#but i needed ine with this moment specially

[pandasaurio-espacial]

Loid, after Anya was kidnapped

#has this been done before? sure #but i needed ine with this moment specially #i mean look at his face #spy x family #loid forger #anya forger #m ya callate

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ NOSTALGIA !

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! nanami k. + gojo s. / m! reader

warnings — nsfw content / unprotected sex / alcohol consumption / smoking / consent check-ins / established dom+sub dynamic / light bdsm / 3some / oral / deepthroating / cum swallowing / fingering / double penetration / creampie / brief nipple play / exhibition . ✦ . wc — 2.2k . ✦ . notes — bdsm tag -> nami + reader's dom/sub dynamic is very heavy. vv special thank you to felix for letting me use his thirst for this :) <3 not proof-read!

cherry sweetness — the sweet scent of creamy vanilla with hints of ginger, spice mulled wine and pear invades your nostrils as soon as you enter nanami’s office. “glendronach…original, at least twelve years old,” you murmur, brows pulled together to form a crease in the centre of your forehead as you glance at the inconspicuous bottle of liquor on the mahogany desk. “…‘nami,” and there’s that pout, expresso–scented lips jutting forward in discontent, “didn’t know we were entertaining guests today.”

there are three glasses on the desk — each squared and stubby and filled with a deep amber–red gold liquid. definitely glendronach, you think and nanami promptly confirms this. “perfect with a rich, dark chocolate — like the ones you’ve been eating all day,” he answers slowly, gently as he glances at you over his shoulder, utterly unperturbed. “i didn’t know either, but — you remember ‘toru, right sweet boy? he decided to…let’s say drop in.”

and you absentmindedly nod in response, leaning forward with your fingers curling around the edges of his desk. “no,” he all but rasps as he sits back down on the plush leather seat behind his desk, patting his thighs sluggishly. near–silent disapproval. “i need my boy with me right now; fully.”

to which your lower lip quivers in response as you drag your fuzzy sock–covered feet towards nanami, straddling his lap with ease. an apology is hot on your tongue, replacing the comforting remnants of the expresso–flavoured chocolates. but it never makes it past your lips; not when nanami’s cherry–sweet lips lock with yours. he’s at least sipped the whiskey, you think, you can taste it on him but when you reach back for a glass yourself, he pulls your hand away.

“not yet dollface,”

satoru. he’d let himself in again, now leaning against the door to nanami’s office. where nanami’s voice was slow, almost sensual, ‘toru was faster; saying as much (or as little) as he chose to in the minimum amount of time. but you don’t linger on it, nanami’s hooking his finger beneath your chin, turning your head so that you’re facing him again.

“think you’re up to taking the both of us today?” he asks, lifting a thick brow over the rounded rim of his glasses. and ‘toru — never one for silence — quickly adds: “just like the old times? i’m feeling nostalgic.” nanami, though, rolls his eyes at that, mouthing, ‘only if you want to’ before dragging his lips against yours again.

his lips are warm against yours and when your lips part after being prompted by a gentle nip his tongue slithers into your mouth. your teeth clash momentarily — and only momentarily — before he falls into a rhythm while satoru watches intently at the side. one moment you’re swapping saliva and the next he’s sucking on your abused lower lip before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“he needs an answer sweet face, a sober one.” satoru explains, rounding the desk to push the window behind the two of you open. and then goes on to fumble in his pocket before pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. he releases the flame, it’s bright, and he tilts the contraption toward the cigarette, igniting it and bringing it to his parted lips while quenching the initial flame.

your gaze flickers between the two men you’ve known since your college days. memories of heated bodies pressed against one another moving to the rhythm of whatever song glided around the room flooding your mind. and you swallow, adam’s apple bobbing in your throat, “…yeah, i’m feeling nostalgic too.”

rich, creamy silky–smooth and slightly nutty mixes with the bitter dark chocolate and expresso in your mouth. “black forest cake,” nanami muses against your lips, snaking his tongue inside your mouth once more. and satoru scoffs, blowing a cloud of smoke in your direction in the process, “black forest gâteau.”

and nanami, too caught up in tasting the whiskey and chocolate on your slick, kiss–swollen lips makes the conscious decision to not scold satoru for that. it peeves him though; that much is clear by the glare he retorts and satoru throws his hands up in surrender, cigarette dangling in between his lips.

then he kneels behind you, delicate fingers curling around the curve of your ass. “nanamin,” it sounds like a breathy whine but it’s the farthest thing from desperate, “d’you feel how wet he is?” and he stands up, startling blue eyes meeting yours, “…all this from a little kiss?”

mockery — his voice is thick with mockery and shrouded in the scent of nicotine. satoru’s mocking you in that same, banana milk flavoured sweet tone he uses. and your cock twitches — throbs in your boxers. angry tip smearing pre-cum on the cotton, forming the wet patch ‘toru had previously had his eyes on. it’s almost challenging — as if saying is this all it takes to reduce you to a puddle?

and you may be tipsy enough for your movements to reflect nanami’s acquired sluggishness but you’re not tipsy enough to be without shame. so, warmth rises to your cheeks and crosses the bridge of your nose at the implication. “no,” you drag the ‘n’ sound, your delivery strained and needy as you disentangle yourself from nanami who leans back, unfastening the buttons of his shirt before disregarding it on the floor.

“you know how he is,” nanami drawls in a low, matter–of–fact tone, swallowing another mouthful of whiskey. “eager and ready to please,” he continues, a heavy hand on your hips, guiding you to your knees to which you oblige.

satoru exhales at that, nodding in agreement as he disregards his cigarette in the ashtray on nanami’s desk before turning you to face him. and he stares down at you, a mixture of emotions hidden behind the blue of his irises. a groan slipping past his lips as he stretches his languid limbs before he speaks again, “nanamin is so old fashioned, don’t you think?” it’s a rhetorical question; he takes your chin in between his fingers, bobbing your head so that it appears as though you’re nodding along to what he’s saying.

he purses his lips and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t cross your mind to stand and take his lips into yours. you don’t though, it’s only a thought, nanami’s taught you better than that.

“but, then again, you’re just his softheaded boy, needin’ a big, strong man like nanamin to take control and fuck you into the mattress — or any surface, really, i’ve heard the stories.”

you swallow the lump in your throat (muddled words you don’t dare whisper), bringing your trembling hands towards the crotch of his skinny jeans. nanami kneels beside you, warm lips pressed to the shell of your ear, his breath pricking at the sensitive skin.

“slowly,” guidance, “just like i taught you,” whispered guidance.

just like he taught you, you slowly unzip satoru’s jeans, nails curling around the band of his boxers before you separate it from his skin and free his cock. and his cock is heavy in your hands, pulsating even. it’s standing at full mast, curving inwards slightly. where he’s lacking in girth (something nami has a lot of) he makes up in size and it’s almost intimidating.

“focus doll, you’re going to take all of me down yer’ pretty throat.” tooth achingly sweet voice — satoru again. and then there’s nanami’s firm warning, “a few strokes and then you can start taking him in your mouth, baby, don’t overwhelm yourself.”

drunk or otherwise inebriated, they still care for you in their own way. it makes butterflies flutter in your stomach, a warm feeling that pulsates throughout your body. and perhaps nanami’s current actions — he’s moved behind you, freeing your cock from its confines as he pulls your cheeks apart to toy with the bejewelled plug in your hole — contributes to that feeling.

the specifics don’t matter though. what does matter is the pleased groans that each stroke of satoru’s cock elicits. purposeful touches; alternating between the length of his cock and simply fondling with his balls. it’s enough to make him cum (which all three of you are aware of).

and after a few minutes — you don’t know how long it’s been, truthfully — his bright pink tip that’d been seeping pre-cum is spurting thick clumps of cum onto your hands and face. and when it does land on your face you gasp, breath catching in your throat. nanami had been timing it, you’re sure, because he cruelly pulls the plug out at the same time without warning. thus, resulting in the desperate, filthy noise that slides out of your kiss–swollen lips.

despite this, nanami clicks his tongue and shakes his head in that same near–silent disapproval. “what do good boys do?” and you answer immediately: “clean messes, not make them.” earning yourself a pleased hum from the elder man. his praise is almost like a drug in the way it gets you going.

with this new buzz, you slowly push your tongue out, licking any remnants of ‘toru’s cum before turning your attention back to his cock. slow licks at first — almost like a kitten, really. then you work your way up to taking the pink tip in your mouth, sucking on it, experimental licks now and then.

“good god,” satoru, who is by no means a religious man, grunts under his breath as he traces shapes on your hollowed cheeks. “you’re doing such a good job.”

more praise that makes you feel warmer inside. perhaps it’s a mixture of their affections and the whiskey that left you feeling as though you’re floating. you’re not sure but whatever it is, it’s encouragement enough to keep you going.

while you continue to take more of satoru’s cock into your mouth; your lips are practically stretched thin around him, nanami’s fixated on fingering you. it started with one thick digit grazing against your prostate with precision but soon turned into two and two then turned into three. and every so often you shiver — not from him fingering you but because he drips some of his drink over your hole. it’s so obscene…but every time it happens your gummy walls clench around nanami’s fingers in the way he likes. he really does know you best.

“i’m going to—” it’s a warning, but it comes out muffled and difficult to decipher.

“it’s hard to understand you when your mouth is filled with cock, baby.” nanami counters knowingly, a tinge of mockery to his otherwise coolness. and satoru laughs, shrugging his shoulders as if to say he doesn’t understand you either, before slowly pushing your face into his neatly trimmed pubes. it’s not every day he finds someone capable of taking all of him, and he will use it to his advantage.

so, you’re left like this; mewling around satoru’s cock as it hits the back of your throat, nanami’s fingers assaulting your prostate, and your own cock pulsating until finally, you succumb to the pleasure of it all. ropes of cum splattering between you and satoru while you gag around his cock until he orgasms for a second time, shooting his load down your throat.

it tastes something in between salty and sweet but you can’t quite explain it. all in all, it tastes good and you wouldn’t be opposed to more of it. but, as it turns out, they have other plans.

“colour?” satoru’s voice again, from above you, as he slides you off of his cock with a ‘pop’ sound. and as your chest heaves in an effort to catch your breath you respond, “green.” to which they both grunt in acknowledgement.

nanami — he’s got thicker, slightly calloused fingers — is the one to reposition you. bending you over the desk while satoru brings a half–empty glass of whiskey to your lips and you swallow the remnants of the liquor with ease. then he disappears behind you with ‘nami and you curl your fingers around the edge of the desk in anticipation.

which is, all things considered, short-lived. you can feel them, both of them, pressing the heads of their cocks to your hole. and your lips part, eyes flickering shut, as a string of moans slides off of your tongue when that tight ring of muscle is breached. it’s an immediate feeling of fullness — one you’ve only experienced with the two of them.

they don’t move immediately; giving everyone time to adjust and to savour the moment. the feeling of their cocks throbbing against each other as you clench around them is mind-numbing. no one’s speaking anymore, it’s only grunts and groans that border on being animalistic as each of you relieve the tension of your lives in your own way. it’s a mutually beneficial affair.

and when they do move, you’re choking on your moans. salty tears cascading down your heated cheeks at every creak of the table you’re lying on top of; hard pecs to cold wood. a squeal every time they decide to pinch or twist the sensitive bud. it’s nothing short of pornographic.

not grazing your prostate or touching it in one way or another is impossible like this. but somehow, they hold out, pivoting their hips against your ass until the only sound that echoes throughout the office is the slick clapping of their thighs against the fat of your ass as it ripples from the impact it creates. and then they’re cumming — hot semen pouring into your ass and being pushed impossibly further into you by way of their equally erratic thrusts. you’re seeing stars at this rate, and it’s only round one.

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #nanami x male reader #gojo x male reader #jjk smut #x sub male reader #nanami x you #gojo x you #jjk x male reader #jjk x you #nanami smut #gojo smut

[kopykunoichi]

Refresher for the people still confused about this...

In a galaxy far, far away, EVERYONE has midi-chlorians in their blood. The Force resides in all living things. It binds the whole galaxy together. Midi-chlorians are what allow beings to commune with the Force. The more midi-chlorians you have, the more potential you have to RESPOND TO and WIELD the Force. But notice that Asajj couches her statement with the line that those with a higher m-count were "believed" to be more capable of wielding the Force. There's a correlation, but it's not necessarily the only factor (see Sabine Wren).

This is the moment where the clones literally become stand-ins for the fans.

"What? If you can use the Force, you're a Jedi!"

No. If you can use the Force, you can use the Force. To use it as a Jedi uses it, you have to train as a Jedi. To use it as a Sith uses it, you have to train as a Sith. To use it like a Nightsister, you have to train as a Nightsister. Or you can get some rudimentary instruction and decide how you want to use it.

Jango Fett didn't have a high m-count, so his clones didn't either. But Omega and the rest of the Batch were special cases. As Cut said, the Kaminoans create with a purpose. Their deviations were intentional. Hunters abilities have always suggested he had a higher m-count than the others. But Omega's ability to perceive things before they happen (her bad feelings are nearly always spot on) and her affinity with animals have always been hints that her m-count is a little higher.

(Will update with screen grabs when I get them)

At the end of the episode, Omega asks Ventress if she has a high m-count.

Ventress: *looking at her nails* From what I've seen...no.

Omega: Then why is the Empire after me?

Ventress: Believe it or not, I don't know everything. But seeing as how a high m-count would make you a target, consider yourself lucky.

Omega: But I'm already a target.

Wrecker: Don't worry about it, kid. We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's get some chow.

Omega: *sigh* Thanks for trying.

Once they're out of earshot...

Crosshair: You're lying.

Ventress: About which part?

Hunter: You tell us.

Ventress: If Omega did have that potential, she'd have to be trained. Which would mean leaving you behind.

Hunter: That's not happening.

Ventress: What you want is irrelevant. The fact is, the Empire is after her, and they won't stop. If I were you, I'd leave this place. You're not as safe as you think you are. Our business is done.

Crosshair: I still can't figure out which side you're on.

Ventress: My own.

Okay, so Ventress is clearly not telling the truth about the m-count, which we know, because we've already seen Omega's charts. I really don't understand why people keep taking Ventress at her word here. We know better, and so do Crosshair and Hunter. My guess is that she's trying to protect Omega because she knows firsthand what it's like to be taken from your family and trained as a young girl.

We know that when Omega was at Tantiss, she was receiving transfusions of blood with midi-chlorians the same as all the other clones (harvested from the dead Jedi they're undoubtedly holding in the vault). They were taking her blood samples, but Nala Se kept throwing them away because she knew Omega would retain the higher midi-chlorian levels and she didn't want Hemlock to know that. The Emperor needs a clone that will maintain a high m-count so he can eventually get himself a new body. We know he does get that body, but not for decades - presumably because a) he never gets Omega, and b) the Batch is gonna take the fight to them at Tantiss and blow up their entire supply of midi-chlorian donors. Think about it - they're still working on Project Necromancer in The Mandalorian (24 years after The Bad Batch), but their resources are severely limited. The Empire has been all but wiped out, the Emperor is hiding out on Exegol, Dr. Pershing is clearly no Hemlock since he keeps killing his test subjects, and Grogu seems to be the only m-count donor they can get their hands on. The Emperor's cloned body is also deteriorating rapidly in TRoS, which suggests that even 25 years after The Mandalorian, he STILL hasn't figured out the right formula for cloning himself (which is good news for Grogu and Omega).

Which brings us back to the question, "Is Omega Force sensitive?"

The answer is, "yes", she is sensitive to the Force due to her elevated m-count. We've seen this all along. Hunter most likely is, too, and maybe some of the other Bad Batchers, to varying degrees. Tech could riot race, which takes incredible reflexes. Hemlock said that Crosshair didn't have a high m-count, and we don't know where Wrecker's abilities stem from. Omega can't wield the Force because she is untrained, but the potential is there. A person's aptitude to wield the Force seems to be strongly correlated to their m-count, but we've seen others with low aptitude eventually open the door to the Force with years of training and a decent dose of impending doom (we see this clearly with Sabine in Ahsoka, but it was also a topic in Legends).

Omega being Force sensitive doesn't mean that she has to leave her brothers. She can choose to pursue her training or not. She'd also have to find someone willing to train her. I'm not convinced Ventress is looking to take on any apprentices at the moment, but she could possibly connect Omega to Quinlan Voss (imagine the trouble those two would get up to).

But I don't think Omega will choose that path. One, it would just make her a bigger target. Two, I don't see her prioritizing power over family. She's a clone, and clones are ALL about family. They're Mando coded, not Jedi coded. Screw the space Buddhist lifestyle - clones parade their attachments around like trophies. Omega goes around collecting attachments like most kids collect rocks..."Hello, stranger trying to kill me, let's be besties."

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb tech #asajj ventress #quinlan voss #nala se #tbb crosshair #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch the harbinger #to be clear...i didn’t really want Omega to be force sensitive #but this is definitely the story they are telling #i just really don't want her to become trained in the force and i don't yet believe *that* is the story they are telling for her

[kiiwiigii]

Mine

Jasper x Vampire!Fem!Reader 

Summary: You make the mistake of wearing someone else's hoodie. 

Warnings: 

NSFW 18+ 

Smut 

The Major *wink, wink* 

Possessive sex 

Oral (F. receiving) 

Cream pie 

Word Count: 2.8k+ 

Requested?: For Kinktober! 

Intense and angry possessive sex with jasper pleaaaaaase 🙏 

A/N: A special thank you to @alecvolturi and @demetris-cocksleeve who both encouraged me to not bin this. This was the most frustrating one I have written so far. But I hope you enjoy!

I honestly should have seen it coming. 

It would be just my luck to be left alone with Jasper while the family had decided to take separate vacations. 

Coming out of the newborn stage at 2 years, I still didn't feel comfortable enough to be out in the world just yet. Alaska was a safe haven for me until I felt I was ready. So, Jasper had stayed behind, essentially playing babysitter. 

And it was awkward as hell. 

I think it was obvious that I had a crush on him. 

Obvious to everyone in the fucking house. 

Including Jasper. 

And I knew he could feel it. Which was as embarrassing as it sounds. And it was quite obvious that he didn't feel the same way, since he had never acted on it. 

We were just friends. 

And as awkward as it was, I sucked it up and enjoyed his company instead. 

At least he couldn't hear my thoughts, unlike poor Edward. 

Jasper made sure that we had something new to do every day, but he also gave me space when he sensed I needed it. In a weird way, it felt like we had been growing closer, and I had caught him looking at me often, something flashing in the back of his eyes. And like me, he would look away quickly.  

It was like a sort of dance that neither of us would admit to. 

I sat on the kitchen counter, watching the snow drift by in thick flurries through the large windows. Alice had given us the heads-up that a storm was rolling in during one of her daily check-ins. Jasper and I had just returned from hunting a few hours ago, and despite being cold-natured now, I was still uncomfortably cold. I held a cup of hot water in my hands. Not to drink, but it made me feel somewhat normal, and it warmed my hands fairly well. 

I let my mind wander. I should go sit in the living room where the fire was, I'd be much warmer. But Jasper was in there. And every time I even looked at the fire all I could think about was him taking me right there on the floor in front of it, the plush rug soothing against the skin of my back- 

I squirmed a little at just at the thought of it. 

"Darlin'?" 

I blinked up at Jasper. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't even been paying attention to my surroundings. He had only taken to calling me 'darlin' recently and it practically set my body afire. By God, if I could blush, I would be beet red. Quickly clearing my thoughts, I smiled up at him. 

"Hey, Jazz." 

"What are you wearing?" 

I looked down at what I had on. Shorts and a hoodie. 

