks. "what do you have in mind?"

"is it too vain to say someone sexy?" you laugh. "we're looking for someone intimidating, good walk, strong features. it's a dramatic piece so i want someone unique."

"i might know a guy," seonghwa nods.

"anyone i'd know?"

"i guess you'll know when you see him," he replies. "i gotta go, i think i'm next, so-"

"right, right, go make yourself pretty," you tell him. "it was so good to see you!"

"you too," he smiles at you genuinely. "proud of you."

"hey, no shmoozing before your audition."

-

seonghwa got a place in your show, obviously. now you only need one more guy. jen convinced you the tripper could work with some help, and there was another model from earlier in the day that you think deserves a call. you still need someone for your final piece, though, and you're running out of hope.

"so how do you know seonghwa again?" jen asks as you wait for the last model to show. "and how well do you know him? and how well would he like to know me?"

"we worked together a few years ago," you laugh. "he was one of the models in my first show."

"so you gave him his big break? he's indebted to you?" jen asks. "he has to make it up to you by, i don't know, going on a date with your best friend and best stylist?"

"we'll see," you frown. "you know i don't like messing with models."

"i hate that rule," jen mumbles as she sits back in her seat. "where's this last model? i wanna go home."

"seonghwa said he pulled a favor getting him here," you explain as you check your phone. "so he might be running behind. i can wait for him if you wanna go."

"no, if he's anything like seonghwa i want to be here to ogle him."

at that, there's a knock at the door, and you call out for them to come in. who steps through the door is maybe the most beautiful man you've ever seen. he's striking, strong, and smiling shyly like he's not used to having eyes on him despite his profession.

"hi, i hope i'm not too late?" he asks, standing by the door.

"no," you quickly reply. "not at all, come in. you're seonghwa's friend?"

"yep," he confirms, walking up to hand you the most professional looking portfolio you've seen all day. and this guy wasn't even expecting to walk! no way you're hiring those other losers now. "i'm san."

"san, hi," you smile at him, and jen stifles a laugh next to you. somebody's smitten, she thinks, but she won't say anything just yet. "i'm y/n, i'm the designer, and this is jen, my stylist."

"nice to meet you," jen presents her hand, and san tentatively shakes it. "firm handshake, i like it. you have soft hands."

"thanks?" he laughs nervously. "um, so do i just-"

"yes, yes," you motion for him to head to the back of the room. "whenever you're ready."

as if you weren't already convinced this was the guy for you (i mean, for your show) then his walk sold it. his presence is so commanding, his movements so precise, and you've never seen someone with such perfect posture. it makes you sit up straighter as he walks toward you, and you almost swoon when he winks at you before turning around. you squeeze jen's hand under the table, and when san finishes his walk you fight the urge to applaud.

"that was great!" jen comments once san is finished. "y/n, what did you think?"

"you're perfect," you breathe out, and jen nudging you brings you back to earth. "uh, for the collection."

"thanks," san smiles proudly. "hopefully i'll hear from you soon."

"hopefully you will," you smile back. "thanks for coming on such short notice."

"it was my pleasure," san says, waving as he ducks out into the hall. as soon as the door is shut, you turn to jen and say, "i love him."

"i know you do," she laughs. "so is he in the show?"

"in the show?" you scoff. "he is the show. he's exactly what i was imagining. i want ten more of him."

"i'm sure you'd like that," she says with a waggle of her eyebrows.

"stop," you roll your eyes. "i just said i don't mess with models."

"mhm," jen nods. "so who else are we casting? we have one spot for sure..."

-

san and seonghwa were cast immediately. well, maybe not immediately. you both looked through their portfolios, ooh'ing and aah'ing over their looks before deciding they had to be in the show. when you and jen decided on the next two male models quickly, you figured this would be an easy discussion. wrong! you have four female models you're willing to fight tooth and nail for, and jen has her own four that she's just as committed to. you've been deliberating for a while now, so you decide to take a break. you head to that same break room you met seonghwa in earlier, and you thought briefly about taking san's portfolio with you. for research purposes, obviously, but you decided against it.

as soon as you step into the hallway, you hear faint sounds of music. not unusual for this studio space, but still, you proceed with caution. you don't want to interrupt anybody, so you walk quietly until you find the the source of the sound. it's san! and he's...dancing?

"oh god, sorry," he bumbles as soon as he sees you. he rushes to his phone, propped against the window in front of him. "god. that's embarrassing."

"what were you doing?" you smile at him.

"embarrassing myself," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. he wiggles his phone in the air and explains, "my agent wants me to post more, says it'll help me get booked, and he sent me a couple tiktok trends he wants me to do. so i was.."

"dancin' your heart out?" you tease, and he blushes.

"you could say that," he smiles shyly, again making it seem like he's not used to having attention on him. does he know he's a model?

"wait, how long have you been out here?" you ask, worried he might have heard you and jen (mostly you) gawking over his portfolio.