"Clothes?" It came out as a question. 

"Yes, I can see that. But why are you wearing Emmett's clothes?"  

I started at the anger in Jasper's tone, surprised and wary. I eyed him quizzically. 

"Because. I wanted his hoodie. I like it."  

 Jasper scowled, and disappeared before reappearing a moment later, one of his own hoodies in hand 

"Here. This is much warmer, and I know you're cold."  

"Why do you care?" I raised a brow at him in challenge. 

This was completely out of character for Jasper and to say that I was confused was an understatement. 

We had a mild stare-down until Jasper actually growled at me. I sucked in a breath, heat shooting straight between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together again.  

Fuck.  

That was playing dirty.  

And given my current state of emotions, he absolutely had to know it. 

"Just get rid of it." He demanded. 

"What?" 

"Emmett's hoodie. Get. Rid. Of. It." 

I gulped, a little uncomfortable with Jasper's sudden mood swings. I quickly took the hoodie from his hands. It was his dark blue one, my favorite one to see him in. 

He continued to stare at me, waiting, and I cleared my throat. Finally, he raised a brow at me, and I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the bit of embarrassment rolling through me. 

"Well, if you insist on me putting it on right here and now, Jasper, I'm going to insist that you turn around." 

His brows furrowed adorably. "And why would I need to do that?" 

I looked away from our little staring contest, biting my lip. "Because I don't have anything else on under it." 

Jasper straightened up and his eyes darkened as he looked at me, and if I'd had a beating heart it would have leaped at the burning look in his eyes. 

"What?" I said defensively. "It's soft. I like how it feels! Most of my clothes are scratchy!" 

He turned around quickly, his hands coming up to massage his temples. Keeping an eye on him I quickly discarded Emmet's hoodie and slid my arms through the sleeves of Jasper's, zipping it all the way up. I discreetly buried my nose into it for a moment. It was so much softer than Emmet's, and it smelled significantly better. Like Jasper. 

Fuck. 

I could feel the wetness beginning between my thighs. 

I needed to escape. 

Like, now. 

I couldn't exactly hide it, but it was way better than creating an uncomfortable atmosphere for the both of us. 

"You know, you wouldn't feel so cold if you put more clothes on." He was facing me again. 

I felt embarrassment flood through me. He had a point. And it was also the perfect excuse to escape- 

"Not that I really mind," He continued with a smirk, his eyes raking up and down my form. "I like what I see. And I like  how you look in my clothes. Especially in my clothes." 

My brain screeched to a halt, my lips parting in shock. His southern drawl had suddenly gotten deeper. This sounded like the Major talking. I had only met the Major once, right before Victoria's army came for Bella. That had been… an experience to say the least. And if that part of him was coming out, then that explained his sudden shift in mood. 

"And I have to say that I also prefer you wrapped up in my scent."  

He was practically purring. 

I gulped, suddenly on edge. "Why?" 

Jasper's eyes were predatory, nearly black. "Because darlin', you're mine." 

My eyes widened at his words. He approached me slowly, hands reaching out on either side of me on the counter, my legs falling open unconsciously and allowing him into my space. He leaned in, eyes watching me with such intensity that I forgot how to breathe. Perhaps it was a good thing that I didn't need to breathe because before I knew it, I felt a wave of lust roll through me, and it wasn't just my own. 

I gasped as he leaned in, claiming my lips with his own, and my legs wrapped around him without a second thought. He groaned, cupping my neck as he tilted my head back, while his other hand gripped my waist possessively. He tasted like mint, with a small tinge of copper from hunting earlier in the day. He swiped his tongue along my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth obediently, letting him in. 

After a moment he pulled back and buried his nose into my neck, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs. I tried to catch my breath, despite not really needing it. 

"You taste so much better than I thought you would." His voice was low and husky, muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. 

Goosebumps erupted across my body, and I could practically feel the wetness begin to drip down my thighs to the counter.  Jasper must have caught on to my confusion and doubt because he gripped my thighs even tighter. 

"Oh, yes. You have no idea how many times I've thought about you, darlin'." He pulled back to look at me. "Of all the ways I could have you. In my bed. On the couch. On the floor. Against the wall."

I gasped, thighs squeezing together around his waist. 

"That's right, darlin'. I've lost count of how many times I've thought of making you mine." 

"Yours?" I squeaked. 

"Mine." 

Oh my.  

Oh fuck. 

I really, really liked it when he was possessive. 

I moaned, clutching his shirt, a bit dazed as he swooped in for another kiss. 

"Oh," I gasped as he kissed his way down, lightly raking his teeth against my neck, his hands tracing invisible lines over my curves.  

I could feel every inch of him pressed up against me, and it was almost too much. I rolled my hips up against him and he pulled away, breathing heavily. 

Before I could comprehend what was happening, I was being lifted off the counter. One of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other slid under my ass to hold me up. I held on for dear life as he carried me to the living room and sat me down on the couch. I stared at him as he kneeled in front of me on the floor, spreading my legs open slightly. 

Jasper suddenly paused, looking up at me with dark eyes. 

"This is your one and only chance to tell me no. Otherwise, I will have you, right here and now, and there will be no going back." 

I gulped but said nothing, choosing to nod instead. 

"Use your words, darlin'. I need to hear you say yes." 

"Y- yes." 

"That's my girl." 

He smirked before reaching up and tugging at the zipper of the hoodie, the fabric slowly falling away to reveal my nakedness underneath. I automatically went to cover my breasts when Jasper grabbed my wrists with a warning growl. 

"Don't you even think about it darlin'. You are mine. And I want to admire every inch of you." 

My breath caught in my throat, and I felt a thrill of pleasure and submission at his words, my body betraying me as my nipples hardened. 

Jasper let out a purr of pleasure and slowly let go of my wrists, pulling my arms away from my body and exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze. 

I gasped when he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around my waist, splaying his hands across my back beneath the hoodie, and pressing me to him, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. My hands automatically came up to twist themselves in his hair, my back arching at the wet sensation of his tongue on my skin.  

I couldn't help but moan as he nipped and licked before biting down lightly, teasingly. I gasped as the pain and pleasure mixed together, creating a delicious sensation that had my pussy practically pulsing. The sensations were overwhelming, and I couldn't keep still. I started to rock my hips against him, moaning. 

Before I knew it, he was pulling away, leaving me to whimper at the loss of his tongue.  

Jasper slowly began to peel my shorts down my legs, exposing my soaked panties. 

I squirmed at the way he took in the sight of me before traveling back up to my face. 

"Mine." he purred, his eyes never leaving mine as he hooked his thumbs into my panties. He gave them a little yank, and I felt them slide down my legs. "Fuck. You're gorgeous."  

His hands trailed up my smooth, silky legs and I quivered as his hands got closer to my heated center. I couldn't help but whimper as one of his hands traced the apex of where my thigh met my pussy, right along the panty line.  

"Please." I begged softly. 

I gasped in surprise at how quickly he moved, one hand gripping my ass to pull me closer, and the other quickly shoving his face into my soaked pussy. 

I had to bite back another moan, my back arching as he slid his tongue along my folds and began to lick me. 

"Holy fuck," I managed to croak out, my eyes nearly rolling to the back of my head. 

The feeling of his hot tongue along my slick folds was almost like an electric shock, hitting me in the base of my stomach and sending sparks throughout my body, ending in my fingertips, which had tangled themselves in Jasper's golden locks. 

I had completely lost control of myself, practically squirming with each swipe of his tongue. Jasper grasped my thighs to keep me still, relentless in his assault. He started swirling his tongue around my clit, teasing me, and slowly driving me closer to my climax. The feeling of his mouth finally deciding to suck on my clit sent me right over the edge. 

I let out a cry as I came hard, gasping for breath. Jasper didn't let up, continuing to viciously lap up my juices as he sent me spiraling into yet another orgasm.   

By the time my breathing had returned to normal, he had somehow managed to escape from my hold and was standing in front of me. 

"We're not done yet, darlin'." 

I swallowed thickly. He smirked, watching me intently as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, making me even more aware that I was unable to get rid of my burning need for him. He slid his jeans down and kicked them off before stepping close to me. I could smell the faint scent of me on his breath and I licked my lips in anticipation as he inched closer. 

"We're not done until you can't walk." 

I sucked in a surprised breath, pussy practically pulsing with need. 

Jasper chuckled as he pushed me back on the couch and spread my legs wider. His touch was soft and gentle as he spread my pussy open and slid two fingers inside me, stroking them in and out yet again. This man had magic fingers. And if he had me coming undone with just his tongue and fingers alone, it made me wonder what he was able to do with his cock. 

"I have to make sure you're nice n' ready for me darlin'." He murmured. "Here, put your hands up under your knees for me. Just like that. Now, don't let go." 

I obeyed, chest heaving and now fully exposed in a way I never thought possible. Jasper grinned before leaning in and kissing me deeply, tugging at my bottom lip with his teeth. 

I could taste myself on his lips and it only made me more aroused. He slowly slid his fingers out of me and replaced them with his hard, throbbing length. 

When had he lost the underwear?? 

I didn't have much time to think about it before he was pushing himself inside me, filling me up in one smooth thrust.  

I let out a ragged breath in surprise. 

"Jasper!" I squeaked. 

I was so full that I could feel every inch of him, so thick and hard. 

Jasper barely stopped to pause, bending down to nip at my ear in admonishment before he started thrusting in and out of me, a slow, steady rhythm that had me moaning and gripping the underside of my knees for dear life. 

Fuck. 

He was hitting that spot again, and I had the feeling that I wouldn't be seeing only stars this time around. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to another orgasm, the pleasure building up inside me until I couldn't take it anymore. 

"Jasper," I gasped out, my nails digging into my thighs. "I'm gonn- gonna come." 

He grinned before driving himself even deeper into me, his pace picking up as he started to drive me closer and closer to the edge, feeling my walls practically strangling his cock. 

"Come for me, Darlin'." He purred.  

My toes curled in pleasure as the coil building in my belly snapped, and I came hard, my body shaking and my pussy clenching around him. Jasper followed suit a few seconds later, his body going rigid as he came inside me.  

"Don't move." He ordered. 

Jasper paused before pulling out, looking down at me with a satisfied grin, eyes still dark and intense. I was panting, doing my best to catch my breath yet again while holding my legs up. I could feel his seed dripping out of my pussy and onto the couch. 

He licked his lips, taking in the sight of me and I nearly moaned at the thought of what he was seeing. I must look like a wreck. Completely ruined. Half dressed in his hoodie and completely defiled, his cum running down my pussy and ass. 

Jasper smirked. 

"Oh, darlin'. You look perfect that way." 

{Kinktober} // {Masterlist}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @belladonna-xox @hyperuseless @jana-jaeynneee @itsmytimetoodream @lack-lust-3r @pawspurpaw @pooka167 @rosedpetal @targaryenmoony @twilightlover2007 @lucansmina @alecvolturiswifeforever

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#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale #twilight #the twilight saga #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #smut #jasper hale smut

[gurugirl]

The Amateur | Special Preview

sugardaddy!ceo!harry x burlesque!dancer!yn

New Patreon exclusive short series preview! Part 1 out now on Patreon!

Series Summary: Y/n is a down-on-her-luck burlesque dancer sleeping in her car. Harry is a wealthy CEO looking for someone to spoil.

Preview Word Count: 1.7k

Her costume was lost or had never been ordered. She wasn’t sure. So, instead of having her first dance routine that night, she was booked to serve cocktails for a private party. Not how she envisioned her dance career progressing, but a job was a job. She needed the money. She needed to eat.

She was given a basic outfit to serve cocktails in. There were four cocktail waitresses. The little outfit was a bit showy for such a job, but she wouldn’t stick her nose up at it.

She curled her hair and pinned the front back and applied makeup. She adjusted her little outfit and tugged at the hem of the skirt. It barely covered her bottom. The tall heels were a touch too small for her feet but she took deep breaths and kept calm. The private party was in a large room (not the main room) with a small bar, some tables, and a stage.

She stood toward the entrance and watched the room get set up.

When the guests who’d booked the private party arrived, Y/n took her spot as directed and saw a group of ten men with nice suits and big attitudes walk in.

She immediately walked up to the table assigned to her and smiled brightly, “Welcome! Can I get you started off with a drink gentlemen?”

There were three tables for the guests and four cocktail waitresses spread amongst them.

Two beers, a whiskey neat.

Back and forth.

A round of shots for the group.

Water. Don’t forget the lemon.

No ice for the one with the grey suit and pink tie.

Her feet were killing her. She leaned against the bar and slid her shoes off for a moment of relief. The fucking things were an inch too high and a half inch too small, and she was struggling. She took a breather and watched over the table she was working. They had just gotten fresh refills and more water so they would be good for a bit.

The dancers on stage were having fun. Y/n could tell they were fill-ins. Not main stage worthy. Like Y/n, amateurs most likely.

Bethany put her hand on the bar next to Y/n, “Can you take my table their drinks? I need to go to the bathroom,” she told Y/n the order and ran off.

The bartender quickly got the order ready and Y/n reluctantly slid the borrowed heels back onto her feet. Somehow, the short rest for her feet only made putting the tight shoes back on worse. Her gait was affected. Her heels were blistered, and her toes were smushed in. She tried to maintain a natural stride on her way to the table but the only way she could stand to walk was to go very slowly.

“IPA?” She lifted the pint up and a man raised his hand as she placed the glass in front of him.

She handed off the drinks one by one and the last was a bourbon on the rocks. The only man who’d not yet been served was looking at her with anticipation of receiving his drink. She moved toward him and her attempt to not step fully down onto her heel had caused her to lose her balance and she dumped the whiskey onto the man’s nice suit.

She gasped and so did the man. Kicking her heels off she ran to the bar to grab towels and then back to the table.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, sir! This is my fault. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning…” She got to her knees and placed the towel over the top of his thigh and looked up at his face with worry and noted his surprised smile.

She used her other hand to wipe the table as she blotted the towel over his thigh. She had not expected a smile from him.

“Don’t worry. Happens to us all. I don’t need you to pay for the dry cleaning either,” he said as he took the towel from her.

His voice was calm and deep. He sounded British. She stood up and stared down at the man and realized how kind he looked. His smile was genuine and the dimples poking into his cheeks were boyish and cute. He had crystal green eyes and broad shoulders. He was handsome. She was thankful that he was kind.

“I’m really so sorry, sir. I feel so bad. I’ll get another one for you and make sure to put all your drinks on the house,” she knelt down to pick up her heels and as she turned to go back to the bar the man gently grabbed her wrist, “Another bourbon is fine. You don’t need to comp any of my drinks, though. Please. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

She looked down to where he had her wrist. He had rings along his long fingers. His hand was big. She looked back up to his face with a smile, “Are you sure?”

The man with curly brown hair smiled and nodded, “I’m sure.”

The rest of the night was far less exciting. When Bethany returned Y/n went back to her original spot. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking at the other table to the man who’d been so kind to her, even after she ruined his suit. He was attractive and it was clear to Y/n that Bethany also thought so. She gave extra attention to him. Anyone would.

When the guests had left and Y/n could put on her sneakers, the room got cleared and everyone went their separate ways. The club didn’t serve food, which Y/n had kind of hoped it would. She was hungry. She’d barely eaten anything all day long. Her day started off early trying to perfect the routine but then after hours of practice, she learned she wouldn’t be on stage because her costume was nowhere to be found.

Running back and forth in tight heels to serve liquor was just as tiresome as dancing on a stage. And being hungry on top of it all was brutal. Her stomach was growling as she walked out of the club and to her car parked at the side of the building where all the employees parked.

“There you are!” The voice of a familiar-sounding man startled her.

Y/n jumped and lifted her head to find the British guy with the bourbon-stained suit approaching her. Her eyes widened. As nice as he seemed in the club, she was hesitant to give him her full trust at 1 am in a dark parking lot with no one else around.

The man stopped in his tracks, “I’m sorry. I know you probably didn’t expect to see me, but I noticed you walking out and thought I’d just come and, I don’t know… maybe say hi,” he suddenly seemed more timid. Perhaps he realized how scary it could be as a woman to be approached by a man in this way.

Y/n gripped her keys tight and looked around. His soft smile put her at ease a little, “Yeah. I figured you guys all left already. I was just leaving for the night. Everything okay?”

Even in her alert state, she still wanted to make sure the man was all right. She was probably too nice for her own good.

His husky laugh sounded like relief in Y/n’s ears and it made her smile, “Everything’s fine. I was hanging back. I have a friend who works here. Just happened to see you leaving is all.”

Dimples.

Bright eyes.

Dark curls.

Tattoos, that she hadn’t noticed until now with his sleeves bunched up to his elbows.

He was attractive and his demeanor slowly put her at ease. She loosened the grip on the keys in her hand and finally smiled at him genuinely.

“Oh. Who do you know?”

“The owner. Richard. Short guy,”

“Bald,” Y/n spoke with a smile and Harry grinned back at her and nodded.

“Yeah. I’ve known him for years. Always lets me get in for a quick last-minute private party if I need. A lot of my colleagues enjoy the atmosphere.”

Y/n nodded and kept her eyes on the man. They both fell silent.

“Uh,” he lifted his hand up in a waving gesture and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m Harry.”

Y/n’s smile widened, “Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

Harry nodded and stayed in his spot on the other side of her little car. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by getting too close.

“So, guess you’re headed home, huh?” Harry looked at her little silver car and back to her.

Y/n nodded, “Yep,” she didn’t know what home meant but she would consider her car her home at the moment.

Harry looked down at his feet and back toward the car, “I uh, are you new here? I mean, I only ask because I’ve never seen you around.”

Y/n nodded, “First day. Was supposed to be in the main room on stage but my costume was never ordered or it was lost, or I don’t know… So they had me serving cocktails. I just need the money so I’ll do almost anything at this point,” she laughed and her shoulders relaxed a little more.

Harry’s brows furrowed and he frowned, “Understandable.”

The silence grew loud again and Y/n shifted on her feet. Suddenly the sound of her stomach gurgling in hunger filled in the space in between them and she laughed it off, “Wow. I should uh, go get something to eat.”

Harry kept the small frown on his face, “Well, there are plenty of places open. Vegas baby. Right?” He chuckled lightly, “I guess I should leave you alone, huh? So you can find a spot to grab a meal,” Harry spoke as he backed away from her car, and slowly headed toward the main parking area.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Harry. Thank you for being so kind to me on my first day,” she slid the key into her door to unlock it and kept her eyes on the man.

He nodded and put his hands into his pockets, “It was nice meeting you, Y/n. And I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again. I’m around often.”

A/N: This 3 part series will only be posted on Patreon. If you'd like more of this, I'd be so thankful to you for subscribing! xoxo

#harry styles smut #harry styles #patreon exclusive #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #sugar daddy!harry #harry styles x reader #firstpost #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fiction #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry #harry smut #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #dancer!yn #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine

[froggyfics]

Submissive Batboys Headcanons

This was requested! I was also inspired by another anon to post something for Valentine's Day!!! So, here's a special treat!

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome! 

Pairing: Batfam x gn!reader

Theme: Smut

Word Count: 652

Bruce Wayne:

takes a good minute to convince him to be a sub

he DESPISES not being in control, so to have him give up control in a vulnerable and intimate setting, you have to be someone special.

he’s not gonna do it with just anybody

this needs to be planned out well in advance

would probably end up loving it, because omg everyone needs a break from being a control freak every once in a while.

he’ll probably be into some form of masochism (duh! he’s Batman! don’t know how you can get any more masochistic than that)

wax and impact play would probably be the most probable kinks in this dynamic (anything that makes him not think his responsibilities)

Dick Grayson:

you probably don’t even need to bring this conversation up. he’d probably do it himself :D

super adventurous in the bedroom, so this would def be a dynamic that is commonplace

probably thinks it’s fun to switch things up every once in a while!

he’ll pretty much be down for anything you want to do

honestly would love be pegged (he doesn’t want to be able to walk tomorrow)

he aims to please! your satisfaction is his utmost priority

however, he would definitely be a bratty sub.

he would talk back and mouth off, just so you could punish him (it’s not really a punishment if he really wants it though, is it?)