"just a few minutes," he shrugs. "part of why i was able to come walk for you is because of another audition i had on the other side of this building. so i was over there for a while, and came back here to humiliate myself in front of my favorite designer, it seems."

"your favorite, huh?" you ask. "good thing we've cast my show already, otherwise i'd think you're sucking up."

"damn, so i'm too late?" san laughs.

"who else is auditioning models here?" you change the subject.

"kim hongjoong?" san says it like a question, and you nod in recognition.

"he's good," you hum. "i hope you don't get it though."

"what?" san balks. "why?"

"because i want you in my show," you shrug. "and i don't wanna fight hongjoong for you, even though i know i'd win."

"you sure about that?" san asks. "he's been working out, i hear."

"oh i could so take him," you assure san. "i'm a biter." you notice a flicker in san's eyes, a hint of something, but you feel yourself blushing and cough so you have an excuse to cover your face. "excuse me. i should probably go, we've got a few more models to cast.."

"wait, so you just drop the bomb that i'm in your show and then you're gone?" san asks, following you down the hall. "how do i know you're serious?"

"because you have my word," you furrow your eyebrows. "but if you really need the confirmation, i'm sure my people will call your people soon." as if on cue, san's phone starts buzzing, still perched on the window. san looks to it, then you. you feel vindicated as you turn and walk on to the break room with a flick of your hair over your shoulder, leaving a stunned model and the smell of peaches in your wake.

-

all the models have been cast, and it's the morning of your first fitting. you slept in your studio last night because you had so much work to do. it was mostly tiny alterations to ensure the pieces fit their new models, but you also spent half the night cleaning. you don't let people into your studio usually, or if you do, it's people that know you well enough to know you and your work are a mess. but today, you're the boss. you need to look put together, and so does your studio.

you're standing by the door, taking everything in, and decide that this is as clean as you'll get it. there's still fabric, zippers, stray threads strewn all over your work tables, but you're a designer. that's normal. if the models have complaints they can deal. being next to the door, you hear something in the hall, but write it off as one of your artistic neighbors at work. you start to walk away, toward your coffee station in the back, when the doorknob to your studio jiggles. you hear a quiet "shit" and then a polite knock, so you walk over cautiously. one look through the peephole reveals who it is.

"san?" you ask, opening the door. "what are you doing here?"

"realizing i am," he checks his ridiculously expensive watch, "an hour early for my fitting. sorry." he adds a sheepish smile at the end and you fight the urge to coo. he looks like he just woke up, and that he definitely rushed here. his clothes are mussed, hair in a beanie to hide it not being done, eyes puffy with sleep. still, he looks perfect.

"was the email confusing?" you ask. "i was worried that-"

"no," he shakes his head. "no, i was just, um, i'm really excited," he explains shyly. "i almost couldn't sleep last night, so when i woke up this morning i thought i had overslept. i should've checked."

"no worries," you say as you blush. he was excited? for a fitting? man must love his job. "here, come in. i just finished cleaning, so you get first dibs on space. there's a couch in the back if you want to nap before we get started."

"how long have you been here?" san asks, looking around at the studio. he sees a lot of chaos, but it's beautiful chaos. colors that compliment each other perfectly, strange techniques that have made something stunning. he can't believe he'll be part of this show.

"uh, since last night," you admit, finally reaching your coffee machine. "i had a lot to do."

"you slept here?" san frowns, tossing his stuff onto a table before joining you. he leans against the wall as he watches you.

"yeah," you shrug. "i hate waking up early, so it saved me from getting here grumpy if anything."

"but did you rest?" he asks, looking out at the studio. "this is a big space for one person to clean."

"jen helped," you tell him. "she was here last night to bring over the shoes for each outfit."

"which one is mine?" san asks with an eager smile.

"wouldn't you like to know?" you stick your tongue out at him for good measure. "yours isn't out here. it's so big i had to keep it in my office, i couldn't move it out here by myself."

"it's big?" he looks a little scared.

"that may not be the right word," you think. "it's heavy, so that's why i needed someone strong to wear it."

"you think i'm strong?" san smirks, and you blush. "how'd you know?"

your mind thinks to his portfolio still sitting on your desk, full to the brim of him in scantily clad photoshoots. you've seen pictures of his chest, his abs, his arms. muscles that had to take hours in the gym to sculpt. you wonder shyly if his portfolio is still on your desk, open to a picture of him in a pink outfit with a hint of his chest on display. you'll have to cover it quickly if it is.

"i asked seonghwa how you two met, and he said you go to the same snooty model gym," you explain, which is the truth. seonghwa had been in a couple shows with san before they became friends, but it took the two of them working out together to actually become buddies. they've been looking out for each other ever since, seonghwa told you. san seems to think your explanation was enough, so he hums and nods before turning his attention back to your collection.

"so how did you and seonghwa meet?" he asks casually. you tell him about your first show, as an independent designer no less, and how seonghwa found you stress crying backstage. as you always do when describing seonghwa, you stress how your relationship was friendly, but nothing more. you never want anyone to think you're fooling around with one of your models. but san finds himself thinking, hm, that means seonghwa isn't his competition.

"do you want anything to drink?" your voice pulling san from his thoughts. he looks at you, cupping a warm mug of coffee, and smiles.

"no, thank you," he says. "i try not to have anything before a fitting, i never want to mess up the sizing and put more work on the designer."

"san that doesn't sound healthy," you frown. "and what kind of designer is sticking you in clothes so skin tight you can't have a glass of water? i need names."

"it's a lot of them, i'm afraid," he laughs. "most people cast me expecting to show off my abs, or something else, so i don't have much space to mess up during show season."

"yeah, you are always showing some kind of skin," you think about it.

"you been studying me?" san teases, and you blush.

"i'm a designer, it's my job," you mumble. "i reviewed everyone's portfolio thoroughly."

"what was seonghwa's last shoot then?" san quizzes you. you make a guess, but you get it wrong. "and what was mine?"

"vogue, right?" you answer immediately, and san responds with a shit eating grin.

"i'm so telling hwa i'm your favorite model now," he says, resting against the wall again as he folds his arms over his chest. his very muscled arms, and his broad-

"knock knock!" jen shouts from the door. she steps inside and asks, "you know you didn't lock this- oh hey san."

"good morning," he nods to her. "nice to see you again."

"nice to see you too, so bright and early," jen says as she looks at you. "how long have we been here?"

"me since last night, san since a few minutes ago. he didn't read the email."

"i read the email!" he whines. "i was just excited!"

"that's sweet," jen coos as she dumps bags onto one of your worktables. "i hope i'm not interrupting anything?"

"jen, do you have a favorite model?" san asks, and she thinks for a moment.

"no, i don't," she shakes her head. "there's too many good ones, so it depends on the day. why do you ask?"

"i just found out i'm y/n's favorite," san explains with a smile.

"you just found out?" jen laughs, and you groan. san looks like he's gonna say something else but you speak before he can.

"hey, since y'all are both here, come help me move this table," you command. "we need space for the models to walk." they do as you say, but share a knowing look while you're distracted. it's a bad thing to have your best friend and your crush in cahoots, but you'll figure that out later.

-

since san was here early, you got to work on his fitting first. jen finished setting up the workroom while you and san went to your office. jen made a show of putting headphones in to listen to music, and you wanted to pinch her so hard. she's making it obvious that you have a thing for san, and you're hoping beyond hope he doesn't notice.

"oh my god," he whispers when you open the door to your office, revealing the piece you've dedicated the past few months to. "that's incredible."

"you like it?" you turn to him, unsure. "it's a lot, i know."

"i love it," he smiles from ear to ear. "i've never worn something like this before."

"i hope no one has," you laugh nervously. "i tried a technique to emulate fur, so i'm hoping this is a super cool fashion innovation that'll take the industry by storm."

"how'd you do it?" san asks, looking at the piece in awe. "and how long did it take?"

"so, i shredded pounds and pounds of natural fabric until it looked so fine it could be a better alternative to faux fur," you explain. "and it took me about...four months?" san whistles lowly, his hands twitching at his sides. "you can touch it if you want."

"i want to put it on," he turns to you excitedly. "how do you want me to wear it?"

"don't hate me," you beg. "since this is such a big piece, and i want it to draw attention, i don't have a shirt for you."

"that's ok," san nods. "adds to the natural element."

"exactly," you smile, blushing anyway. "and there's just white pants underneath, for contrast. they should be super comfy, to make up for the workout you'll get walking around in the jacket."

"i can't wait," san says happily. he turns to you fully, looking between the outfit and you. "do you want me to strip, or...?"

"oh god, let me turn around," you say. "the pants are on the desk. let me know when you have them on."

"you're very polite," san chuckles. "most designers try to manage every single thing, including how models get dressed."

"it's pants," you scoff. "if you can't put pants on how did you get out the house?"

"i'm ready," he says, and you turn back to find him in the pants, yes, but still with his shirt on.

"um, do you mind?" you ask, tugging at the neckline of your own shirt hoping he gets the hint. it distracts him just enough that you have to call his name, and he looks at you with a hum. "can you, uh, take your shirt off?" he responds with actions, pulling his shirt off in one swift motion. you squeak out, "great!" and then shuffle toward the mannequin. "i might need help lifting this."

"no worries," he hurries to your aid, his hands brushing yours as you push the jacket off the form. "wow, this is no joke."

"if it's too heavy i can-"

"i can handle it," san says firmly. "help me into it?"

you hold up one side while san slips his arm in, and then help him into the rest. you take a step closer, trying to fasten the clasp on the front, but it won't meet. you struggle for a minute, hands ghosting so softly over san's chest. he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until your voice pulls him from his focus.

"what?" he looks down at you. "why are you frowning? it looks great."

"it doesn't fit over your chest," you pout. "i thought i had your measurements right-"

"oh, sorry, i've been working out," san admits. "and i think i gave you an old portfolio since i was in a rush, so my information may not be up to date..."