Jason Todd:

this is a really interesting one to think about!

i think it’s very similar to Bruce

you have to someone super special for him to even entertain this 

you’d have to go super slow. multiple conversations are required and check-ins throughout the act are necessary 

with that being said, he just wants to be loved and to love! he wants to explore this dynamic, but he holds back due to previous trauma. he would be down with anything with the person he’s comfortable with but!!!!!! would definitely have to be a scheduled event, so that everything is discussed beforehand

he would enjoy it! the liberation he experiences by letting go is euphoric. it’s just the prep that takes a bit of time

delayed orgasms, rope play, and some light impact play would probably most interest him

aftercare would be extremely important and will be the highlight of the entire experience

Tim Drake:

he would probably bring it up first, as well :D

down for anything! super adventurous and with his outstanding detective skills, he probably knows more about you want/like more than you

you’ll be completely surprised at how accurate he is

he’d be so fun to experiment with! again, he wants to do anything you want to do

he wouldn’t be all that bratty - he wants the best of the best for you and he lives to please!

he would likely be into slave/service sub dynamics

delayed orgasms would totally be his thing!!!! he’s also a rope bunny

don’t get my man confused, he is not inherently a sub. he’s just a damn good switch, and it all depends on his mood

he is not quiet whatsoever! he is gonna let you KNOW what he likes

Damian Wayne:

you definitely would have to bring this up to him

he might take a moment to mull it over, but he will agree to your demands rather quickly 

he thinks it’s funny more than anything, thinking that you could be a dom, but he likes it way more than he lets it on initially

you would have to take baby steps, but soon enough it becomes more commonplace for him to sub

spanking and wax play is at the top of his list. it’s also an ego thing - he wants to show off to you and to himself how much pain he can handle

he’s super bratty, so you just have to smack him around 

lowkey loves seeing the bruises on himself afterwards

#batboys #batfam #jason todd smut #bruce wayne smut #dick grayson smut #damian wayne smut #tim drake smut

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 5 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 12.1k

chapter warnings: jeon jungkook, seventeen is here because i needed fill-ins (also they’re not singers but their music still canonically exists in-universe so good luck figuring that one out), a wedding!, tae is WHIPPED, the infamous butt debate, jealousy (plural), jimin has terrible timing, alcohol consumption ft. a drinking game, a mega cliffhanger i’m so sorry

a/n: while not required, i highly recommend reading the prequel drabble if you haven’t yet as it has some heavy relevance to this part and the next! special thanks to @btsborahaee and @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this chapter and letting me gush and brainstorm in their inboxes on the regular <3 also, shout outs to @animeniacss and @taegularities for sprinting with me all the time (and a forehead kiss to rid for coming up with the idea for the bathroom scene, mwah)!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"After today, I never want to see a ribbon ever again."

Jimin fumbles his fingers over the thin string, throwing his hands up in a huff when the slippery material resists his efforts to tie it. With Hoseok and Sunny's wedding only two weeks away, you'd offered to help out with some of the prep work, and Taehyung suggested hosting a mini prep party at your apartment as part of his efforts to make new memories since you'd moved back. True to his word, he’s been at your place nearly every day the past few weeks, cooking dinner with you and rewatching your favorite shows from high school.

You have to admit it’s been pleasantly domestic.

"It's not that bad," you say, finishing off your own ribbon around one of the tiny boxes of chocolate which will be distributed to each of the two-hundred-plus guests as a wedding favor.

"No, I'm serious. I don't even want to tie my shoes anymore. I'm a Crocs guy now."

"I've heard girls love sport mode," Taehyung quietly teases. "Is that right, Y/N?"

The flirtatiousness of his tone startles you, and your eyes snap up to meet his where he sits across from you at the dining room table. He's smiling one of those mischievous grins that makes your stomach churn, belly lurching when he stuns you with a wink before turning back to his own tiny box.

What the fu—

"If any of you show up to my wedding in Crocs, I'm kicking you out," Sunny grumbles.

Hoseok smacks his lips as he ties off a ribbon. "Does that also go for—"

"You as well, yes."

Your group settles into a momentary silence at her declaration—not a sound besides the ripple of ribbon and paper. At least until—

“I got laid wearing Crocs once.”

The entire table groans in unison, and you toss a bit of balled up wrapping paper at Jungkook's chest that bounces pathetically to the floor as Jimin boos. “No one cares about your sexcapades, Kook.”

“What, it was impressive!” he argues. “Just be thankful I'm not bringing any of them to the wedding.”

“I almost wish you were,” Hoseok grumbles. “You'd better not be picking up anyone inappropriate that night. Sisters, cousins, aunts—”

“That was one time!”

“—and anyone else even remotely close to family are off limits.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, pouting to himself, before he says, “Moms?”

The table boos again, more bits of wrapping paper flying his way.

“I'm kidding! Kidding!”

“Actually, Y/N,” Sunny murmurs, leaning towards you. “I hate to bring it up, but are you planning on bringing anyone else in Jace’s place?” Her expression is one of compassionate regret, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, but the question still hits you low in your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

“I feel terrible asking,” she continues, “but one of my friends from high school originally declined a plus-one, and now she’s asking if there’s any way we can squeeze in this guy she met two weeks ago, and normally I’d tell her no, there’s no way I can change the head count two weeks out and who is this guy anyway, but then I figured that we do technically have an extra spot so we could fit him in, but I’d definitely give you the option to bring someone else first if you wa—“

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to ignore the way everyone else around the table is now looking on in sympathy. “I have no one else to bring. Let her guy come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” It feels like you’re dying inside, but you try to look unbothered, especially since you can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Sunny quietly agrees, just as Hoseok suddenly jumps in at her side.

“You know, Tae isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding either,” he says, looking between the two of you. “Why don’t you just go together?”

“I’m also going alo—“ There’s a thump under the table and Jungkook immediately shuts his mouth.

You glance at Taehyung, who’s looking back at you with a dip in his eyebrows and parted lips. It was probably a given that you would spend time at the wedding hanging out already, but wouldn’t going together mean something else entirely? A promise of dancing and proximity and a label the two of you have never shared?

Perhaps that’s the reason why he’s staring at you with a touch of discomfort. Your own skin prickles at the thought, and so you scratch away the itch at your chin and deflect.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.” Then you stand from the table sharply, hitting your limits with this conversation. “I’ll be right back.”

You head for the bathroom, not even needing to do anything in there, but sure that you can busy yourself for a few minutes to get your emotions under control away from your friends. But as you’re about to swing the door shut behind you, a large hand reaches out to stop it with a thud, and Taehyung quickly slips in before closing the door himself.

“Tae, what are you—“

“Come with me.”

You’re practically chest-to-chest, and if not for the fact that you’ve stopped breathing with his question, you’d probably be pressed up against him in the tight space.

“What?”

He licks his lips, pulls in air through his nose like he’s bracing himself.

“Come to the wedding with me.”

The room is heavy with silence as his request fully sinks in, the air between you thick and hot as you try to get some of it into your lungs. It’s hard, though, to develop a coherent thought with him standing so close—his scent engulfing you and dark, searching eyes fixated on your expression.

“I don’t kno—“ you begin, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Why not? Like Hobi said, neither of us is bringing anyone already.” His fingers brush yours—an apology for mentioning it again. “So why not go together and…not be as alone.”

You shift on your feet. “But you do know that you don’t have to do this. I’m fine without a plus one. There’s no shame in it for me.”

“Y/N,” he huffs. “You know that I like being around you, right?” He nudges gently against the underside of your chin, making you look at him directly. “I wouldn’t have stuck around this long if I didn’t.”

You’re still skeptical—nervous about the implications of what this would look like, especially when you just got out of a relationship. To you, it feels very much like teasing a boundary. But Taehyung is all nerves in front of you, gaze darting up-and-down your face and a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth telling you that he’s chewing on his lip.

And of course, because it’s him, you cave.

“Okay.”

He beams and, not for the first time, you feel your chest lighten at the sight of his boxy smile. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, smiling back.

“Okay.” Almost impossibly, his grin gets even wider, and you can see the wheels begin to turn in his head. “Do you have a dress picked out yet? What color is it? I can match you.”

It takes you aback. You wouldn’t have even thought about that. “Emerald green.”

“Emerald green,” he repeats, something registering behind his eyes, and he licks his lips again. “Okay. Great.”

He shifts like he's getting ready to leave, but you catch his fingers to reel him back. And you hate to put it out there, hate to even bring it up, but after everything you’ve been through, you need the clarity.

“And Tae,” you say, “this isn’t a date, right?”

He gives a slow blink, a wave of unknown emotion rippling from forehead to chin before he smiles gently at you, eyes softening at the corners. “Of course not.”

You nod. “Okay.” And a small part of you feels…disappointed?

But there's no time to dwell on it as he exits the bathroom, and you follow him out in spite of doing exactly zero bathroom things. You return to the dining room together, your friends clearly trying to look nonchalant as they diligently work on their party favors but being way too quiet to not have been trying to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Sunny,” Taehyung says as you take your seats, looking positively brighter. “Just make sure we're sitting next to each other, yeah?”

She snorts. “As if you were anywhere else to begin with.”

Blue skies stretch endlessly in front of you, wind running through your hair and sunlight filtering in through the sunroof as you and Taehyung make the trip to the lakeside resort where Hoseok and Sunny are to be married. He's the absolute picture of relaxation in the driver's seat, wearing sunglasses and a mindless smile with his fingers wrapped delicately around the steering wheel like vines.

He'd opened the door for you when he picked you up, a seemingly spontaneous gesture that had left you both shy and blushing. But if the afternoon started with a touch of unusual awkwardness between you, the prospect of your “not a date” wedding date making itself known, it has since evaporated in the hot summer air. At this point, you’ve spent the past hour chatting, playing road trip games (Taehyung somehow destroying you in the alphabet game in spite of having to focus on driving), and burning through three boxes of Pepero.

“These are an addiction, I swear,” you say, crunching down on a chocolate-filled stick and clapping your hands in delight. Taehyung’s eyes leave the road for a second as he takes you in and grins.

“Was that the last of it?”

“Oh.” You peer into the box. Empty. “Yeah. Sorry. Did you want it?”

“No, it’s fine. You can have it.”

“I sure hope so since I already swallowed it.”

He laughs, whole face lighting up with it, and you feel something turn over behind your ribcage as if someone’s flipped your heart like a pancake. It makes you think that even though you were supposed to be making this trip with a different person, you’re glad it’s him instead.

My love only amounts to this.

The lyrics ring out through the car, and Taehyung leans forward suddenly, turning up the volume on the stereo.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your favorite song!” he joyfully says. “I know you like to sing along.”

You stare at him blankly, taken aback because you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned this to him. When did he notice…?

“C’mon, sing with me. Play a song I know and one step. Hold my hands and put my feet in, two steps.”

His sweet baritone sounds out beside you, and you feel a grin break out across your face. You always forget what a joy it is to hear Taehyung sing.

“The person to know all my secrets is you,” you sing, joining along. “So I’m even more thankful.”

“Sometimes when you get tired, and I see you crying with your head down, I don't know what to do. What can I do?”

You’re both belting it out at the top of your lungs by the time it gets to the chorus, and you think the sun has somehow moved inside the car with how bright and warm you feel.

My love only amounts to this. But thank you for staying by my side, my baby.

Your car charges down the road, trailing laughter and joy in its wake, and your chest feels light for the first time in weeks.

Even if my love only amounts to this. I'll be your umbrella in the rain. I'll protect you on all your days.

Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook meet you in the hotel lobby—a marble behemoth with wrought iron staircases and sofas that definitely cost more than your rent—and you all line up to check in, gawking at the elaborate chandelier that hangs above your heads.

“How did they even afford this place?” Jimin wonders.

Maya sucks her teeth. “At this rate? I think they might have mob ties.”

“Feet pics,” Jungkook says simply.

Once everyone has obtained their key cards, you set off to find your rooms. You’re all on the same floor since a certain section was booked specifically for the wedding, but with you having a room with only a single queen-sized bed, you’re down the hall and away from the others who booked doubles.

While Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook break off to get acclimated in their own respective rooms, Taehyung follows you into yours with a touch of melancholy, your luggage slung over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re fine here alone?” he asks, setting your bag on the ground. “I can room with you if you’d like. I’m sure Kook wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s only one bed,” you point out, blushing.

Taehyung also goes slightly pink. “Well yeah, but the other week we just…or I can take the couch. Or we can ask Kook to swap rooms?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m alone at the apartment all the time anyway.”

He nods, looking oddly shot down. “Alright. But if you change your mind, just ask.”

“Unlikely,” you tease with a wrinkle of your nose. “You snore.”

He gasps, feigning hurt. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But you still tilt your head solemnly, pressing your lips together as if preparing to deliver bad news. “You do.”

“Shit,” he sighs before the two of you break down in giggles.

A few hours later, the five of you wind up at the resort’s restaurant for dinner, lamenting the exorbitant prices but enjoying an incredible meal. The night dwindles down as you settle in at the bar, figuring you can have a couple drinks before resting up for tomorrow’s big day. With a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a perfect view of the lake outside and the glow of the sunset spreading out above the trees. It tints the room orange, seeping onto every surface, including Taehyung’s forearms resting atop the bar.

You trace his veins with your eyes, study the way they trail to his hands curled lightly around his low ball glass. Your friends are talking about plans for tomorrow, but you’re not paying much attention; you’re far more interested in trying to figure out when your best friend’s arms started looking like that.

“And don’t worry, Chim. If I have the chance to get lucky, I’ll make sure not to use our room,” Maya says, placing a hand over her heart in pledge. “No locking you out because I’m a good friend.”

But Jungkook has tensed up next to you, and in spite of the cute pout of his lips, the creasing of his forehead suggests that he’s genuinely upset. “Hook-up? You’re going to find a hook-up?”

Maya looks at him incredulously, drink paused halfway to her lips. “Possibly. Aren’t you?”

“I…” His teeth bite into his lip. “It’s a wedding.”

She barks out a devilish laugh. “So? When has that ever stopped you?” A spiteful glare is sent his way that even has you shrinking behind him in secondhand shame. “Since when do you have morals?”

Taehyung’s knee squeezes against yours under the bar—a warning, probably, but your brain momentarily becomes fixated on the weight of it, on how nice it feels to have his warmth pressed against you. It’s not until he taps a finger against your thigh, signaling with his eyes at the sullen man behind you, that you pass on the touch, giving Jungkook’s elbow a gentle nudge in support and encouragement. He takes a quick look at you with sad, vulnerable eyes, and you’re reminded of how flustered he’d been during your conversation a few weeks ago.

“I was actually thinking,” he begins, more serious than you’ve ever seen him, “that maybe we could go together since neither of us have dates.”

Maya snorts, setting her drink down firmly on the countertop. “Why, so you can ditch me halfway through for the first woman that flutters her eyelashes at you? No thanks.”

Jungkook physically recoils like he’s been slapped, the force sending him back so far that he practically winds up in your lap. “You really think I would do that?”

His voice is tiny, hurt dripping from every syllable, and it makes Maya finally look up, face dropping as she seems to realize the wounds she’s inflicted upon him.

Her brows draw together, and she opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the bartender popping up to ask if anyone needs a refill. By the time he leaves, the moment’s passed, and Jungkook briskly stands up, throwing some money down on the bar.

“I’m done. See you guys tomorrow.” And he strides out towards the hotel lobby.

You hop to your feet, shaking your head at Maya. “That was uncalled for.”

She looks guilty but says nothing, rubbing a finger along the rim of her glass, and you follow Jungkook out, calling his name as he approaches the elevators.

“Jungkook!”

He spins to face you with a frown, thumbs hooked in his pants pockets like he’s trying to look casual, but his eyes betray his discomfort. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that,” you say, slightly breathless from your jog across the lobby. “I know she didn’t.”

“Sure she did. That’s who she is. Always speaks her mind.” He shrugs, shirt rippling over his shoulders. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Don’t you though?” you ask. “You’re not a bad guy, Kook. You deserve simple respect at least.”

“Maybe I don’t.” The elevator dings, and he steps inside, turning back to you with a final sad smile. “Night, Y/N.”

A sense of dread taps into the back of your skull, fear that your original inkling on this relationship was perhaps correct. Though you’ve since warmed up to the idea of Maya and Jungkook as a potential couple, it was this exact tension that you were worried about—their fire and gasoline dynamic harboring implications that could blow up your entire friend group.

Taehyung strolls up next to you as the doors roll shut, sighing as he comes to a stop. “He okay?”

“No, but don’t try telling him that.”

He purses his lips. “I had a quick talk with Maya. Reminded her that just because she’s had bad experiences with guys in the past doesn’t give her the right to take it out on him.”

“Good,” you say. “She probably needed to hear it.”

A nod as he assesses your figure and asks, “Are you coming back to the bar? I already covered your tab.”

“Oh, I’ll pay you back—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You can make it up to me a different time.”

You smirk at him, stepping closer. “How about I roll it into your Christmas present?”

“Deal.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he offers to walk you up, pressing the button to call the elevator back. The two of you chat about nothing in particular as you make your way to the third floor, commenting on the ridiculously patterned carpet in the halls and laughing about the strangely risqué photos that you noticed hanging in the rooms.

When you arrive at your door, you swipe your key card over the sensor, turning the light from red to green and wishing Taehyung goodnight, but he loops his fingers around your wrist to lightly tug you back.

“Y/N.” He curls his bottom lip over his teeth, head dipping towards the ground in a shy smile as he searches for his words. “I’m…really looking forward to tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.”

He’s adorable; he truly is. Seventeen years of affection, and he still finds ways to endear you to him even more, bits of gold from the lamps catching on the browns of his eyes as he stands before you.

“It is,” you say, tongue tied around your own apprehension. He hums and looks like he wants to say more—tangles his fingers in front of him and chews on his lip as he fidgets. But after a moment passes—you still stuck on his eyes—he jerks his chin down in a nod, says goodnight, and leaves you standing at your door in confusion, taking one look back as he swipes his own key card down the hall and disappears into his room.

You enter your own space with your mind whirling, not sure what the hell just happened but also sure that you’re not upset about it. And once you’ve gone through your bedtime routine and settled in for the night, you fall asleep thinking about brown eyes and shy smiles, welcoming the most restful sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You awake to the sound of Maya knocking on your door promptly at 9am with her suitcase in hand, casually making her way to your bed when you let her in and picking up the hotel menu from the side table while you stare at her. "What are you doing?" "We are going to order room service and watch some shitty TV, and then I am going to help you get you ready for your date." "It's not a date," you say on impulse, though you're internally tamping down the involuntary flutter that's tickling your stomach. "If it's anything, it's a guy taking pity on his unexpectedly-single friend." "Pity date then." She says it with a nonchalant wave of her hand and doesn't give you the chance to speak when you open your mouth to protest. "Y/N, please, just give me the chance to make his jaw drop. If there really is nothing there like you say there is, then what's the harm?" The harm, you think to yourself, is the tingling feeling that's been increasing in intensity when you've been around Taehyung recently, warmth flooding your body at just the thought of him. Your brain has been desperately explaining it away, chalking it up to years of familiarity and comfort being stoked by the emotional trauma which (you're quick to remind yourself) you're still working through. No, Y/N, I don’t have feelings for you. It's these thoughts that, in the end, have you acquiescing as Maya lets out a joyful squeal. At the very least, you make your friend happy and get some well-deserved girl bonding time. Really, what's the harm?