"shit," you mumble, and san tries to fix the situation. he starts tugging at the jacket, but you gasp and grab his hands, stilling them instantly. you look at him sternly as you instruct, "i'll make it fit, you just have to wear it. please don't do my job for me."

"sorry," san whispers. you're so close he could just lean down and kiss that pout from your lips, but that wouldn't be professional of him. but boy does he want to.

"before you take it off, let me find your shoes," you look around. "i want to see the whole look together...maybe jen knows where they are."

you open your office door and peek your head out, gasping at what you find. jen is pushed up against one of your work tables, and seonghwa is standing before her holding her waist like she could slip away at any moment. they're making out like they've done this before, and you clear your throat to get their attention.

"hi," seonghwa mewls. "this isn't what it looks like."

"looks like two of my employees are goofing off when they should be doing their jobs," you mumble, wandering around the studio. "jen, where are san's shoes?"

"um, by the door?" she guesses. "i didn't see his outfit in here, so i didn't know where to put them."

"it's in my office," you respond. "that's why i took him in there."

"i didn't know," she shrugs. you find the shoes and then glare at them, but neither one takes you seriously.

"seonghwa, your outfit is labeled with your name. it's an easy piece, simple closures, so you shouldn't need any help getting it on," you explain. "jen, come here. we have a problem."

"holy shit, you look awesome," jen says as soon as she sees san. she looks at you and asks, "what's wrong with it?"

"his chest is too broad," you frown again, staring at san's chest. "i can't get the jacket to close."

"he can't hold it when he walks?" jen suggests, and san tries it out. you start shaking your head before he finishes, and he actually whines when he sees your reaction.

"no, it's gonna fall off your shoulders if you do that," you say. "i want it to stay in place, and i need the clasp to work for that to happen."

"so what are you gonna do?" jen asks.

"not sleep until i fix it?" you reply. you look at her in defeat and add, "i don't know what else i can do."

"can i help?" san offers, but you shake your head again as jen says, "yes, you can." you try to protest, but she cuts you off.

"he can cut the initial shreds!" she offers. "then you do your magic putting them into the jacket. it takes out a step for you so hopefully it'll be quicker."

"what she said," san butts in. "let me help, please."

"i can't pay you for your extra time," you say softly. "i don't want to impose-"

"don't care," san shakes his head. "i've got nothing else going on."

"perfect!" jen claps her hands together. "you two figure that out, i'm gonna check on hwa..."

-

the rest of the fitting goes well. it's perfect, actually. you have the best models you've ever worked with, every piece fits, and the collection looks beautiful all together. you tear up watching them all walk before you, and the piece san is wearing literally makes a hush fall over the room. he still walks toward you with a wink, but this time it doesn't affect you as much. you're too focused on how much time it'll take to add a couple more inches to the coat. when san finishes, everyone looks to you expectantly, and it takes jen calling your name for your mind to catch up with your mouth.

"i don't know what to say," you admit. "you all did an amazing job, and this was just a fitting! imagine what this show will look like on a real stage. um, a couple things to note..."

once you finish your boss spiel, the models all start changing and leave one by one. you make sure to thank them all before they leave, and in a few minutes it's just you, jen, and san left.

"seonghwa didn't wanna stick around?" you ask jen.

"you scared him," she replies. "he left so fast i'm surprised he didn't leave a trail of smoke."

"i'll talk to him," you brush it off. "keep your paws off him in my studio though."

"no promises," jen sighs, gathering her things. "i need to go get another pair of heels for our tall girl, so do you need anything else from me before i go?"

"a hug?" you think. "i couldn't have done this without you."

"she loves me!" jen says to san, and he smiles encouragingly.

"you two are amazing," san says. "i don't know how just two people put together such a stunning show."

"lots of work," you say.

"i cried a few times," jen adds.

"we both did," you conclude. "but it was fun, so it was worth it. right?"

"fun, sure!" jen agrees.

"get out of here," you push her playfully. "please rest. no boys."

"you too," jen wags her finger at you. then to san, "don't let her work too hard!"

"i'll try my best," he salutes her, and jen leaves with a laugh. he turns to you and asks, "what can i help with?"

"i need to buy more fabric," you think. "so if you want to grab food while i-"

"no, we'll both grab food, and then fabric," san decides. "or fabric then food. either way, i'm buying your lunch."

"but-"

"nope," he pulls you into his side and walks toward the door. "can't work hard on an empty stomach!"

-

you find yourself enjoying san's company more than you were expecting. he's easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, and he's so kind. he insisted on buying your lunch, even though that was going to be your payment to him for helping. he even tried to buy the extra fabric, claiming it's his fault you had to buy more anyway. you get back to your studio, smiles on both your faces, and get to work.

"so we need these in strips about an inch wide," you explain as you lay a few yards of fabric out on a work table. "tear them into strips, then we'll cut them in half, and then i can start shredding and adding them to the coat. sound good?"

"got it, captain," san nods. "how many do you need?"