The idea has barely finished running through your mind when you’re already beginning to regret it and wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Maya wheels her entire suitcase to the foot of your bed and pulls out no less than seven bags of make-up, a curling iron, hairspray, four different brushes, and a straightener.

“Are you doing the entire wedding party after this?” you ask incredulously. “Why did you bring so much?”

“Needed to be ready for anything,” she says, organizing her tools into neat rows. “When I’m done with you, every straight man and half the women will be falling at your feet.”

Your face heats, and you subconsciously rub at your arm. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Okay, then just one man.” She raises her arms, fingers arranged into a square through which she peers at you like she’s sizing you up for a photograph. “Hmm, where should we start?”

You and Maya make your way to the resort's event hall a little while before the ceremony is scheduled to begin. Seating doesn't seem to have opened yet as guests mill about the entryway, the buzz of conversation filling the space above your heads, and the two of you pause at the top of the stairs to see if you can spot your friends. "I think Kook's got a purple tie," she says, peering around. "And you know what he's wearing why?" you ask, but she ignores you. "Oh, look, there they are." Maya's goal may have been to get Taehyung's jaw to drop, but you're left stunned when you look over to where he's standing with Jimin and Jungkook, the now-familiar tingle rippling through your veins once again. His black suit is perfectly tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, emerald green tie wrapped around his neck to match the color of your dress as promised. He's slicked his hair back and away from his eyes so you're able to see how they nervously dart between Jimin and Jungkook, clearly not listening to whatever it is they're enthusiastically saying. Actually, once you look more closely, everything about his body language screams nerves for some reason, his hands moving back and forth to play with the hems of his jacket before smoothing the lapels over and over again. Maya waves, grabbing Jimin's attention, and you watch as he grins at the two of you before leaning in to say something to Taehyung, pointing at where you're standing. Maybe, you think, just maybe you appreciate Maya's plan from this morning after Taehyung glances up at you. His incessantly-moving fingers finally still—halfway through re-adjusting his tie—and his perfect Cupid's-bow-lips pop open, eyes wide as he soaks you in in your floor-length gown. Maya’s worked your hair into loose curls cascading over your shoulders and bare back, and while you convinced her to not go wild with the make-up, she strong-armed you into agreeing to a deep red lipstick that’s only accentuated by the green of your dress. A smug cough comes from your right (clearly Maya's pleased with her work) as you descend the stairs and approach the trio of men. Jimin and Jungkook greet you brightly while Taehyung still looks mildly concussed, continuing to stare at you with his mouth half-open. "Alright there, Tae?" you ask, reaching up to adjust and smooth out his tie, messy from where his hands had frozen on it.

The pads of your fingers are hot where they brush against the hard muscle of his chest, and you try not to read too deeply into the pounding of his heart. Taehyung makes a weird noise akin to what you'd imagine a drowning fish would sound like, and Jungkook gives him a sharp slap on the back, which seems to knock him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "Incredible!" he blurts, and you almost want to laugh at the reset-button-like effect Jungkook's smack seems to have on him. He clears his throat, composing himself further. "I, um—you, I mean. You look incredible." You thank him, ignoring the second wave of smugness that comes from Maya's direction, just as the event staff open the doors and begin ushering guests into the hall. Taehyung offers you his arm, and you gladly take it as he guides you to sit alongside your friends.

The wedding hall is as grandiose as the rest of the hotel, with columns ornamenting the sides of the room and a massive flower arch constituting the altar. You all talk as you wait for the ceremony to begin, admiring the decor (the bright bouquets of red, purple, and blue flowers pop against the stark white of the venue) and trying to see if you recognize any of the guests.

“Oh, there’s Sunny’s cousin Chan,” Maya says, peering out over the room. “Remember we met him at that party one time?”

“Didn’t the two of you drunkenly make-out?” you ask.

Jimin frowns. “I thought they hooked up.”

“No, Y/N is right.” She fixes her hair, oblivious to the way Jungkook is now staring at the man in question, hackles raised. “Wouldn’t say no to that happening again; he was good with his hands. Tae, are you alright? You’re looking at Y/N like she’s sprouted four more arms.”

You swivel your head around to see Taehyung next to you, entirely flushed red above the shoulders. He licks his lips as he meets your eyes, blinking furiously like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maya waves a dismissive hand, shuffling her attention to Jimin to ask if he knows about the music choices for the ceremony.

A throat clears on your right. “You do look nice. Really.” Taehyung looks utterly sheepish, his head tilted low as he softly pays you the compliment, and it reminds you of how shy he was last night as well. A butterfly takes flight in your chest, and now you’re the one blushing.

“Thank you. You cleaned up nicely, too,” you reply, and he blinks at you in a way that has you second guessing your words. “Not that you don’t always clean up nicely. And not that you don’t normally look very handsome. Because you do. Look very handsome, I mean. All the time.”

His bashfulness morphs into amusement, lips quirking up in an affectionate smile. “Oh, really?”

Your face heats up even more, mouth opening to respond with you don’t even know what, and you’re grateful when a hush falls over the room, the beginning notes of a wedding march signaling the ceremony’s start.

Hoseok appears first, looking dapper in a full tuxedo and grinning ear-to-ear. He walks down the aisle with long strides like he can’t possibly get to the end fast enough, bouncing on his toes as he settles into his spot.

The officiant is next, followed by Iseul and Seokmin, one of Hoseok’s childhood friends. Hana and Namjoon stroll in arm-in-arm after that, then Yumi and Jiho, and finally, everyone rises to their feet as Sunny appears at the entrance and begins her walk in, gaze finding only her groom.

Just as Sunny reaches the head of the aisle, a teary-eyed Hoseok taking her hands in his, another image, one which had once occupied your mind almost constantly but hadn't plagued you in weeks, takes hold: you and Jace in a similar setting, pledging forever to each other in front of your friends and family.

Maybe you had gotten ahead of yourself—the discovery of the ring box in his desk along with the natural longevity of your relationship sparking your imagination—but in the weeks leading up to your heartbreak, you had allowed your mind to plan—what kind of dress you'd wear, the colors you'd pick out, what you might say in your vows. It seems stupid now, dwelling on a future that's already evaporated into nothingness, but seeing the echoes of your dreams being played out in front of you, it’s like you can feel the sand physically slipping through your fingers.

Right as it starts to become too much, as you feel your chest tighten and heart ache, there's a brush of skin against the side of your hand, and glancing down, you see that Taehyung's reached over to quietly hook his pinky with yours. You turn to face him, but he keeps his eyes directed on the bride and groom, face neutral and unreadable, and you know he's giving you the chance to pull away, no questions asked.

But the gesture has warmth flooding through you, thawing the ice of your previous thoughts, and so you move to slip your hand under his, lacing your fingers and pressing your palms together tightly.

Taehyung looks at you then, a shy smile crinkling his eyes and twisting up the corners of his mouth, and you grin back, the previous ache in your chest replaced with a steady flutter as he begins to skim his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress.

You stay that way for the rest of the ceremony—watching your friends vow eternity to each other, Taehyung's hand tethered with yours.

Classical music drifts from the speakers at the back of the room as you find your seats for the reception. The ballroom is tremendous, with tall, arched ceilings, a gorgeous chandelier, and a wide dance floor that you’re sure will see a ton of action later. With the tables seating eight, you see that you’ve been placed in a grouping of you, Taehyung, Maya, Jimin, Jungkook, and three of Hoseok’s medical school friends, who introduce themselves as Wonwoo, Joshua, and Mingyu.

Thankfully, your group hits it off immediately. Wonwoo is rather reserved, more an observer of those around him than anything, but Taehyung and Jimin quickly strike up a conversation with Joshua about college after the latter mentions having gone to the same school as you, albeit never crossing paths. Maya and Mingyu, meanwhile, immediately fall into their own introductions, talking about how they know Hoseok and Mingyu’s studies to become a doctor.

“If you ever need a headshot or something, let me know,” Maya says, laying a hand on his arm. Across the table, Jungkook's head shoots up. “I do work as a photographer and would be happy to help.”

“Oh, really?” Mingyu makes no move to remove her hand; if anything, he shifts even closer. “What are your rates?”

“For you? Free of charge. Any friend of Hoseok is a friend of mine.” They're in their own little bubble now, Jungkook watching wide-eyed. “Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. With a face like that, you're a photographer's dream. Perfect model.”

Mingyu smirks. “A face like what?”

“Dangerously handsome.”

“HEY, WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT TO SPECIALIZE IN?”

Jungkook practically screams it, and not only do Maya and Mingyu turn to look at him in bewilderment, but so does the rest of the table and a few guests in the neighboring seats.

Joshua clears his throat awkwardly, eying Jungkook like he might be rabid. “I’m trying for pediatrics.”

“Surgery,” Wonwoo says.

Maya turns towards her new companion. “What about you, Mingyu?”

He leans back in his chair. Gives a light tug on his tie. “I have a residency lined up in obstetrics and gynecology.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me—”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, cutting him off as he slides his chair back from the table. “Why don’t you help me get a round of drinks?”

“But—“

“C’mon.” He says it gently, like he’s trying to coax a toddler, and rises to his feet, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder as he goes. “Cosmo?”

“Yes, please,” you say, and he nods, dropping a quick wink your way as Jungkook joins him, grumbling under his breath.

Joshua watches them walk away in the direction of the bar. “Is he always this…”

“Annoying?” Maya scoffs.

“Transparent.” Wonwoo quietly smirks.

A gentle laugh sounds on your left as Jimin hears. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described Jungkook as subtle in his life.”

Maya frowns, Mingyu looking downright perplexed at her side. “I don’t think I quite understand what’s going on,” he begins, but Maya soothes him with another press of her hand to his arm.

“Don’t worry about him. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Tell me more about your residency.”

The reception passes in a swirl of music and drinks and food—and oh goodness, the food. Plates heaped with calamari, crab legs, and tiny filets wrapped in bacon are placed at the table by wait staff as your group digs in. Even Jungkook is placated, no longer scowling at Maya and Mingyu.

"Ughhh, I am never eating this well again," Jimin groans, stretching back in his chair and giving an exaggerated rub to his belly.

"You'd best get ready to," Taehyung says from your other side. "This isn't even dinner."

"This isn't even dinner?!"

Dinner turns out to be just as delicious and lavish as the appetizers, and it's no surprise that once dancing starts, your friends opt to stay seated for a while longer talking and digesting. As the party climbs to a full swing, Mingyu asks Maya to dance, Jimin and Jungkook start a debate on whether the butt is one body part or two, and Taehyung excuses himself to the restroom.

“It’s one part that’s split!” Jimin loudly exclaims. “The top is connected!”

“Jimin, go home, stand in front of the mirror, and pull your right ass cheek up. See if your left cheek comes up with it, and then get back to me, you absolute clown.”

“Do they do this a lot?” Joshua asks, the two idiots arguing between you.

“At least once a month.” You take a sip of your drink as you look on, bored. “I’m pretty sure this one is a rerun from last Halloween.”

“It’s one,” Wonwoo says, amused.

A flash of green catches your eye, and you look up to see Taehyung standing by the side of the bar, speaking with a woman. She's about your age, you think, and pretty, wearing a low-cut dress that certainly accentuates her chest.

She and Taehyung are talking excitedly, and you can tell he's putting the charm on—eyes bright, signature boxy smile lighting up his face. Nausea simmers in the pit of your stomach, and you force your attention back towards Jimin and Jungkook, trying to focus on whatever nonsense they're debating now.

This isn't a “date-date,” you remind yourself. And Taehyung hasn't had a relationship in a year—not since he was so torn up after Luna. He deserves to meet someone.

You’re spaced out next to your friends, still only halfway listening to them jabber on about butt cheeks, when a slow song starts up over the speakers and, within seconds, a hand is being extended over your shoulder.

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out on their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

There’s a weight to it, the word landing from his lips like a stone into water, and you suddenly forget where you are. The world around you fades away: faces, music, and noise all receding into the background until it’s just him and you, you and him.

Just like it’s always been.

Taehyung's head dips towards you as if pulled by gravity, and your body responds in turn, hand sliding from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck and eyes fluttering shut. Your breaths mingle together, his nose lightly brushing against yours, and you find yourself on the brink of keening forward, on the brink of diving headfirst into a place of no return, when—

"Hey, we're going to step outside for some air. Do you guys wanna—oh."

You spring apart. Jimin is staring at the two of you, eyes so wide you're worried they might fall out of his head. His hand is still half-raised, pointing in the direction of the doors behind him, and you use this to make your escape.

"Yeah sounds good I'll come outside definitely," you babble before speeding towards the exit. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see Jimin say something animatedly to Taehyung, but the latter shakes his head and mumbles something back, his face pink.

The night air is cool on your skin, and you could not be more grateful for it because what the fuck was that?

Were you really about to kiss your best friend? Or was he going to kiss you? Things had certainly been…different between you two recently, but this surely would have been an awful idea. If something went wrong or there was a misunderstanding, you'd likely never be able to come back from it.

He said he doesn't have feelings for you.

…But do you have feelings for him?

Maybe yes, his smile has always set your heart alight unlike anything else and yes, your brain seems to have been lingering recently on how damn handsome he is and yes, you'd do anything for him at the drop of a hat—follow him anywhere—but given your history, of course you would, right? He's your best friend.

And he deserves to be more than a rebound. Because that's what this must be—lingering heartbreak amplified by the emotions of a wedding. You may have even imagined Taehyung leaning towards you, a desperate fantasy of a mind just wanting to be loved.

That's it, you decide. Your brain must have finally snapped into a world of delusion.

You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't hear Jungkook approach you, practically jumping out of your skin when he places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Y/N—shit—you okay?" He looks at you with his big doe eyes wide and apologetic.

"Yeah," you say, as your racing heart begins to calm. "You just startled me."

"Sorry, I tried to call you, but I don't think you heard. We're back over there if you want to join us." He nods his head in the direction of a patio area behind him, and you spot Namjoon, Joshua, and Wonwoo sitting around a table next to an elegant fountain, its ornamental lights illuminating the magnificent swan sitting atop it. They’re all laughing and, for some reason, the sight makes your chest tighten.

"Um, maybe in a little bit. I think I might just need a walk right now."

Jungkook studies you, biting ever so slightly into his bottom lip, and you think you see something in the way of understanding behind his eyes (you wonder if it has anything to do with the notable absence of Maya and Mingyu). "Do you want company?"

When you just give him a small smile and shake your head, he nods.

"Okay, well…you know where to find us." He moves to rejoin the others, but then turns back towards you, taking easy steps on his heels. "And just shout if you need a friend."

You meander around the outside of the hotel, following the stone path that paves its way around the perimeter. There's a certain kind of peace out here. Though the summer is nearing its close, you can still hear crickets chirping in the grass and spot the occasional firefly dangling in the air. You focus on the swishing of the cars out on the main road and try to let the sound clear your mind, but as you settle on a short brick wall overlooking the property's enormous lake, you realize it's no use.

Your eyes drift closed as you sink into the grief once again, let it slowly overtake you like quicksand until your lungs are crushed and burning. But more than anything, you’re simply exhausted—perpetually drained by the demons which have once again arrived to feast on your psyche.

At this point, you think most of your frustration lies with yourself. Maybe you’re being overdramatic, maybe you should be over it by now—if only you were stronger, more resilient. Not the miserable pushover you feel you’ve turned out to be. Harsh? Yes. Unfair? Perhaps. This does feel like the breaking point in your life’s long line of abandonments, digging up feelings you haven’t felt since you were a child.

But that being said, it also makes you feel like you should be used to it by now. Should be used to having to bounce back—what else can you expect from the world at this point, really? What a fool you were to even think that this time would be different.

The sound of quiet footsteps has you opening your eyes again, and you’re not sure whether the man in front of you is the first or last person you want to see right now.

Taehyung has his hands in his pockets, watching you with that calculated expression he always has on when he’s trying to gauge your mood. But all you can see in his face on your end is concern, not a hint of awkwardness or trepidation after what just transpired between the two of you in the ballroom.

So it really must have been all in your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Kook said you seemed upset.”

“I’m fine.” You try to push out a smile, but he unsurprisingly sees right through it, closing the gap between you and gesturing at the spot to your right.

“Mind if I sit?”

You’re still not entirely in the mood for company but you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, so you give the tiniest of nods and Taehyung settles on the wall next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the buzz of the surrounding trees continuing its serenade. Taehyung doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything, only provides a steady presence. On particularly bad days when you were kids, you’d both wander down to the local playground and sit on the swings for a while. Sometimes you’d talk—either to rant and let it all out or make each other laugh to distract yourselves—but most nights, you’d just sit in the quiet and enjoy the feeling of not being alone.

It feels like that now, with Taehyung’s warmth radiating at your shoulder and the stars hanging above, but tonight, you’re compelled to speak.

“I’m really pathetic, huh?”

Taehyung’s eyes flash as he looks over at you, but he doesn’t interrupt, sensing you want to say more.

“I’m at my friends’ wedding, I’m supposed to be celebrating them and their love for each other, and instead I’m out here having a pity party.” You scoff. “It’s pathetic and selfish.”

“First of all, we are out here having a pity party,” Taehyung begins, and it draws a sudden laugh from you that you think sounds halfway deranged, but he only smiles.

"Secondly, you're not pathetic, and you're not selfish. You just went through a traumatic event, you know? You're allowed to have emotions."

"I know, but I just don't…want to," you sigh. "I just want it all to stop. I'm so tired of feeling weighed down especially on a day like this, but it's like it just doesn't end. The reminders don't end."

"You thought he'd be here," Taehyung says softly, and though his head nods slightly in understanding, his voice is tinged with sadness. "You miss him."

"I—that's not exactly it, no," you quickly say, not wanting him to think that you somehow regret being here with him. "Given what he did…like you’ve said, it's not forgivable, so it's not like I wish he was here. I mean, sure, are there some days where I reflexively think about him and stuff? Of course—we were together for four years—but I…still would prefer to never see him again."

Taehyung lets out a short sigh that you interpret as approval, but he stays quiet, giving you time to work out your thoughts.

"I think it's more the loss of security than anything. Seeing Hoseok and Sunny up at the alter…I couldn't help thinking that I was so, so close to that—to having that one person that I could commit to walking through life with. A partner, a friend, just someone to have day-in and day-out. Forever." You choke up, a fresh wave of tears lodging in your throat that you try to keep down. Taehyung is stiff next to you, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"And I want that, Tae. I want that so bad. But it's…so scary to start from scratch after feeling that close. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm just constantly overwhelmed and feel like I can't outrun it, and then I feel guilty on days like this because I shouldn't be letting it get to me, and—"

"Hey, hey, Y/N, shhhh." Taehyung finally jumps in as you begin to spiral, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You don't have to worry or feel guilty because you are going to have all of that. Okay? You will."

"You can't know that."

"I do." He slips his pinky around yours briefly before his hand comes up to cup your jaw, guiding your eyes to his. "I promise you. I don't know how far out it'll be, but one day we'll all be together again at a place like this, and it'll be your turn." He gets a faraway look in his eye, seemingly perceiving something that you're struggling to even grab a glimpse of right now. "It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of—intimate and outdoors, right? I know you always said growing up that you were going to get married at the Spring Day Gardens. If you still want it, it'll be yours."

You let his words draw you in, painting you a picture so beautiful you're afraid to even let your heart believe in it. But his baritone voice presses on.

"And it'll be perfect. Not a cloud in the sky—nothing but sunshine. And we'll all be there, and you'll have your favorite lily bouquet and your perfect dress…"

Something stops him, and he blinks at you, dropping his palm from your face and glancing away at the lights from the party before resuming his tale.

"And the guy…" He licks his lips, and you feel the hand that's still holding yours tighten ever so slightly. "He's going to love you so much. Properly love you. He's going to see you come down that aisle and weep because he's just going to know that he's the luckiest guy in the universe. And if he doesn't cry right away, I'll kick him in the shins up there until he does because in spite of what Jimin and Jungkook think, we all know that I'm actually your best man."

You let out a watery giggle, the tears flowing freely now, and Taehyung reaches up to swipe a few off your cheeks, letting out a chuckle of his own.

"I want to believe you," you say quietly. "And hopefully one day I will. I just…I need more time."

"Whatever you need, you know I'm here for you," he murmurs, and you nod.

You fall back into silence for a few moments, Taehyung dutifully continuing to hold your hand while you lightly sniffle and wipe at your cheeks.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to the party like this—I think you ruined my make-up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe, but you're the prettiest raccoon I've ever seen."

You laugh in earnest now, your shoulders shaking with it, and Taehyung smiles at you before suddenly rising to his feet.

"Wait here," he says, and then he's jogging back up towards the venue.

The silence envelops you again as you continue to mull over Taehyung's vision. Your battered heart is hesitant to dream, all of your imaginings coming in with fuzzy edges and blurry details that you just can't seem to place. But you're sure Taehyung was definitely right about one thing—you can't imagine a situation where you get married without him standing by your side.

It's a handful of minutes later when the man himself finally reappears with a hand behind his back and a mischievous smile on his face. When you raise your eyebrows at him in question, he comes to a halt in front of you and presents a full fifth of your favorite whiskey.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

The dim hotel lights cast a soft glow about the room as you and Taehyung pass the bottle back and forth, the mood significantly more casual than the extravagant party you just ditched. The decor may be fancy—Hoseok and Sunny certainly didn’t skimp when it came to location—but the two of you are perfectly rumpled, stretched out on the expensive sheets: you having removed your make-up and changed into your pajamas and Taehyung propped up against the headboard with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket and tie tossed over the couch.

You’ve started up a game of Truth or Drink, a somewhat milder version of Truth or Dare, where you get to take turns asking each other questions, and the respondent has the chance to either answer the question or take a mouthful of whiskey. Normally, between you and Taehyung, such a game would be low stakes, with your shared years and few secrets between you making it hard to ask challenging questions. But something about tonight and the need for a distraction seems to have made both of you competitive, going for questions that you know the other wouldn’t want to answer.

“What was the last thing you cried about?”

“One thing you don’t like about me?”

“Favorite position?”

“Did you really lose your virginity in a tree house?”

“What’s your greatest fear?”

"If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

"Oh God, one of those cupcakes from Sweet Night Bakery," you groan. It was a place you had passed every day on the way to school, the wafting scents of cookies and cakes playing pied piper to your youthful noses. You had always dreamed of one day being able to afford the expensive pastries but had fled your hometown before having the adult money to do so.

"Seriously? Anything in the world and you want a cupcake?" Taehyung laughs, pink tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"It's not just anything, it's one of my life's dreams," you counter, playfully shaking a fist at him for emphasis, but Taehyung seems unconvinced. "Fine then, if you have such a good answer. Same question."

He tilts his head at you, a mild haze in his eyes that tells you that while he's not drunk-drunk, he's definitely tipsy. A beat passes and he takes a drink.

"Ooh, mysterious," you slur. "But I win."

"Alright, alright." He grins at you. "I concede to your sugary dreams."

You mirror his smile, observe the way his fingers curl in his lap as you try to think of your next question. He’s always had nice hands—so delicate and careful with everything he touches. It’s odd, you think, how such gentleness could emerge from a home and upbringing that was anything but. How someone as bright as Taehyung could come from such darkness.

“Do you want kids one day?”

The question takes him by surprise when you ask it, and he physically startles, turning the bottle in his hands slowly. “I don’t know. Why?” He looks at you then, and you feel like you can see a riddle being worked out in his head. “Where did that question come from?”

“I don’t know,” you echo. “You spent so much time earlier imagining a future for me. I realized that we’ve never really talked about what you want for yourself outside of your career.”

Growing up, you’d discussed your dreams for the future, of course. But while you have always skewed towards the romantic, envisioning rings and weddings and vows, Taehyung’s always been much more practical and career-oriented—his plans always involved degrees and promotions and retirement funds.

A beat passes as he continues to fidget with the whiskey bottle before he again says, “I’m really not sure.”

“Well think about it now,” you challenge. “Or drink up.”

He chuckles to himself, some private joke in his head. “It would terrify me, I think. But I’d love them with everything I’ve got. Want to give them everything I didn’t have and be better than my parents were.”

You hum in agreement; you’ve had the same thoughts on occasion. Some who grew up in your situation may have been turned off the idea of children—and the idea does scare you in certain respects—but you’ve always been stubborn. “It’d be a chance to prove that it doesn’t have to be that hard. That you didn’t deserve what you went through.”

Fingers graze against yours in a subtle show of kinship. As always, you understand each other. “Exactly.”

And he may be struggling to imagine it, but you can see it so clearly: a small boy with big, brown eyes and a boxy smile riding on Taehyung’s shoulders. The two of them playing in the sand at the beach house or walking down the street together—the boy’s tiny hand tucked safely in his father’s.

The image chokes you up, fills you with so much warmth you think you might burst.

“You’d be an amazing father, Tae.”

There’s not a single doubt in your mind about it—that this incredible, thoughtful, selfless man would also be a wonderful dad. He doesn’t look so sure, but a flicker of recognition passes through him.

“You’ve said that to me once before,” he murmurs.

“I did?”

A nod. “One time when you were drunk junior year.”

You don’t remember it, the memory lost to the alcohol. “I guess drunk me has flashes of brilliance.”

“Maybe we’ll see someday.”

“I hope we will.”

Suddenly nervous, he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his neck. “But it’d have to be with the right person.”

“Has there ever been anyone who you thought was close?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re asking a disproportionate amount of questions.”

Reaching over, you pull the bottle from his hands, drink down a mouthful of burning liquor, and set it right back in his lap. “Answer.”

Wide eyes appraise you through the dim light; he looks almost impressed. “No.”

“No, there’s never been someone you could see a future with, or no, you won’t answer?”

“The first one,” he says. “I’ve never been with someone I could imagine having kids with.”

You frown, the blunt despondence in his tone cutting. “Not even Luna?”

A look is thrown your way—pursed lips and creased brow telling you that’s a stupid question.

“What happened with her?”

He scoffs, lips immediately wrapping around the bottle as he takes a gulp.

“So something did happen.”

“We broke up,” he states. “That’s what happened.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never said why.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. As if you’ve just asked him what he wants for dinner and not why the longest relationship of his life ended. “We weren’t compatible.”

You can’t help but sigh, a small part of you hurt that he still refuses to talk about it, that he’s closed this part of himself off to you. “You don’t trust me?”

“Y/N, no.” He shakes his head, looking genuinely remorseful to have given you that impression. “That’s not it. It’s just…impossibly complicated—“

“Was it me?” You’re suddenly reminded of a conversation with Maya from weeks ago, when she’d suggested that you were the reason all of Taehyung’s relationships had failed.

His lips part, tongue pushing into his cheek like he’s trying to hold words back.

“It was, wasn’t it?” you push, and his teeth dig into his tongue now, chewing. “You can tell me. I can handle i—“

“You were part of it, yes.”

In spite of what you’ve just said, the words land like a blow. You’ve spent years watching him go through breakup after breakup, and now you find out that you were a source of that anguish all along—helped fuel that heartbreak in his life.

It pains you to think you’ve been holding him back.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” you whisper.

“Because there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Tae. If I’m getting in the way of your relationships…I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

That silences you, the sincerity in his voice leaving you blinking at him, and he continues.

“She didn’t like how close we are—most of them haven’t. But it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, I’ll always choose you. And that’s the end of it. Nothing left to tell.”

You feel like you should protest this, insist on him putting himself and his future first.

But given similar circumstances, wouldn’t you do the same for him?

“Did Jace ever give you shit about us?” he asks, reading your mind.

He had, ranting about Taehyung that night in some fucked up attempt to explain away why you’d found him in bed with another woman. Before then, you hadn’t noticed the signs: hadn’t picked up on his reluctance to spend time with your friends, hadn’t read into the way he stuck close to your side on the rare occasions he did, a possessive arm always tight around your waist.

It all made sense afterwards, and you hate that the vulnerability and anguish of the moment made you question your own actions. You never would’ve shut Taehyung out—never in a million years—but it initially made you think that maybe if you’d been more attentive towards Jace, had been more sensitive to his feelings, that maybe you wouldn’t have wound up in the situation you did.

You recognize now that he didn’t deserve it in the end, obviously, but heartbreak is a funny thing.

Not wanting to have to admit to any of that out loud, you whisk the bottle from Taehyung’s hands again and drink. He watches the movement of your throat with heavy, knowing eyes, immediately taking the whiskey back for his own sip once you’ve finished.

“I must admit,” he says, the alcohol clearly loosening his tongue as he sags against the headboard. “I’m a little relieved about things ending for you and Jace. Aside from him being a certified douchebag, I mean.”

You frown, not sure where he’s going with this, and the look on your face must come across as offense because he’s quick to clarify.

“Not that I liked seeing you hurt.” He shakes his head, and you can see some anger at the situation still lingering under the surface. “No, never. But I just…now I get to keep you longer at least.”

“Keep me?”

“Yeah, this…” He wags a finger between you. “You know this has to end one day, right?”

The whiskey should be warming, but your veins fill with ice at his words. Losing Jace was one thing. Losing Taehyung would be a different matter entirely.

“You’re always going to have me,” you say, reaching for his pinky.

But he pulls his hand away.

“Not like this.” He smiles with what you assume to be intended comfort, but his entire demeanor is tainted with sadness. “One day, when you have the dream guy and the family and the white picket fence, there won’t be room for me. Not like this.”

It feels like earlier—him trying to paint you a picture of a possible future for you—but unlike earlier, you can’t picture this future. You don’t want it. Not if he’s not there.

“Tae—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He gives another sad smile, takes another drink. “No husband is going to want a third wheel hanging around. I understand. I want you to be happy, too.”

But you wouldn’t be happy without him, and in many ways, you’ve always known that to be true. But that knowledge hits you now with such force, such raw truth, that it renders you speechless and leaves you staring at him, drunken eyes laser-focused as if discovering the very center of the universe.

You want to challenge him on his statement, make him see that he’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But the alcohol muddles your thoughts, has your brain dropping half-formed sentences through your mind like Scrabble pieces that you can’t quite wrangle into a coherent thought.

Taehyung takes your silence for agreement and, seeming to suddenly realize that some kind of line has just been crossed, takes the quiet opportunity to flip the conversation back to your game.

“The shoes you gave me for my seventeenth birthday,” he begins, the words tipping out slow and oddly calculated for someone who’s had as much to drink as he has. “Where did the money come from?”

You know where he’s going with this. And it’s perhaps the only secret you’ve kept from him in the entirety of your friendship. “Christmas money, I told you.”

“No, really.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I never saw that house decorated for Christmas even once.”

“Could’ve been from an aunt or uncle.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

It wasn’t. You snuck the money out of your father’s desk one day knowing that he wouldn’t have even noticed it was missing. Absent-minded in everything aside from work, your father had misplaced things constantly. You drink. And even though it’s supposed to be an avoidance of the question, it gives him his answer.

“I knew it.”

“They weren’t going to miss it, and you needed it more.”

“You could’ve gotten in so much trouble.”

“I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t. And it was worth the risk regardless.”

Looking back, you wish you’d had more of a fear of getting caught—wish your parents would’ve scolded you, screamed at you, anything. It would’ve been better than the indifference you’d been met with day in and day out. As if you were invisible.

Taehyung’s head swings from side-to-side. “You shouldn’t have. I would’ve been okay.”

“And you shouldn’t have punched Jace in that club, but you did anyway, didn’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. You’re not the only one who gets to put your ass on the line for the people you care about. You were worth the risk.”

He blinks, regarding you as if you’ve presented him with some outlandish concept. Like you’ve asked him to explain rocket science or open-heart surgery. “Then you should’ve told me then.”

“You would’ve given them back.”

“Maybe, but then at least we would’ve been in it together instead of you lying to me.”

“And you’ve never lied to me?”

He hesitates, tongue tracing his bottom lip. “No.”

“Okay, then. Truth or drink: what’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”

You know there must be one, can read it in the way his shoulder is suddenly pressed against yours as he tilts into you. Fingertips skim the bare skin of your knee, tentative in their movements, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath as the distance between you closes to mere centimeters, his gaze roaming your face and snagging on your mouth.

And you feel it—the pull that you’ve always felt towards him, the gravitational force that’s kept you in the same orbit since you were children. Two souls that intertwined the moment they sensed the other’s presence with a flash of awareness and said, You, you, you.

Thinking back on the entirety of your life, you don’t know how you possibly could have made it through without him: your best friend, your partner, your sanctuary. In such a volatile world—a turbulent youth marred by uncertainty and sorrow—he took your hand and held you steady, made sure you didn’t go through it alone.

In hindsight, you can’t truly regret it. Yes, there will always be a part of you that will resent your parents, wish that they would have loved you enough to spare you the hurt and stress they put you through. But just like the night when he brought you back to your apartment—held you close as you fell asleep in his embrace—your memories with him far outweigh the trauma you endured. When you think of your time spent growing up, he is by far the brightest star, outshining any darkness that may have lingered at the corners. It’s not the empty house or your parents’ stony faces that you think of first, but him: blanket forts and starry nights and walks in the park and blurry photographs and sometimes tears, sure, but only with him there to hold you.

Looking at this man in front of you, in every familiar line of his face and body, you know, without a crumb of doubt, that you’d do it all again. Screw Jace and Luna and your parents and anyone else who’s expressed disdain at your closeness with him. He’s written into every line of your history, every memory that’s worth something. And he may fight you on it, but he’s worth every risk you’ve ever taken—you would’ve stolen a thousand pairs of shoes for him. You’d move mountains and drain the oceans if he needed you to. You’d do anything.

You couldn’t live without him. You don’t want to live without him.

A moment of clarity, a wave of revelation as you lock eyes and are met with your favorite color. And at long last, you find the words.

I love you.

Your heart throws itself off a cliff…

And you lean in to press your lips to his.

NEXT

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate 😊

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

[karpingaround]

diner shenanigans ˚ ༘ ⋆

- random oneshot i wrote at 3am :’)

A/N : 1.9k words, fluff, mother lowkey evil, mitsuya and y/n being sewing buddies, y/n is used a lot, not checked through cba sorry :), tbh i dont really like this that much but wtv

Mikey x F! Reader

-i love the blob blob blob

The diner was slower than the usual rush of people. It was a Saturday and past noon, and the diner was emptier than any other Saturday! To you, this was bliss. It saved you from constantly running around the building to collect and receive orders from customers, but also to serve the meals that were ordered.

However, now you were bored. You were still scootering around the diner for small check-ins and cleaning, but nothing was really keeping you occupied as usual.

 

If you had a choice, you would be at the arcade down the road with your friends. But since your parents owned the diner, you were basically forced into labour! Although you didn’t mind since the diner mainly revolved around sweet treats and desserts, meaning lots of snacks in case your appetite appeared.

Right now though, nothing was satisfying your tastebuds or boredom.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother shouted, pinching your cheek to grab your attention.

“ouch- ma, that hurts!”

 

“It should do! You’re slacking on the job again.”

 

“Is it really a job if I’m not getting paid? Ya know, this could be considered as forced child labour-!” At your attempt at being witty, your mother, grinned.

 

 

"Well, you eat half of the food we make for the customers, so you don’t need to be paid.”

 

You gasp, offended, while she laughs.

"Ma, I don’t eat that much!”

 

“Sure Y/n.” She took your hand and put your notepad and pan in your grip. “Some customers came in a few minutes ago at table 18. Go get their orders, and after that, I need you to clean up table 3 when they leave.”

 

“They haven’t even finished eating, ma?”

“Just trust me!”

 

At her words, you promptly walked over to table 18. As you approached, you realised that it was a group of boys dressed in black gang uniform!?! You debated turning back, however, it was too late; you were already at the table.

 

“Hi, are you guys ready to order?” You ask, holding your notepad up, prepared to jot down some squiggles of code. While you waited, you looked at the faces of the boys.

 

“I’ll have a-“ A boy with long black hair started before you cut him off.

“Takashj?” You asked impulsively, and in turn, the lavender-haired boy looked up at you.

“Hey-!?” The boy got cut off again as Takashj spoke.

 

“You work here, Y/n?” He smiled, ignoring his friend, who was flaming up in anger.

“Yea! My parents own the place; it’s nice to see you.” You smiled. Takashj was the club president of the sewing club! You had been in there since the start of the club, wanting to try to make an apron for the diner. You talked to Takashi and the boys about his sewing club, completely forgetting about your job until the table went quiet.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother shouts from the counter, and you flinch in fear. When you look back at her, she is irritatedly staring you down as you enjoy your job for a moment. How could she tell?!

 

Embarrassed, you clear your throat.

“Sorry about that. What would you guys like to order?” You completely switch to work mode, taking everyone’s orders.

 

“So, two lemonades, an apple juice, one strawberry shortcake, one coffee jelly, two cokes, and the banana shake special?”

You look at everyone as they approvingly nod before a blonde speaks up.

 

“Add five dorayaki to that, please!”

“Mikey, I told you five is too much!” Another blonde hisses from across the table.

"Well, I want five!”

The bickering carries on for a few minutes as you stand blankly, unsure of what to do.

 

“Y/n can you just add five dorayaki to the order?” Takashj whispers to you, watching as the two go back and forth in a game of rock-paper-scissors, best out of twenty.

 

“Are you sure?” You whisper back, not wanting to interfere.

“Yes, I just want this to be over.” He chuckles, and you smile in response.

“It’ll be on the house then.” You give him a thumbs up.

 

You clear your throat again, catching the two’s attention. “I’ll add five dorayaki on the house.” You smiled, and the two settled down; however, the blonde who ordered in the first place is beaming with joy.

 

“I’ll come back to you guys in a bit!” You cheerfully say, going to the counter and preparing the order. As you make the banana shake, you make sure to add more whipped cream for the blonde boy and give him two cherries on top and-

 

“Y/n, don’t waste ingredients!”

“sorry ma!”

 

You stop at the two cherries on top.

And as you prepare their bill, you make sure not to include the five dorayaki. You already eat that amount when working - what harm would it do if you gave your lunch to the particularly cute boy at Table 18?

 

Nervously, you started bringing their order over to the table. You hoped he wouldn’t notice the excess toppings you added on top of his banana shake or the fact that you only gave him the fresh dorayaki right from the oven.

 

As you neared, you noticed the boys go strangely quiet.

 

Ignoring the forbading feeling, you asked for each order, placing it in front of the person who ordered. When it came to the blonde boy, your face slightly heated up as you placed his banana shake and dorayaki in front of him without a word.

 

“Very cool, Y/n.” Takashi commented, to which you narrowed your eyes at him.

“What? I just gave him his order.” You said, acting clueless as the lavender boy gave you a sly grin.