"i don't know yet," you make a face. "you're a big guy."

"i'm just so strong," san rolls his eyes, flexing a little bit as he does.

"stop that," you laugh. "get to work. you want music on?"

"yeah, whatever you wanna listen to," san says as he straightens the fabric. you watch as he measures carefully, taking the fabric cutter over the material slowly. he holds up his first strip, looking to you for approval. "is this good?"

"perfect," you tell him. "now make like a thousand more."

"what are you gonna do while i work, hm?" san asks. "i've got a lot to do and you're just gonna watch me?"

"gotta make sure you're doing it right," you reply. "but i need to pack up some of these other pieces, they're getting shipped to the venue in the morning. my least favorite part of the job."

"how many shows have you done now?" san asks, and you fall into comfortable conversation with him while you work. you get most of the collection packed up before you know it, so you walk over to his table to check on his progress.

"not bad for a model," you say as you inspect the pieces. "you could make a mean designer's assistant."

"you in the market for one?" san asks, and you notice how close you are. he's a little taller than you, so all you'd have to do is stand on your toes and- "what are you thinking about?"

"what?" you whisper, taking a step back. san's hand catches your waist, holding you in place.

"what were you thinking about, just now?" he asks again. "you were staring."

"you're a model, i'd expect you'd be used to everyone staring at you," you whisper back.

"you're not everyone," he says softly. his eyes flit down to your lips, and before you can think you lean in and kiss him. it's quick, barely a touch, but you kissed him, and his hand on your waist tightens. when you look up at him, he's blushing. "what was that for?"

"um, for helping me with your outfit?" you reply.

"anything else you need my help with?" san smirks.

"san, i'm sorry, i shouldn't have done that," you whisper.

"yeah, you pulled back too quickly," he pouts.

"no," you laugh shyly. "no, um, i have a rule that i don't mess around with my models."

"got it," san sighs. "bummer, but i understand."

"i should start shredding these," you say, grabbing a pile of fabric. san's still holding onto you though, so you look at him expectantly. "you gonna let me go?"

"you don't mess with models, ever?" san asks. "or is it just models that are working for you?"

"um, the second one," you think. "but san-"

"then we'll talk about this again when the show is over," san says with finality. "i don't mind waiting."

"as long as you can keep things professional," you tell him.

"says the one who kissed me," san teases.

"whatever," you roll your eyes. "i'm gonna go work on the jacket."

"um, do you think these are enough strips for now?" san asks sheepishly. "i actually have to leave for an audition..."

"my god," you look at the time. "please, go. i'm sorry i kept you for so long."

"i'll come back when i'm done," san says like it's nothing. "i don't really want this show anyway, but my agent booked it, so i have to go."

"that's good to hear," you mumble. "because i don't like sharing."

"make sure you take a break while i'm gone," san points at you accusingly.

"go to your audition," you say as you walk to your office. "i'll be here when you get back."

-

san thinks about you the whole time he's gone. he breezes through the audition and gets an offer before he leaves, but after being in your show this designer seems scattered, unprofessional, and just not as good as you. his collection is fine, but it's nothing impressive. san can't wait to get back to your studio and see the progress on your coat, but when he knocks at the door there's no response. he waits, tries again, and still nothing. he tries the door and it opens easily, so san wanders in calling out your name. he doesn't see you in the work room, but there's a light on in your office.

"y/n?" he calls, stopping at the door when he sees you slumped over your desk, snoring softly. he looks at the mannequin next to you and lets out a gasp. it's more dramatic now with more fabric, and san thinks briefly it'll be even heavier to wear. he doesn't care though. right now, he's more concerned about getting you to someplace you can rest.

"you're back," you mumble, sitting up as you rub your eyes. "i fell asleep."

"i see that," san chuckles. he walks over to you and holds his arms out. "come on, we gotta get you home."

"what are you doing?" you ask, letting out a shriek when san picks you up. you hit his back weakly, but he carries you out of your office, through your studio, turning lights off as he goes.

"where's your bag?" san asks. you point and he carries you still, handing your things to you before doing a sweep of the studio. "ready to go?"

"where are we going?" you mumble into his shoulder. "i was sleeping just fine-"

"i'm taking you home," san says. "you need to sleep in a bed. not hunched over your desk."

"why are you being so nice to me?" you whisper as you nuzzle into him further. he doesn't reply, but you wouldn't hear it anyway. you drift off in his arms, only waking up when san slides you into the passenger seat of his car.

"you know how to get home from here, sleepyhead?" san asks as he ruffles your hair. you type your address into your phone, handing it to him before he closes the door carefully to rush to the driver's side. he laughs nervously when he sits down and finds you staring, so he asks, "what? too much?"

"i really want to kiss you again," you admit.

"but you can't," san coos. "remember your silly rules?"

"hmph, i was gonna say screw my rules, but then you made fun of me, so-"

"no, no i take it back!" san cries, but you turn and lay your head against the window. you smile to yourself as san begs you to turn back around, giggling as he tugs on your arm. you pretend to snore and san gives up, but his hand has moved from tugging your arm to just holding your hand. you stay like that the whole way home.