 

“Anyway, here’s your bill; enjoy the meal!” You bow your head slightly in embarrassment before going off to the table, which your mother had told you to do. They did end up leaving after you served the boys, and thankfully, the table was on the other side of the diner.

 

Once you finished wiping the table, you dropped the dirty dishes off in the kitchen, and your mother was swift to tell you that the boys had left and you needed to clean again.

However, your mother never mentioned the pale blonde who still sat at the table.

 

“oh, can I take these?” You ask, leaning to get a glance at his face as he looks out the window. Quietly, he nods, and you take that as a sign to get out - ASAP! You were not in the mood to mess with a gang member right now, and by reading the embroidery on his jacket, he was the president of his gang!

 

After collecting the tableware, you counted up the abundance of pennies and notes left behind. With a few hundred yen tip, you smiled. What nice delinquents!

 

Finally, you collected up the tray and the money left behind. “Have a good day.” You muttered, catching the boys attention as you turned on your heel to leave.

 

“Wait, Y/n was it?” He stood up from his seat, seeming to be urgent.

 

“Yes, do you need something?” You smiled, feeling your cheeks burn up as you noticed his happy grin.

 

“Thank you for the extra cherry and whipped cream.”

 

“How did you notice?” You ask obliviously, smiling as you were caught red-handed.

 

“The other booth ordered a banana shake special, and theirs was much less full than mine.”

 

“Crap! Really? I might get sacked.” You joke to yourself, yet the boy laughs.

“and the five dorayaki as well.” He adds on, and you sigh. "Well, that was my lunch, so I won’t really get sacked for that.” You laugh, feeling your stomach grueling with hunger.

“You can still eat more, though, right?” He asks, a guilty smile on his face, and you give him a nod. You usually ate lots of snacks during work hours anyways..

 

“You really wanna work here on your days off from school?” He asks, noticing you drifting off in your thoughts.

 

“I mean, I did wanna go to the arcade today..” You mutter, wondering why you were still talking to the pretty boy that was making your palms get sweaty.

 

“I’m going there now! Wanna join?” He smiled at you, his head tilted like a puppy, as he offered.

 

“I don’t think my mother would approve.” You whisper before you both laugh.

 

“Y/n! Stop slacking!” Your mother calls out on cue, and you can only smile awkwardly at the boy. You look back at her, mouthing ‘one sec!’ before turning back to the boy, who is patiently waiting for you to finish.

 

“I’ve gotta get back to work, have a nice time at the arcade..?”

“Mikey.” His eyes turn to crescents as he smiles again. “See you, Mikey.” You spin on your heel, quickly going into the kitchen and geeking out to your friend, who was washing the dishes, about the boy you had just met.

 

“And then he asked me to go to the arcade with him!” You sulked, imagining what could’ve happened if you were able to go to the arcade.

“What about a lunch break? Maybe you could join him?” Yumi asked, wiping her hands as she finished washing up.

 

“ 'already took one, since I figured it was a slow day and I wouldn’t need another break.”

 

“So you can’t eat lunch with me?” Your friend pouted, taking off her apron, sewn by you.

“I mean, I could ask for a fifteen-minute pee break?”

Yumi laughs at your idea as you try to come up with excuses for why you could get out of work.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother suddenly shouts from the counter, and you immediately appear, worried you were about to be lectured for trying to skip work.

 

“Yes ma?”

 

“This boy wants to take you out.”

 

...

 

“What-?” You stutter as your mother nods her head, smiling at you teasingly.

“Who? Where is he?” You eagerly walk up to the counter, looking around for Mikey.

“Outside on his motorcycle. Another nut head.”

She comments, and you gasp.

"Ma, you can’t just say that!”

 

"Well, he’s crazy for wanting to take you out.” She laughs at her own joke, and you hear your friend and father both laugh along in the kitchen. "Ma, that’s just rude!”

 

“Y/n, are you going to keep the boy waiting?” Your mother asks, watching as you rock on the heels of your shoes in anxiety.

"Wait, I can go with him?” You don’t even wait for an answer as you take off your apron and slip on your jacket.

 

“Wait Y/n-!” Your mother tries to call for you, but you’re already out the door and talking to the delinquent she just badmouthed.

She sighs to herself as she looks at Yumi.

“Can you take her shift?”

 

“Well… it’s kind of my lunch break right now!” Yumi smiles at your mother, taking a strawberry shortcake from the display and heading over to one of the booths.

 

Your mother groans as she slips on an apron and aggressively grabs your notepad that you had left behind. 

 

“stupid teenage love.” She mutters before heading to a table to collect their orders.

“I heard you talking about me in the kitchen! It gave me the courage to ask for your mother’s blessing!”

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!?”

“just kidding! I only asked if you were free.”

#mikey x reader #manjiro x reader #manjiro #mikey manjiro sano #manjiro sano x reader #manjirou x reader #tokyo revengers sano manjiro #tokyo revengers #sano manjiro x reader #manjirou sano

[scoutswritingcorner]

Cowboy Romance

Striker x GN!Reader

TW: Fighting, NSFW at the end. 

A/N: I love me a cowboy- especially an evil cowboy..LOVE IT. So let me say- cowboy enemies to lovers? 

-☠️ Striker doesn’t believe in love- he thinks it’s a weakness and a weakness anyone can exploit. 

-☠️So when he sees you, oh god he immediately wants to take you out of the picture. He has a whole plan and back up plan. This man hates you so much.

-☠️ So whenever you keep evading his attacks or just ignoring him it pisses him off even more. Don’t you get it? He hates you so you should hate him.

-☠️ While you- you maybe a farm hand or just another assassin that’s looking for some kinda work or just visiting the Wrath ring! You’ve seen him around and you don’t give a shit about him or you do but you're keeping it hush hush.

-☠️Either way the constant run ins with this crazy man are enough to piss you off to the point where you fight back! Setting up a trap or two, staying up at night cause he’s a sneaky bastard and possibly getting a hit on him, he’s not invincible but he’s strong. So good luck.

-☠️ All in all- this ends up with a lot of sexual tension and then later that evening when your patching yourself up you realize you have a crush on the sneaky bastard. But when he realizes that he caught feelings? Oh boy his anger ramps up to 100% and he’s about to fucking snap. He can’t be having a moment of weakness!

-☠️ And one faithful evening he comes to kill you off for good but it goes sideways and now you both are making out. 

His gloved hands slammed you down onto the ground as he crawled on top of you, never breaking the kiss that has you both breathless and grasping at each other. Your fist balling up his shirt as his tongue easily evades your mouth asserting his dominance over the situation but by how his hands keep touching you tell you how desperately he needed you close to him. “This doesn't mean shit.” He hissed out as he pulled away from the kiss, his tail whipping around behind him. “Uh huh, sure thing cowboy.” You replied, staring up into his yellow eyes, noses brushing together as neither of you made a move to get away. But how he pressed his lips onto yours in a much more gentle manner told you otherwise.

-☠️ So when y’all are in a relationship after months of him breaking into your house or where ever you were staying to make out with you. He’s much sweeter, still kinda rough around the edges but you only get to see the softer side of him.

-☠️ He strikes me as a man who loves it when you rub his back as you both are laying down. Or when you take his hat off of his head to cover up the fact you are kissing.

-☠️ He lets you ride Bombproof with him, and if you don’t know how to ride a horse, he’s teaching you. Like the whole nine yards, don’t worry he’s right beside you guiding the horse around like the true cowboy gentleman he is.

-☠️ He’s constantly busy but he tries to make time for you and on special occasions say date night, birthday, anniversary, etc and he can’t make it because of work? He’s sending you a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a promise of being home as soon as he can.

You huffed watching the clock tick silently, Striker was out doing Satan knows what and you were stuck in a safer place than he was, your phone buzzed alive with texts but not from him. He always called on a burner phone or didn’t call at all. As the clock struck midnight you frowned, he had officially missed your date but you knew his job so you couldn’t hold it against him. A loud knock shook you out of your pity party causing you to rush over and open the door, a random imp holding the large vase of your favorite flowers. Taking it from the imp you quickly say ‘thank you’ before closing the door to put the vase of flowers on the table. A note hidden in the flowers catch your attention, you quickly open it and read it as a smile graces your lips,

‘Sorry for the late bouquet, Darlin. I’ve been busy as you know but I wanted to make it up to you since I can’t be there but I promise as soon as I’m finished here I’ll be heading your way to actually make up for it. With love, yours truly ~S’

-☠️He likes to have a hand on you all the time, his tail curls around your leg or your tail if you have one. If you’re out on the road with him and Bombproof, he’s letting you cuddle up to him the whole time.

-☠️ He loves singing to you and about you all the time. Some folks who have been his targets have heard him singing about his little ‘Desert Flower’ before meeting their untimely demise.

-☠️ He loves showing off for you and showing how tough he is. He’s like a little peacock, please give him some kisses so he can stop flexing for you.

-☠️ Won’t let you touch his weapons. Not because he doesn’t trust you with them but they are super fucking dangerous and he wants to protect you. Speaking of protecting you- this man is super fucking protective and will not hesitate to either put a bullet in someone or break their bones for putting you in harms way.

NSFW BELOW HERE MINORS GET OUT 18+

-☠️ Most of the time you both are making out, it turns into ripping your clothes off one another and fucking like wild animals.

-☠️ He’s a dom for sure. Like you can try be somehow always wrangles you to the ground so he has more control over how he fucks you.

-☠️ Has a thing for being called ‘Sir’. No, I will not apologize. 

-☠️ His favorite position is either missionary, cowgirl or you sitting on his lap. He just likes to watch your face as he pleasures you. 

-☠️ Grab his horns if he’s going down on you, he loves it so much. Also wear his hat, if you know you know. Honestly wearing any of his clothes usually does the trick.

-☠️ He can be gentle and will be gentle if you want him to be but he likes it rough. Especially when it starts off gentle and slow then escalates to everything being rough.

#helluva boss x reader #gn reader #striker helluva boss #striker helluva #helluva striker #striker x reader

[t4tschmidt]

mike / m!reader plsssss

i nned 2 b called pretty boy by mike pls 😭😭

on it boss! o7 i had a lot of fun w this one i usually try and keep the reader gender neutral for inclusivity but this was new and fun to write. I’m very much weak for sensitive men and consent check ins so i slipped both of those things in there <3 Mike was definitely walkin a lil funny after this one

[requests open]

cws; sub!mike, soft dom!reader, m!reader, petnames, light bondage, edging, frottage, dick worship, messy, praise

Mike had no idea how he’d ended up in this position. He wanted to make this special and about you, the two of you had been unable to have sex anytime recently because of schedule conflicts and he knew that you’d been very pent up; that pretty little cock of yours deserved some attention.

He’d tried to get you on your back and to relax, but you had other plans.

Which is why Mike was currently sat in a comfy cushioned chair next to the bed, his hands tied behind his back and his member at the mercy of your hands.

The worst part of the position for him was the fact that your dick was on full display as you sat on the edge of the bed right next to him. All he wanted to do was break free of his restraints and worship it, get you painfully hard and throbbing like he was in your hands.

Speaking of your hands, one was on his thigh and the other was on his cock. It was a loose fist, a feather-light touch that barely stroked him but was enough to get him whining and begging you to give him more.

Your fingertips more then anything slowly travelled up his length, tickling every vein and driving him crazy. With his hands behind his back he couldn’t thrust his hips in fear of loosing your fingers so he was forced to sit still and take what agonizingly slow friction you provided him.

The head was smeared in drippy precum and to say his cock was weeping was an understatement.

It was throbbing, harder and stiffer then he’d ever felt with his cockhead wet and flushed bright red from how badly it wanted to cum. It had been a full half an hour, painfully filled with your fist loosely and slowly dragging up, pumping faster and faster until cock twitched harder and he was moaning louder and louder and then you’d abruptly stop; the orgasm he’d been chasing gone.

He babbled incoherently, begging and doing his best to rut up into your hand.

“B-Baby, please, f-fuck….I need to….hnnng….I need to cum.”

His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, his entire face flushed red and his eyes hazily focused on you. “Do you now?”

You gave his dick a light squeeze, making him twitch. “How bad?”

He was on the brink of tears, his words coming out with a stutter every time you slowly dragged a single finger up and down.

“Mmmf…I-f-fuck, baby, my pretty boy, please, I n-need your hands, your mouth, your b-body please.”

You thought about it for a moment, rubbing his thighs. “You have been doing so well for me, how about a little reward?”

All he could make were desperate little noises of affirmation, groaning and nodding. You stood up from your place on the edge of the bed and scooted into his lap, your thighs on either side of his.

Your cocks touched which made him jump, he was staring down at your member with desperation and need.

You got comfortable, using his hips as a grabbing point to pull yourself as close as possible to his bare chest. You kept one hand gripping his waist, and one came up between the two of you to align your dicks and you grasped your fist around both of them, barely being able to wrap it around both.

You gave a little experimental thrust, your cock sliding wetly against his lubricated with his own leaked slick. You gave a couple more before Mike mumbled “yellow” your safeword to slow down and check in.

You stopped, cupping his face and looking up at him. “Whats up, love? Are the ropes too tight?”

He looked sheepish, avoiding your eye contact. “I think you should go get a towel, I, um, get things messy sometimes.”

Mike was a heavy cummer and had always been embarrassed about it, jumping to offer to clean up the mess he’d made on you or the bed. You found it incredibly attractive, loving to see just how much you could make his cock spurt from just your mouth or hands.

You caught his eyes, wiping some of his hair away from his forehead. “Good thing for you baby, I love messy.”

With that you squeezed your hand around both your members and started thrusting fast, bouncing in his lap and jerking his dick off with yours. The reaction was sharp and immediate, a loud gasp being ripped from his mouth at the fast pace.

Pleasure pooled in your own gut, thinking of getting to thrust this fast into his needy hole. He began thrusting up with you, rocking the chair you guys were in.

It was wet and slippery and quick, but it finally drove him over the edge.

He threw his head back, gasping with his mouth wide open. His cock twitched violently against yours, before thick white ropes of his seed erupted and shot up into the air. It kept coming, multiple gushes of hot sticky thick cum coating you and him and both your dicks until your lap was painted white.

You didn’t cum, but that was alright. This was mikes reward, and you reveled in the way he closer his eyes and let out a long sigh, all of his own pent up energy finally having seeped out.

You immediately reached behind him and quickly loosened the ropes so his hands were free, coming up and kissing the red marks were they were.

With his hands free he embraced you, pulling you into a tender kiss and finally getting to touch you.

“Oh you did so well baby, lasted so long, I’m so proud of you,” You mumbled to him, your laps a slippery sticky mess. “You ready for a shower?”

He smiled, his eyes slowly focusing back in from the haze of pleasure he was previously in. He looked down at your lap, his cock was softening but you’re was still fully erect and untouched except for the little bit of groping the two of you did earlier.

Mikes large hands travelled down your back, grabbing your ass and pulling you so that your own hard length was flushed against his stomach and your hole was spread. “Actually, how about we do something about that?”

You kissed him once more, it was going to be a long night.

#man we love consent check ins !!!! #requests open #fnaf x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt ns/fw #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf movie x reader #fnaf nsft #fnaf smut #x reader ns/ft #fnaf ns/fw #mike schmidt x you smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt imagine #nsft concept #male nsft #fnaf x reader smut #x reader smut

[infinite-orangepeel]

CW: perv!virgin!eddie/camboy!steve, virginity kink, degradation/humiliation, eddie’s lowkey a creep (again), dirty talk, steve’s dick is tiny lol, religious imagery in a sexual context (brief)

thinking about virgin!loser!simp! eddie who gets zero action and has never been touched by anyone else’s hands but his own.

thinking about him rushing home from work each night to make it on time for steve’s camboy livestream.

he speeds, runs a red light or two. doesn’t pause to consider the consequences bc who the fuck cares? his cock strains against the zipper of his jeans bc he only has one thing on his mind and it’s certainly not avoiding run ins with the law.

“can’t wait to fuck you, pretty boy,” he whimpers as he turns left.

he doesn’t know the object of his affection’s real name, of course. only his username which is @prettyboy86. these days, eddie only ever cums with that name on his lips.

fuck, he’s sick in the head.

eddie’s getting more pathetic and whiny by the minute. he makes tiny little thrusts against the inner seam of his jeans to try to find some form of friction. though he has no intention of getting off before he watches steve’s show.

the zipper makes it painful and pinches the head of his weepy dick but it’s better than nothing. somehow he keeps his hands on the wheel and doesn’t get in a multi-car pile-up. somehow.

he’s so desperately in love with this boy he’s never even met, this boy who has no idea that eddie munson exists.

and to an extent, that’s part of the allure. pretty boy’s powerful. he commands an audience of thousands. people from all over the world pay $25/month just to eye a piece of him.

he never shows his face, but sometimes he’ll suck on a dildo and his lips will be visible in the shot. they’re usually slicked with sparkly lipgloss and look like they’d taste like candy.

eddie knows he must be beautiful though if the rest of his body is any indication. he’s an angel, he’s a saint. eddie worships him, prays to him with a level of devotion he’s never been able to find in organized religion.

once in the driveway of his uncle’s place, eddie throws his van in park, grabs the keys, and makes a mad dash for his bedroom. locks the door behind him as is tradition, cracks open a PBR, and logs onto his laptop.

pretty boy’s site is bookmarked, favorited, and left open in a tab from last night.

eddie navigates to the livestream waiting room and moments later, steve settles onto his haunches onscreen.

a flood of messages from similar admirers clogs up the chat quickly as eddie starts in on his own barrage of thirsty compliments:

@ethebanished: looking so cute tonight, pretty boy. i’d do anything to have your cock in my mouth.

there’s no response. steve’s not even looking at the camera or the screen. he’s adjusting something on his lower half that eddie can’t see.

maybe a cock ring or vibrating toy??

eddie’s bought him so many toys from his personalized wishlist and the one time steve took the clear glittery dildo on camera, he came in his pants instantly. didn’t even have time to stroke his cock once.

it felt intimate. it felt like steve was sending him a message, confessing his mutual love.

eddie sends a few more messages while steve holds up a finger to the audience to let them know he needs a second.

he types rapidly, without though, follows his depraved intentions and lets them run wild into the ether.

@ethebanished: i’ve been watching you since the beginning. i can’t cum to anyone else’s videos. did you know that?? you’re so special, pretty boy. no one else takes cock like you. i’d treat you so well. i’d never let you go, i swear. don’t waste time on the other boys.

@ethebanished: when i save up enough money, i’m gonna buy a custom video from you. i’m gonna make you say my name while you fuck yourself on the dildo i bought you. it’s the clear one with glitter. how does that sound?? would you like that baby?? like some dirty stranger making you cum for him?? i’m saving my virginity for you. waiting for you every day. one day we’ll fuck and you’ll thank me.

@ethebanished: i had to jack off in the storage room at work this morning. almost got caught by my manager but it was worth it. woke up so horny from a wet dream about you. you’re perfect. i have to fuck you. have to.

steve smiles. professionally whitened teeth blinding the camera. eddie convinces himself easily that it’s meant for him despite the thousands of other commenters.

he and steve have something special. sure, they’ve never directly interacted, but if they do—when they do—steve won’t be able to resist eddie’s charms.