-

the runway show is tomorrow. you still aren't done with san's jacket. and you still aren't sure what to do since you kissed him. jen has ideas, though.

"climb him like a tree," she tells you for the nth time as she helps you unpack outfits at the venue. "he sooo wants you. and you sooo want him."

"doesn't matter who wants who," you mumble as you try to hold at least three pins by your teeth. you're securing a new zipper to your favorite dress. it wouldn't be a runway show without things falling apart last minute, and you could have punched a wall when you unpacked this dress to find the zipper literally holding on by a thread.

"the show is tomorrow, y/n," jen says sternly. "you can't hide behind your silly 'no models' rule for much longer."

"i won't," you assure her. she looks at you surprised, but she can't ask any follow ups because there are voices coming from the entrance.

"hello?" seonghwa calls out. you yell back that you're backstage, and when he appears he immediately finds jen to pull her into a hug.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him. "you don't have a fitting today."

"i brought him for moral support," san says from behind you. he's so close, and you didn't hear him come up, so it makes you jump. his hands fly to your waist, trying to soothe you, but the touch makes you jump too. "why are you so skittish?"

"i'm stressed," you respond, stepping away so you can find his coat. you look over your shoulder as you tell him, "the jacket still isn't done."

"what?" he whines. "do i need to tear more fabric?"

"no," you laugh. "just come here." he joins you further among the mess that is your collection, following closely behind you through the maze of clothing racks. you stop by his mannequin, turning to find him still incredibly close to you. "it just needs a clasp. as long as you didn't get broader over night."

"no promises," he smirks before pulling his shirt off. "can you help me get it on?"

"you've never needed my help before," you frown as you try avoid staring at his chest.

"yeah well, it's like ten pounds heavier now," san says. "and i'm just so weak..."

"bullshit," you laugh, helping him lift the coat anyway. you hold one side for him while he slips his arm in, then help him hold onto the other. "ok, stay here." you scurry off to get your sewing kit, and san finds jen's gaze through the clothes. she gives him a thumbs up and an exaggerated wink, and he stifles a laugh as you come back. you're holding more pins between your teeth, and san cries out. "what?"

"that can't be safe," he says as he reaches for one, but ends up pricking himself. "ouch."

"no touching," you mumble. "and hold the jacket like this." you guide his hands to hold the coat in place, and san watches intently as you work. you have to hand sew extra buttons on to support the new weight, so it takes a while. san tries to talk to you, but he's so worried about the pins in your mouth he can't focus.

"let me hold these," he grumbles, carefully pulling a pin from your lips. he takes the rest and cups them in his hand, accidentally pricking himself again. "ouch."

"that's what you get," you laugh. "you didn't have to hold them for me, i'm an expert at this by now."

"yeah, but if you had pins in your mouth, i couldn't do this," san says as he uses his free hand to cup your chin. he looks down at you with a smile before he kisses you. he kisses you and holds you against him, his lips so soft on yours. you sigh into the kiss, lost in the feeling of having him so close to you. you can feel his heart beating in his chest, and your hand that had been gripping the coat falls to his warm skin. you push him away, a little gasp on your lips when it hits you what's happened.

"what happened to being ok with waiting?" you ask him, and his head falls to your neck, leaving one kiss against your skin before he pulls back.

"i forgot," he whispers.

"well remember at least until i finish these buttons," you tell him.

"and then what?"

"then you gotta show me your walk," you say. the way you look up at him makes san want to kiss you again, but he does his best to refrain. you hold your hand out for the pins, and you put them back in your sewing kit as you say, "in a few minutes, your coat will finally be done."

"can't wait," san hums, his hands back to holding the jacket in place. "but i admit i'll miss having a reason for you to be so close to me."

"i'm sure you'll find more," you mumble, focusing on the last button. when it's sturdy enough to hold weight, you try securing the jacket together just enough for it to stay on san's shoulders. "hands off," you instruct, and san moves his hands from the coat to your shoulders. "hands to yourself."

"aw," he pouts. you start to walk away and he follows, but you tell him to stay put.

"stay there, then walk toward me," you direct him. "i wanna see how it moves now."

"you want me to go full model mode?" san asks. "can you handle it?"

"just show me," you groan, and the cocky grin on san's face should've warned you. it's like he changes into another person, his demeanor completely different. you realize now that the san you know is not model san, because the man before you is...intimidating? you almost back up as he walks toward you, his gait powerful and his stare petrifying. everything is so dramatic and the movement matches the coat perfectly. he still winks at you as he comes closer and turns, moving the coat so each layer of fabric, each shred explodes into an arc before you. san finishes his walk, turning over his shoulder with a shy smile on his face. he's back to the san you know as he asks, "how was that?"

"you're perfect," you stammer out, mimicking your words from the first time san walked for you. "for the collection. for this piece. everything. this is exactly what i imagined."