“sorry for the delay, everyone. we had a few technical difficulties but thanks to my friend, tommy, we should be all set.”

tommy is the bane of eddie’s existence. public enemy #1. steve’s always running his mouth about “owing credit to tommy” and how “the show wouldn’t be half of what it is without tommy’s support.”

apparently, he’s steve’s camera man, editor, and resident tech guy. but eddie’s worst nightmare is steve ever including tommy in a video or stream.

eddie fantasizes—often—about replacing tommy, himself. he’s got a bunch of editing experience, owns all the fancy software, and knows how to operate a camera. plus, he’d do it for free. he’d do it just to be in the same atmosphere as steve for a fraction of a second.

fuck, his dick is leaking all over his black denim. just another pair of jeans to toss out bc pretty boy’s caused him to stain them.

if pretty boy were here, in person, eddie would have lick them clean to prove his devotion.

his attention snaps back to the screen as steve starts talking again.

“i’ve been wanting to challenge myself, lately to get a bit more up close and personal with my fans,” steve sticks his tongue out slowly and flicks it in the direction of the camera, “y’know to show my appreciation. so if it’s okay with you, i’m going to try something new today.”

eddie’s curiosity sparks. warmth spreads through his thighs, abdomen, and chest.

steve’s speaking directly to him (in his mind) and with all those pretty moles on display, eddie’s free hand wanders to tease his own pierced nipples.

he tugs at them and swirls the buds with gentle fingers. his hips buck in response. he’s always been sensitive. knows he’d cum so easily, so constantly, if pretty boy touched him.

“so one of you sweet angels sent me this adorable teddy bear,” steve nibbles on the ears of the pink plushie and eddie’s instantly jealous of whoever sent it to him, “i love how soft and cute he is, don’t you? his fur just feels perfect on my skin.”

steve lightly grazes the fluff of the bear over his inner thighs as he backs up on the mattress to display his full body for the camera. glossed lips in view. eddie gasps sharply and bites down on his knuckles to muffle the sound. he doesn’t need his uncle to know what a fucking freak he is.

“ohhh. see, that’s nice,” steve’s naked except for—and this absolutely annihilates eddie on the spot—a delicate pink ribbon that he’s tied around the base of his wet cock and a pair of thigh-high white socks.

flesh spills over the tight band of the fabric and eddie yearns to feel the squeeze of those perfect muscles around his head.

“here’s how this is going to work—i’m going to fuck my plushie like a pillow while reading comments aloud from you guys. whoever’s comment makes me cum will get a free five-minute video call with me tomorrow night before the regular livestream begins. there’s only going to be one lucky winner so do your worst, angels,” steve giggle to himself and tightens the bow on his dick, “let the games begin.”

“fuck,” eddie murmurs as he realizes how high the stakes are, “fuck. i have to win.”

the chat ramps up with lust and thrill as the audience observes steve taking the medium-sized plushie to the center of his bed. he fondles his balls, waves at the camera, and straddles the pink bear. his cock twitches in the confines of his ribbon and eddie wonders if it’s real silk. what it might feel like.

“bet you can’t wait to see my little cunt squirt on live, can you? poor teddy isn’t going to knows what’s hit him,” steve strokes the cheek of the bear apologetically and begins slowly rutting, “let’s see if he can handle me.”

it’s important to mention that pretty boy’s cock is small and that this appeals to eddie like nothing else.

eddie’s not huge, himself, but in terms of girth and length—he’s slightly above average. on the other hand, pretty boy’s dick is about three and a half inches hard. his balls are tucked right up against his body and he’s always well groomed. he’s muscular. clearly works out. has toned abs, large biceps (much larger than eddie’s), toned thighs and calves, and his ass is round like a summer peach.

eddie thinks it would taste even better on his tongue.

steve’s a seasoned professional which means he knows damn well how to put on a show. he arches his back expertly, tugs at the long brown tendrils of hair that dip towards his collarbones, and moans wantonly.

“okay—@yourgayestfantasy765 says, ‘pretty boy, you’re so fucking hot,’” steve smirks, fucks his teddy slow and precise, takes his time, “that’s so sweet. thank you!”

his words are kind, but his tone is bored and bone dry. the fact is he reads hundreds of comments like this all the time. it’s nothing new, doesn’t catch him off guard. his hips roll into the plushie’s tummy without stuttering.

it’s hard to concentrate, but eddie’s determined to stand out. racks his brain for something interesting to comment. something that will catch pretty boy’s attention.

he has to be the one to make steve cum. he has to win that five-minute video call. it would change his life to have that chance conversation with the love of his life. the only person he’s ever really wanted.

maybe he’d finally get out of bumfuck, indiana. maybe he’d finally lose his virginity and film videos with pretty boy all the time once he got some tangible experience under his—currently—un-notched belt.

eddie spies the signature tramp stamp—a row of three butterflies—between the dimples above the swell of his ass. he’s spent many long showers with his cock in his hands as he imagines sinking his teeth into that exact spot.

steve rambles off a few more copycat, lack luster comments as eddie types. he theatrically yawns midway through one to show his disinterest. the bear looks equally unimpressed below him.

“aw. you think i have a pretty cock? thank you so much, @daddydicklvr!” he blows a kiss, “but i think you can do better than that.”

eddie’s nervous. he wants this so badly. his palms are clammy. there’s chip crumbs littering the keys of his computer and it occurs to him that he should probably clean up the place when pretty boy inevitably comes over for a date.

he presses send.

“hmm—oh i recognize this username! you’ve been a longtime subscriber, haven’t you ethebanished? let’s read your comment,” pretty boy smiles genuinely and slows his movements to read, licking over his lips carefully, “‘this is going to sound crazy but sometimes i think i’m actually falling in love with you even though i’ve never met you. you’re amazing.’”

the rest of the audience immediatley thumbs down eddie’s message. the replies are even worse:

@kissmyaxx7: fuck off the stream, perv!

@nottaken_: guy thinks he really has a chance lmfao. pretty boy doesn’t date fans. you must be new here.

@titsandtats: smells desperate af in here…

@yoyostar6000: are u even trying to make him cum?

he cringes inwardly, worries he’s royally fucked up his chances, and hovers over the ‘x’ on the tab to click off.

but as he moves the mouse, pretty boy moans high in his throat and eddie finds him shivering with pleasure. his own cock jumps at the sight and suddenly he’s back in action, stroking himself from root to tip as he waits.

“in love with me, huh? i can work with that. tell me more, @ethebanished, i’m listening.”

steve’s a fucking temptress, sucks on his fingers as his thighs start to shake from effort. he’s sloppy with it—shows off his missing gag reflex and doesn’t clean up the spit the dribbles down his chest.

eddie can’t look away. doesn’t want to. his body is on fire with want and he types furiously one-handed:

@ethebanished: idk…it’s everything about u. ur smile, ur voice, ur cute little cock, ur attitude. i just feel like we’d get along great.

other audience members try to compete for steve’s attention, but he ignores them. lets their comments disappear into the chat as he reads eddie’s aloud.

“oh i’m sure you say that to all the girls and boys, cutie. there’s probably a line at your door right now,” steve’s dick is milky at the tip and he’s pressing it between his tummy and the bear. ends of the ribbon peeking out.

eddie sucks in a breath. pulls hard on each nipple for….confidence?? he can’t believe he’s about to admit this to the hottest guy he’s ever seen.

send.

@ethebanished: not quite. i’m a virgin. never had sex before let alone a boyfriend :/

pretty boy’s face—or, what eddie can see of it—lights up at that. his grin widens, reaching around to toy with his rim while he thrusts faster.

“holy shit. i gotta admit that’s hot—ah.”

eddie responds quickly:

@ethebanished: thx. no one else seems to think so. i’m kinda a loser but i promise i’d be so good to you. i’d do whatever you asked of me. idc. only have eyes for you.

steve’s little cock rabbits forwards. he pins the teddy with one hand and edges one finger into his ass with the other.

“fuck. i wish this was your cock, @ethebanished. my fingers just won’t do. i bet you’d be all messy your first time. probably cum inside me before you’d even gotten two inches in,” he whines—going deeper into the fantasy, “i’m mean, though, baby. i’d trap you inside me. i’d ride you until you begged me to stop, honey and then i’d suck you dry. how’s that sound, perv? you wanna stretch my cute cunt on your cock? i’ll teach you how to be a good boy with my pussy.”

pretty boy sticks a second finger in his ass and his balls smush against the fuzzy leg of the teddy as he grinds. his hips move in tight clockwise circles. humping the plushie with primal desire.

what eddie would do to have him rut on his face in the exact same way—

eddie’s getting close. he’s thumbing his cockhead roughly and biting down hard on the hem of his shirt. it’s almost painful to be this turned on. if he doesn’t cum soon he might just pass out or implode.

he sends one final message before he spills onto his hand and keyboard:

@ethebanished: so you gonna make me your bitch or what??

“@ethebanished says—oh fuck my pussy’s so wet, i’m not gonna last—he says—ah—oh my god,” steve shakes, groans like he’s been mortally wounded, and shoots cum all over the body of the pink plushie, “fuck yes—yes—be my bitch. gonna fucking ruin you, sweetie.”

steve humps himself through the rest of his orgasm and slowly withdraws his fingers. the little silk ribbon is somehow still attached at the base of his cock but it’s drenched. he unties it and licks his own release from the soft pink fabric.

eddie’s brain is fried. he’s still horny. he’ll likely jack of at least twice more before bed to prerecorded videos of pretty boy but he’s content.

he won.

he has a chance.

pretty boy smiles into the camera, kisses the lens with pink gloss as is his trademarked move, and squeezes the soggy teddy to his chest.

“alright that’s all i’ve got in me for tonight. but congrats to my horny little virgin @ethebanished. teddy and i look forward to meeting you on our call tomorrow! i’ll dm you the link. everyone else, good luck next time and have a slutty saturday! mwah.”

the livestream ends, eddie can hardly breathe, and his uncle knocks on the door.

“eddie, dinner’s ready! i made lasagna!”

instinctively he covers up his body.

“be out in a second! i’m—i’m working on a song!” he yells back and then pulls up a pre-downloaded video of pretty boy to prepare for his big day tomorrow.

THE END.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn, @bestofbucky, @shrimply-a-menace, @vampireinthesun, @carlyv, @lordrrascal , @jjoesjonas , @malachitedevil , @anxiouseds, @feraleddiekinninghours, @gay-little-bitch, @jhrc666, @pinkdaisies98, @mcneen, @perseus-notjackson, @eiddets, @corroded-coffin-groupie, @three-possums-playing-human, @stevesbipanic, @plutoshelm, @arkenstoned, @indiearr, @they-reap-what-we-sow, @gleek4twd

#perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie #perv!steddie #virgin!eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fruity four #stranger things #steddie brainrot #babygirl steve harrington #the babygirlification of steve harrington #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie ao3 #steddie writers #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic recs

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Take My Hand, We'll Be Fine (Promise I Won't Let You Down)

A/N: did you really think I could go all of @sjmromanceweek without posting some Nessian? I just think there's no better romantic gesture than telling your hot neighbor to dump her piece of shit boyfriend, ya know? 😉 Special shout-out to @dustjacketmusings for giving me this prompt!

Read on AO3

They’re fighting again.

Cassian swipes up his television remote from his coffee table, muting the game currently playing. He doesn’t even need to prick his ears or listen closely to make out the muffled voices filtering through the wall to his right. Doesn’t need to try hard to recognize the rough, clipped voice and the more feminine, cool tone that answers. He can’t quite make out the words being said, but it’s easy enough to guess. It doesn’t help that this is practically the norm for the apartment next to his.

He still remembers the first time he met his next door neighbor, Nesta Archeron, the day she moved in. Even in that moment, even with her hair messy, her cheeks pink, and a large box hefted in her arms, she had been the most beautiful woman Cassian had ever seen in his life. Her face was all sharp, beautiful lines, high cheekbones and arching eyebrows. Her eyes had been a stormy, piercing blue that had enraptured him as soon as their gazes met. Her pretty pink lips twisting into a scowl had him wanting to drop to his knees right there in the hall, fire blazing through his chest to meet that expression.

Could anyone really blame him for being a goner from that moment on?

He’d found any and every excuse to see her again, to talk to her again. Casual run-ins in the hall, in the lobby. Getting the mail at the same time. Going down to the laundry room at the same time. Anything to see her roll her eyes at him. To see her give that expression that he’s deemed her I Will Slay My Enemies look. Anything for the game of back and forth he built with her full of quips and retorts that always leave him wanting more.

Anything to see her smile. To hear that beautiful breathy melody of her laugh. To watch the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she’s passionate about. To catch that softness that takes over when she talks about her friends or her family. Every tiny piece she hands over Cassian tucks away close to his heart. And every interaction, no matter how small, no matter how much time passes in between, leaves him yearning for more.

And he’s learned a lot about Nesta through those interactions. He learned that she has two sisters, one who lives in the city and another who lives in the countryside. He learned she’s a damn good lawyer and definitely his first call if he ever needs to be bailed out of jail. He learned that she’s a terrible cook and has a serious affinity for ordering takeout most nights. He learned that she has a serious book addiction if the endless bookstore packages are any indication.

And he learned that she has the worst boyfriend Cassian has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Cassian still isn’t sure how Tomas was able to get a woman as beautiful and as amazing as Nesta to agree to a single date with his sorry ass, let alone agree to be his girlfriend. The bastard clearly doesn’t know what he has, how lucky he is. That a woman like Nesta Archeron is incomparable. And yet, Cassian has seen the way his eyes have wandered to the blonde in 4C’s ass. Has witnessed the unimpressed, bored expression he wears when Nesta is speaking. Has heard the unnecessarily rude and sometimes cruel words he flings carelessly at Nesta.

The last one in particular always has Cassian’s blood boiling, dark tendrils constricting through his chest until he’s glaring daggers at the man in question any time he sees him in the apartment building. He wishes he and Nesta were more than just neighbors just so he could tell her what a piece of shit her boyfriend is. Wishes it wouldn’t be weird if he suggested she dump him.

He wishes he could tell her how he really feels, how he swears he’s already falling for her despite their limited interactions. How he fears that there will never be anyone else for him. Wishes he could show her what it’s like to be with a real man, one who respects her. One who genuinely cares about her and isn’t afraid to show her, to shout it from the rooftops. He’d treat her right, treat her so much better than Tomas ever could.

A door slams next door, and Cassian is on his feet in a moment. He glances around his apartment, looking for something he can quickly grab as an excuse. The last time he had heard a crash come from next door, his worry and concern had consumed him enough to send him propelling out of his own apartment and banging his fist against Nesta’s door. But things had been awkward and tense when Nesta answered the door seemingly alright, and when Tomas demanded to know what he was doing, Cassian had ended up stumbling over his words, too distracted by a pair of icy blue eyes swimming with questions. So this time, Cassian ties off his half full trash bag and hauls it up out of the bin.

“Will you hurry up?” Tomas’s voice reaches Cassian as he yanks open his front door. “You know that I don’t like to be late to Sullivan’s, or else we won’t get the best seats at the bar.”

“Maybe if we went to a proper restaurant where you can make a reservation instead of the same dive bar every week, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Nesta answers him, and even before he lays eyes on her, Cassian can perfectly picture the way she must be rolling her eyes.

“Maybe if you didn’t take so long doing your stupid fucking hair–”

Tomas’s words trail off when he notices Cassian standing in his now open doorway. Already, the man looks annoyed at his presence, jaw clenching with a restraint scowl. The sight has an easy smirk tugging up Cassian’s lips, how fast he’s able to garner such a reaction, but he only has eyes for Nesta.

She has on a short, dark blue dress, black flower lace overlaid on the silky fabric. Black heeled boots further elongate her legs and the skin on display, the tantalizing lines of her collarbones highlighted by the dress’s neckline. Her hair is styled in her preferred braided crown, but a few strands curl around her temples and frame her face, and Cassian knows he’d give anything to curl one of those strands around his finger. With the pink dusted across her cheeks and mascara heightening the icy blue of her eyes, he has to swallow hard and clear his throat before finding his voice again, struck dumb by the beauty of her in front of him.

“Nesta,” Cassian greets, finally flicking his gaze back to the other man in the hall. “Tommy.”

“It’s Tomas,” Tomas snaps back, his sneer only deepening when Cassian shrugs in response. “What are you even doing?”

Cassian’s smile is all mocking and teeth, holding up the trash back in his hands. “Just taking out the trash. Maybe Nesta should consider doing the same.”

Whether Tomas understands the double meaning or not, Cassian doesn’t get a chance to find out. Nesta steps forward, linking her arm with her boyfriend’s with a quiet, murmured reminder that they’re running late. They continue down the hall, Cassian watching them until they vanish around the corner, until he hears the quiet ding of the elevator.

He closes his front door with a soft sigh, glancing consideringly back toward his television still playing the game, but then an idea hits him. It’s a risk, most definitely stupid, but maybe he’s always been a bit reckless. Rushing back toward his living room, Cassian grabs his phone where he left it, opening up the text chain with his family.

Anyone down for drinks tonight? Found a new bar we should try

~ * * * ~

Sullivan’s isn’t much to write home about as far as bars go. Posters and photos litter almost every free inch of space on the walls, a pool table set up to the right, and round high top tables and bar stools arranged around the rest of the space. The bar juts out from the wall in the center of the room, bottles lining the shelves. It may be the nicest dive bar Cassian has ever set foot in, but it’s still a dive bar, the stench of beer and sweat heavy.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Azriel sighs from Cassian’s right.

Cassian turns toward his brother, but Azriel’s attention is elsewhere. When Cassian follows his gaze, he finds Nesta and Tomas sitting at one of the high top tables. Her back is ramrod straight, fingers curled tightly around the glass of wine sitting primly in front of her, but Tomas doesn’t seem to notice. He sips casually from a beer bottle, his attention focused more on the patrons around him.

“Isn’t that your neighbor?” Mor pipes up from Cassian’s left. “The one you’re in love with?”

“Is Nesta here?” Cassian asks innocently, refusing to meet either Azriel or Mor’s gaze. “What are the odds of that?”

“If I’m playing wingman tonight, you owe me so many drinks,” Azriel grumbles with a shake of his head.

“Drinks on Cassian?” Mor teases, looping her arm with Azriel’s and dragging him toward the bar. “I like the sound of that. Let’s order all top shelf.”

Cassian rolls his eyes good naturedly, but he follows behind his family, buying the first round of drinks after all. He lets Azriel and Mor get settled, lets them chat about their respective weeks and jobs, and all the while, he stares across the bar at Nesta and Tomas. He doesn’t understand how anyone can sit across from Nesta Archeron and ignore her. How they can want to do anything other than bask in her presence. How they could care more about a freshly out of college girl clearly working the pool table just for free drinks.

“So, I need a favor,” Cassian begins, interjecting into the conversation swirling around him.

“I’m surprised you waited this long,” Azriel remarks dryly.

“Very funny,” Cassian fires back, turning his attention to Mor and offering the blonde his best, most winning smile. “I need you to go flirt with that guy over there.”

“Seriously, Cass?” Mor huffs, her face exasperated.

“Please? I’ll buy your drinks for the rest of the night. The best wine they have. However many glasses you want. Especially if you can somehow make an accident happen that gets him away from the table.”

Mor narrows her eyes, scrutinizing him, her eyes dancing briefly toward the table across the bar. “This Nesta better be worth it.”

“Trust me,” Cassian assures her quietly, unable to stop from smiling. “She is.”

Cassian isn’t sure what Mor sees on his face, but her expression softens. She rolls her eyes fondly and swipes up her glass of wine, slipping off her bar stool. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she strides her way over to Nesta and Tomas, plastering on a wide, flirtatious smile. It’s certainly entertaining for Cassian, watching his friend work. She twirls the blonde strands of hair around her fingers, places her hand on Tomas’s arm, makes a big show of laughing loudly at whatever is said. It would almost be comical if Tomas wasn’t eating up every second.

“Come on, Mor,” Cassian mumbles under his breath. “Hurry it up, already.”