"good," his smile widens. "and the weight isn't too bad. it's distributed better now."

"good," you cough, trying to calm yourself down. watching that made everything real to you. this show is happening tomorrow. your nerves are hitting you now, and san can tell.

"are you ok?" he asks, rushing to your aide. he looks like he's going to pull you into a hug when you hear jen calling for you somewhere, and you disappear before san gets a chance.

-

the hours leading up to the show are a blur. in the hours leading up to the show, you are a blur. you don't stay still for more than a few minutes at a time. there's just so much for you to do, so many people to talk to, and so many people that need your help. a stylist asking your opinion. a model with loose threads down her back. a man with pleading eyes that you know is watching you from afar, ready to jump in if you collapse from nerves, or exhaustion, or both. you find jen at the accessories table, helping a model find bangles that won't fall off her arm as she walks. you grab onto jen, leaning in closely to rest your head against hers.

"i'm so tired," you whine. "and scared. and sweaty."

"ew, then get off me," jen pushes you away playfully. she finishes up with the model and sends her away before asking, "are you ok though? really?"

"why did i think dressing san without a shirt would be a good idea?" you whisper to her, watching him as he laughs with seonghwa about something. it's like he can feel your eyes on him, because he looks toward you and winks.

"because it is a good idea," jen says. "and he's not gonna be shirtless for long. you need to go help him into the coat, the show's about to start."

"shit," you curse, checking the time. "i have so much to do-"

"wait!" jen shouts, holding you in place. "something's missing."

"my will to go on?"

"no, you need lipstick," jen decides. she digs into the bag at her hip and finds the perfect pink shade for you. it matches your dress (that you designed) and it matches the warm pinks that you sprinkled into the collection. "there. you're ready."

"no i'm not," you mumble. "i didn't get to practice my welcome speech."

"go practice it with san!" jen pushes you in his direction. "five minutes!"

your palms get sweaty the closer you get to san. you're not sure if it's him, or the running countdown in your head reminding you that your show is about to happen. when you finally make it to san, he's alone, and he's smiling at you nervously.

"time for the coat?" he asks. you nod, and he follows you to the mannequin in the back. "how do you feel?"

"like i'm gonna pass out."

"i'll catch you," san jokes.

"arms up please," you squeak out. he helps you lift the coat silently, sliding into it like it's the most comfortable thing in the world. "and just let me secure it..."

"y/n," san whispers. "look at me." you don't listen, fussing over the buttons instead. you're smoothing out the warm pink fabric as san's hands cover yours, stilling them over his chest. "breathe for a second."

"i'm freaking out," you admit, looking up at him. "i have to go out there, and do a speech, and then watch my clothes, my life for the past year, all be judged by these strangers, and-"

"and you've done it before, and you survived," san smiles softly. "you're pretty great at this, in case you didn't know."

"but-"

"nope," he shakes his head. "it'll be great."

"it will," you say unsurely.

"say it like you mean it."

"the show will be great," you declare, and san squeezes your hands before he lets them go.

"and then after the show..." san trails off, and you feel your heart start to race. "i don't know, maybe i could take you out to celebrate?"

"san, i can't think about that right now," you shake your head. "i can't-"

the stage manager starts calling out models for the line up, and san looks away sadly. he nods like he's got his answer and starts to walk away, but you pull him back. you don't say anything, just cup his chin and leave a delicate kiss on his cheek.

"we'll talk after the show," you whisper. the stage manager calls for him again, and he looks at you one more time before he leaves. you let out a nervous breath, checking your reflection in the vanity next to you. it's now or never. you walk up to the side of the stage, and your heart drops to your ass. something is wrong.

"what's going on?" you hiss, walking up to find make up artists swarming san. "this can't be happening."

"you did this," one of the artists whisper shouts back, pointing to san's cheek. fuck. the lipstick. your lipstick left a bright pink mark on his skin. "we don't have time to fix it!"

"then don't," san shrugs. "i like it."

"y/n?" the stage manager looks at you. "we have one minute. are we fixing this?"

"uh, n-no," you stammer, and the crowd disperses, leaving you and san again. "here, i can wipe it-"

"don't," san swats your hands away. "now i'll have a piece of you with me while i walk."

"you're wearing my clothes, you already had a piece of me with you," you tell him.

"yeah, but this one's just for me," he smiles. "plus the lipstick matches my jacket."

"y/n, you're on!" jen grabs you, a gleeful look on her face. "oh, your lipstick is smudged."

"i don't know how you planned that, but i hate you for it," you say as you try to hide your smile.

"i just thought it would be a cute touch for photos later," she smiles as she fixes the smudge and reapplies more. "i didn't know you'd go around kissing him, marking your territory."

"that's not what i did," you blush.

"we don't have time to argue about this," she pushes you toward the stage entrance. "go be great!"

-

you're able to introduce the collection without tripping or fumbling over your words, so you'll call that a win. even bigger win: the collection is a hit. each piece got the reaction you wanted, but the show stopper was definitely san. the crowd hushed when he walked out, and they went wild when he got to the end of the runway with his flourish move he showed you the other night. as you watch the show backstage, you blush when you see the lipstick mark shining under the bright lights.

it ends up being a hit, almost as much as the coat itself. fashion bloggers lauded it as a perfect touch, basically sealing the collection with a kiss. they also speculated about your relationship with san, which certainly wasn't helped by the fact that he held your hand tightly in his as the collection walked the runway all together. san lifted your hand in triumph as you made it to the end of the stage, and he lets go, stepping back so you can have your moment. you soak it in as long as you can take, then scurry back to his side and grab his hand as you run backstage. he lifts you into a hug as soon as the curtain closes behind you, surrounded by cheers and models talking about how great the show was.

"put me down!" you squeal, swatting at san's chest so he'll let you go. "i need to talk to everybody."

"you can do it from up there," san says. you don't think you'll win this one, and he's right. it might be easier to address your models and your team from a few inches higher up.

"first of all, thank you," you say sincerely. "i wouldn't have a show without you all, and i had the best show because of you all. so thank you. if i could make you all vow to only ever work with me forever until the end of time, i would, but that's not ethical. so instead i'll say: you all have a spot in any show i do for the rest of my career. thank you. thankyouthankyouthankyou."

the crowd thins out as models get undressed, artists pack up their things, and the stage crew follows everyone around to remind them to clean up after themselves. miraculously, you and san are alone again.

"so," he hums. "i walked good?"

"you didn't trip," you nod.

"everyone loved it," san smiles.

"they loved you," you say, busying yourself with straightening the coat again.

"all i care about is what you thought."

"i've told you already," you start. "you're perfect."

"you say that, but earlier i think you were about to turn me down," san laughs nervously.

"what?" you're confused. "oh, i didn't finish. i was gonna say i can't go out with you tonight, but i'm free tomorrow."

"tomorrow? you'd make me wait so long?" san smirks.

"i have a business dinner to go to tonight," you explain. "so unless you wanna be my arm candy for the people who sponsored the show, then yes, you have to wait so long."

"i'm good at being arm candy," san says. "it's basically my job."

"fine," you shrug. "then put a shirt on and come with me?"

[oneofstarkskids]

so high school (part 3)

part 1, part 2

genre: fluff

summary: high school au!! how is bucky supposed to break it to you that everything that's happened started with a lie?

bucky didn't know how long he could keep it up. the whole facade. he actually had to scramble to hide his report card from you.

you weren't his dad. he shouldn't be afraid of you seeing his grades.

but he was finally spending time with you. could he have made things simple and just asked you out like a normal person? no. this was more fun.

plus it's not like anyone was getting hurt. he was passing all his classes as usual. the only down side seemed to be the lying. he would have to tell you eventually...right? or maybe he could just...

he started to envision it. the two of you sitting on a deck with james junior in your lap. "and that's how mommy met daddy. because he's dumb as a rock."

or in the later years. "do you need me to organize your pills, honey?" bucky would probably roll his eyes, "i can count, doll."

okay so maybe he was overthinking, but that didn't mean that all of this couldn't turn into a problem. besides, he wanted to be honest with you.

relationships shouldn't be built on lies. so bucky decided to tell you the truth.

he met you in the library, like he'd done almost every day this week. he noticed the sullen expression on your face immediately.

"what's wrong?" he asked. you didn't have any problem telling him. the two of you had become sort of, close.

"it's my friend sam. he said he was working yesterday, but i saw someone post him on their story at some hangout," you sighed. "it doesn't matter. he can hang out with whoever he wants. i just can't believe he lied to me."

bucky froze. oh. shit.

"we're best friends. i don't understand why he felt like he couldn't tell me the truth. it hurts, you know," you said. and because bucky did know, he looked down at the table.

"i have to tell you something."

you study his expression. not that it was difficult, bucky was usually an expressive person. he seemed a bit nervous.

"i was never going to fail," he said quietly.

you frowned. "what?"

bucky tried to explain, "i was never getting kicked off the team. i've never failed a class. math and science are actually my strongest subjects."

bucky couldn't stop imagining the look of betrayal that was probably on your face. it took a lot for him to look up to meet your eyes.

but when he did, you were...smiling?

you suddenly laughed like it was all ridiculous. bucky didn't know how to react. and he had sisters, so he knew that your laughter could turn into a lecture at any moment.

"why?" you managed between wheezes.

bucky thought back to the beginning of it all, "well, i liked you for a really long time. all my friends were saying i should ask you out, but i guess i was too scared."

"you were scared?" you couldn't understand how someone like bucky barnes could be insecure for even a moment.

yet, he nodded.

"so you decided to create an elaborate plan to spend all this time with me instead of just asking me on a date?" you asked.

bucky chuckled with embarrassment, "maybe i am stupid after all."

you shook your head, "i don't think it's stupid. i think it's cute."

he turned a bright shade of pink that had you feeling confident.

you smirked, "but don't think that means you're getting out of that date."