“You really need all the help you can get, don’t you?” Azriel sighs, setting his now finished drink on the bartop.

Azriel steps around Cassian and heads toward the table as well. He makes eye contact with Mor, some sort of silent agreement passing between the two, and then Azriel is walking behind her. His arm brushes along her back, Mor’s cue to fake stumbling forward a step, her half full glass of wine spilling right across Tomas’s shirt and pants.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tomas’s voice carries even to where Cassian is sitting. “Do you have any idea how expensive this shirt is?”

Tomas storms off toward the bathrooms, Mor hot on his heels and offering overly innocent apologies. She winks at Cassian as they pass, and Cassian has to stifle a laugh into his hand to keep Tomas from noticing him. One last glance to make sure Tomas is gone and the coast is clear, and Cassian wastes no time cutting his way across the bar and sliding into the now vacated seat across from Nesta.

“Some date, huh?” Cassian jokes lightly, Nesta’s attention snapping to him.

“Cassian… what are you doing here?”

Despite the question, Cassian swears he sees Nesta’s shoulders start to relax from where they’re pitched up near her ears, swears he sees what looks suspiciously like relief flood through her eyes. He lets it fuel the hope swarming and twisting in his gut, the warmth blooming between his ribs and tightening around his heart like a golden thread. He knows he could easily play the whole thing off as a coincidence, shrug the question away with mentions of his family and their drinking habits.

But he knew the gamble he was taking by crashing Nesta’s date tonight, and maybe, this is his chance. His chance to show Nesta just how much she already means to him. To prove to her that he can treat her better.

“Your boyfriend sucks,” Cassian says rather than answer her question.

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, eyebrows pinching slightly. “What?”

“Tomas. He sucks ass, and you should absolutely dump him. I’m serious, Nes. You deserve so much better than his sorry excuse.”

“You seem quite sure of that, do you?”

“Yeah, I do. I might not have known you very long, but I know that you’re beautiful, and you’re smart, and you’re witty and passionate, and you care so much about your sisters and your friends. And you deserve someone who cherishes you. You can do so much better than that piece of shit.”

Cassian’s words hang in the space between them, the rest of the bar fading away into nothing until it’s just him and her and the sparks and electricity charging the air around them. Nesta stares at him like she’s never seen him before, like no one’s ever said things like that to her before. It sends cracks ricocheting like icy claws through his chest. Especially, when Nesta drops her gaze away from him, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

It leaves him wanting to find whoever in her past has her unsure, wanting to go track down where Tomas has vanished to and punch him in the face for making her curl into herself. It makes his determination to show her what it could be like harden even more, makes him want to spend the rest of his life properly cherishing her if she’ll let him.

“I don’t know about all that,” Nesta offers, her voice quiet.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Cassian asks instead, reaching his hand across the table and skating his fingertips across the back of Nesta’s hand, drawing her attention fully back to him.

Nesta sighs softly. “Cassian—”

“Let me prove it to you. Prove what it could be like, should be like. Prove what a good date is. Prove that I’d treat you better.”

Nesta thinks about it for a moment, emotions flitting through those blue eyes faster than Cassian can decipher. But then Nesta is slipping out of her seat and grabbing her purse, turning away from him. Cassian’s heart sinks through his feet and the floor, and it takes all his willpower to keep his disappointment off his face as he watches her.

“One date,” Nesta tells him, looking back at him expectantly.

“One date is all I need, sweetheart,” Cassian assures her, jumping out of his own seat. “Now, let’s get out of here before Tomas realizes what’s hit him.”

Cassian grabs Nesta’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and leading her out of the bar. Her hand feels right in his, his fingers curled around her own, their palms pressed together, and Cassian knows in that moment that he has no intention of ever letting go again. He uses his free hand to dig his phone out of his pocket, working quickly to get everything ready, to make everything perfect for this opportunity, but he’s still nervous by the time they arrive at their destination.

Nesta’s steps pause as she glances around them. “Our one date is going to be at our apartment complex?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Cassian asks, holding open the door for her.

“You sure are asking a lot for this one date.”

“And the night is still young.”

Cassian offers her a wink for extra good measure, earning a laugh from Nesta in return. The sound is light and easy, the melody wrapping around Cassian’s limbs as surely as it wraps around his heart. It might just be his favorite sound, the way her blue eyes light up along with the reaction his favorite sight, and he can’t wait to draw even more laughs out of her.

He leads the way back up to their floor, all of the paper and plastic bags he expects waiting right outside his apartment door. He sends up a silent prayer to the Mother in thanks that so far everything is going to plan.

“What’s all this?” Nesta asks, eying the bags as well.

“Well, I noticed you order a lot of takeout,” Cassian explains, gathering up the different bags and unlocking his apartment door.

Nesta scoffs even as she steps inside and into his apartment. “Are you judging me for being a terrible cook?”

“Never. I’ll have you know I actually love to cook, so we’re a good pair, but I didn’t really have time to prepare anything tonight, so I figured I’d order everything I’ve worked out to be your favorites based on what you seem to order the most,” Cassian explains, setting all the bags down on his kitchen counter and beginning to pull the different containers out. “Crab rangoon from Bar Bao. Butter chicken and basmati from Urban Tandoor. Garlic breadsticks and ravioli from Tony’s. California rolls from Black Dragon. And triple chocolate cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.”

Nesta is silent, staring wide-eyed at all the food, at him, so Cassian turns to grab plates just to give his hands something to do. When she still hasn’t said anything, he clears his throat awkwardly, pushing a hand up and through his hair.

“So…” Cassian starts, handing a plate over to Nesta. “What do you think?”

“I think you might just get a second date after all.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise

#nessian #sjmromanceweek2024 #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf #my fic

[vonev]

The Strings Of Webs (and the ones you’ve woven)

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Chapter 1: The Beginning Of Something New (and something unknown)

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary: So—just imagine, one day you’re sitting in your home, enjoying your day off of the usual stressful work you had, only for a mysterious asshole to appear and snatch you away from your home, your safe space. 

Not only that, but he decided to put you in his sick version of a jail and start demeaning your entire existence in front of other strangers that, for some reason, are replicas of each other. Something something Spider-men and the Spider Society, the entire safety and security of the multiverse on your hands, and that you were the cause of everyone’s downfall.

 Yeah, that’s your life now.

Part I Part II 

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

“—be wary of glitches around you, contact your local hospital immediately if you or your family encounter symptoms or signs of glitching—“

“—whoever decided we should allow kids to have free lunches in school doesn’t realize that the school needs to be fed too! This is why—“

“—and I said, boom! Spider-man, I caught you red-handed!”

“Spider-man spotted running around the city terrorizing civilians with whipped cream, but witnesses said it was a hoax by some random troll—“

“—on tonight’s news of Daily Bugle, Spider-man has been found dead—“

You halted.

The notion of mindlessly clicking next on the different channels paused when you heard the key words, ‘Spider-man’ and ‘found dead’.

To say you were shocked was an understatement of the century, Spider-man out of all the people in the entire universe was declared deceased should not simply gloss over everyone’s mind.

Your jaw hung open, the words still dancing in your mind like lovers on a weekend honeymoon trip, holding onto each other yet under the surface, something else was brewing.

Fuck.

You wanted to seek out Spider-man, so how are you supposed to, now, if he is dead?

You gritted your teeth out of pure frustration, you had hoped you’d catch him in his act of swinging around your part of the city, just being the friendly neighborhood Spider-man as he always usually does.

You are desperate for an answer to a question, nervously biting down on the skin around your nail as you stood up and paced around your living room for a solution.

Bring him back from the dead? No.

Frankenstein him and pray he would have a sliver of his memory left? No.

Pray? No, God never answers, anyway.

You scratched the itchy spot where the spider bit you earlier, pondering over the chances of you being able to summon his spirit through a summoning ritual in the book called ‘Satanism for beginners: dummies edition’ you found at a random thrift shop earlier.

You weren’t in a rush per se, but then again, Spider-man not being alive meant you would never be able to satiate your raging curiosity.

You shrugged, and mourned for Spider-man in your special little way: making yourself a bomb ass dinner and popping a brand new champagne bottle in his honor, as a salute to his service and him as a whole.

After all, Spider-man would’ve wanted this. You doubt he would want people to gather around and shed tears on his grave rather than share happy encounters together with each other in his memories.

You were only assuming, but he did seem like a sweet kid from the handful of run-ins you had with him.

Letting out a deep sigh, you let your feet carry you to your kitchen, rummaging through the fridge in search of the barely expired package of steak shoved into the far back. You inspected the meat sitting inside the packaging, noting how it was starting to turn a grey-greenish hue. You debated on even cooking it and risking your health, but your stomach grumbled the moment you did and you decided against the better of it and made the meal anyway.

You let the well-seasoned steak sit in the pan with melted butter and rosemary, casually basking it in melted butter once in a while with a spoon with the garlic clove sitting on the side, your other hand holding a glass of champagne from the bottle you popped, taking leisure sips in-between your cooking.

Despite its flaws, the smell of the steak was heavenly.

You give yourself a pat on the back and proceed to nicely decorate your plate with the cut-up steak, bringing it to the living room along with the bottle of champagne for more of it later.

“—Spider-man’s identity has been revealed upon his death—“

On the screen, it showed a picture of a promising, rather young looking man, with messy blonde streaks of hair adorning his face and a nice smile with a glint of joy in his eyes.

He looked like he could’ve been anyone’s kid, and that thought saddened you. You decided to switch to Netflix and brought the blanket over your lap as you leisurely browse the catalogue for what seemed like eternity, your steak slowly going cold.

“Holy fuck, nothing at all.”

You settled for watching a 4-hour video essay on YouTube instead, slowly munching your steak away and huddled up in your comfy blanket.

As if the universe had it out for you, a bright orange glow suddenly took over your tiny apartment space in mere seconds, you snapped your head toward the source and immediately shot an arm up to cover your eyes, the lights were borderline blinding. You tried to sneak glances toward what could’ve caused the commotion, and your heart almost popped out of your chest at the sight of a random portal-looking hole in the middle of your apartment.

And out came the hole was possibly one of the biggest men you’ve seen, standing at a staggering 6 '8 stature you would think he had been an otherworldly entity. You could’ve sworn you saw him tore through the fabric of space and time with what seemed to be blades built into his elbow.

And his suit…

He looked like a Spider-man, with the obvious spider symbol embedded into the front of his skin-tight suit. He was a tall wall of pure muscles, looking nothing like the Spider-man your city has grown to know and love, but how could he be Spider-man—

—if Spider-man is dead?  

You looked into his gaze, a fit of pure rage, disdain and disgust could be felt from where you assumed would be his eyes. After all, they say eyes are the windows to one’s soul. His gaze held onto yours as he slowly approached where you sat, you felt a shiver down your spine that spoke to your soul. And it wasn’t as though he had a face to gauge his emotions by—his posture and the big, intimidating steps he took said it all.

This was terrifying, he was terrifying.

Your breath hitched once he got close enough to see the hair standing at the back of your neck like a frightened cat.

Was it hot in here, or was it just you? Or maybe him?

You had no clue, but you could feel yourself starting to sweat as though you had just run a marathon, and your senses were on high alert with how close the man was to you, your flight or fight alarm blaring like a thousand horns in your head.

He was not good news.

But you couldn’t move.

You felt yourself frozen up, and you wish you had been better at responding because you could’ve, and are probably about to be murdered. You took a gulp of breath, suddenly the feeling of your saliva going down your throat felt more vivid than ever in the small confined space of you and him.

You could see the way he scrunched up his nose with the moving wrinkles of his mask, pulling back from staring you down.

He diverted his attention to the watch on his wrist, fiddling with it before a hologram appeared in mid-air like some sort of Sci-Fi freak show, and a small lady appeared on the screen.

“What is it you want now, Miguel?” She groaned, seemingly annoyed at his advance of calling her out to do whatever he wanted at the time.

“Don’t give me that attitude, Lyla, pull out the files from yesterday,” he wasted no time biting back at her, almost as though he would start a fight with her right then and there if he wanted to.

From where you sat, with your legs tightly close to your chest and your blanket now on the floor, you still held dear to the plate of steak you were enjoying half a minute ago before everything conspired, your grip like a super-glue on the fork you held. You noted the rather adorable appearance of the girl, Lyla, was it?

She had a full body fur coat on with what you were certain was a pair of large, heart shaped glasses sitting on her tiny nose bridge.

“Nuh-uh,” she quipped, staring at her nails like she was bored of what Miguel had to say.

“Lyla.”

“Nope.”

“I swear to God—“

“Good luck with that, Miguel.”

You found it comical how they went back and forth with each other, you couldn’t tell if Miguel was joining in on the fun or he had been genuinely annoyed—and for all you know (and for what you couldn’t) he seemed to lean in on the latter. To be fair, he didn’t strike you as the type to bring fun into the party with what he had shown so far.

“Lyla, could you please show me the files from yesterday,” he paused for a few seconds, as if the next words out of his mouth hurt him physically to say out loud, “with a cherry on top.”

Lyla seemed satisfied with that, you could hear her giggle. “Already on it,” and swiped her hand across the air as multiple screens appeared, some with more content than the others, but amongst all the mumbo-jumbo of information you saw one thing that struck curiosity further into you—

—it was a profile of your face, and from what you saw, you looked absolutely amazing in the picture.

You let out a sigh of relief, at least they had the decency to pick a nice picture of you.

At least when you die, you’ll die looking pretty.

Miguel snapped his head to you when he heard your sigh, the pretend-eyes on his mask narrowed to a dangerous slit.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this, criminal.”

You don’t know what you were supposed to feel with the way he bit his words at you, hissing, almost. But you felt quite offended—and you had a backbone unlike anyone else that would’ve been in your situation.

“You—you did not just threaten me,” You fought his gaze with the determination and anger in yours, and for a flash of a second, you saw the way his eyes widened—almost as though he was surprised you would rebut him. “You come into my home, ruin my nice dinner, and now you act like I just annihilated your entire family!”

You had placed your dinner and glass of champagne onto the IKEA coffee table in front of you, choosing to cross your arms over your chest as you scoffed in his direction, staring him down (or up?) like a disappointed parent at a teacher-parent meeting conference.

His lips pulled back in a snarl, and if he hadn’t had any ounce of self-restraint; he would’ve been pouncing on you with force you never even knew were possible. But to him, you only sound like a child whining about not getting their favorite toy—which greatly amused him, considering what you have done.

“Funny coming from someone who terrorized multiple dimensions,” he scoffed, inching his face closer to yours by towering his massive figure over you, an act of intimidation meant to catch you off-guard and make you fear him.

But what he didn't know was that you worked at Starbucks—so nothing, and you mean nothing could scare you like the ladies did when they’re on their fifth run of Starbucks of the day, irritated from their job and demanding custom drinks that made you cry on your lunch break. You merely glanced at him, your face stoic and devoid of any signs of fear.

“Listen here, big guy,” you jabbed a finger at his chest, caught off guard by how unexpectedly soft the fabric of his suit was—you could vividly feel the tensed muscles beneath them. “You don’t get to strut into my home via some strange portal and tell me what I did wrong, and for your information, you sound like a massive idiot going on about your ‘multidimensional threat’ bullcrap.”

By the end of your rant, he had already concluded that you were going to be a pain in his ass; and for that, he reached his arm out to grab the wrist you pointed at him with, squeezing it, serving as a silent threat.

The kind that wouldn’t end well if you don’t listen.

And to his dismay, you showed no signs of discomfort, only an increased amount of annoyance he could spot in your eyes as you tried to snatch your wrist away from his steel grip but ultimately failed.

“Listen here, cariño,” he said, sarcasm dripping off of him like honey. “You don’t get to dictate who’s in control after all that you’ve done,” his hold on your wrist now tightened tenfold, and he relished in the discomfort he could see when your face contorted, hearing your hiss of pain.

“Dickhead,” you grumbled underneath your breath, the frustration, annoyance and anger boiling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him—you held back your tongue from hurling more insults his way. And to your dismay, he caught what slipped between your lips, his face getting closer than ever and you could feel the fan of his breath on the tip of your nose.

“Wanna repeat that?”

“I said—“ you prepared yourself for an attack, a foot to his abdomen would do it, just one quick move and he would be out of your hair as you flee from the perpetrator. “Fucking,” …anytime now—

—“Dickhead!”

In an instant, your foot connected with his abdomen, and you kicked. The next few seconds were a blur—his eyes widening at the feeling of your foot on his torso and the actual impact it had. You were frightened at the way he was pushed off of you and into the wall behind him, the strength of your kick causing the wall to give in from the sudden pressure. You could’ve sworn you saw the massive dent in the walls when he slid down—but you wasted zero milliseconds pondering any thoughts you may have.

As he slowly gathered his senses, you were already out of the apartment, bolting.

The adrenaline started to kick in as you practically ran for your life like you’ve never had before—that was because you didn’t have to until now.

You didn’t have to turn around to hear how Miguel had busted through your apartment window, the way the ground shook (or was it just you?) as you felt the weight of his limbs and how they carried him fast.

He was approaching.

And God, for once in your life did you wish you dead.

You would figure out how to explain to your landlord about the broken window and crumbled walls later—for now, survive.

But somehow, you outran him—choosing to swerve your way past the innocent bystanders in a zigzag manner as you yelled ‘sorry’ and ‘forgive me’, if you had learn anything from watching animal documentaries, it was to escape predators by confusing it thus your zigzag marathon.

You were frantically praying to something out there that your strategy was working, because if you paid attention, you would feel the way he was borderline breathing down your neck, toying with you. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears, edging the thin thread of going deaf with how loud it was.

The people you rushed past all collectively gasped and ogled, some even cheered, and you could just tell he was on your tail.

That’s no good.

Your eyes noted the sight of an entry to an alleyway, it was your only chance to survive his borderline murderous attempt at capturing you as you skillfully took a swift turn into the alleyway, your back immediately met the wall as you tried to calm your haggard breaths—you did not want to be spotted by him.

A flash of blue and red rushed past the corridor where you hid, and after a few seconds of no signs of activity of him being near you—you let out a small sigh, one that you had been holding on to dear life.

If you had known any better, you would’ve spotted the sight of his feet above you at the top of the building, crouched as he watched your every move—the way your body suggested your relaxed state and how you strut deeper into the alleyway; big mistake, in his humble opinion.

With the thought in mind that you had effectively avoided Miguel, you slowly caught your breath, your chest heaving as you wiped away the huge amount of sweat that gathered on your forehead. You started chuckling, in your adrenaline high, you weren’t able to hear the way Miguel stealthily fell on a balcony closer to you, how he dropped behind you without as much as a ‘thud’ coming from his soft landing.

To you, you just had the chase of your life—and to your utter surprise, you managed to swerve off a man of a stature and agility like his; it was enough to warren yourself a pat on the back as you felt a smile tug at your lips.

“Having fun?”

Shit. Shit. Double shit.

You were a goner.

Your senses were off the charts now, tingling like a spider crawling all over the back of your neck, sending a shockwave of shivers down your spine. You could smell him, that or your senses were starting to betray you. For a flash of a second what felt like claws tugged at your ankle, causing you to tumble over onto your stomach as you let out a loud yelp in pain.

He had caught up to you, to your unfortunate self, evident by the weight of his foot pressed against the small of your back, applying an immense amount of pressure that caused you to cry out in pain.

“Fucking—how?!” You shouted, your throat hoarse from all the yelling and screaming activities you had been conducting, your high slowly wearing off as your mind instantly jumped into a new stage of emotions you’ve never truly felt before: the utter fear that sent chills down your very core, the burning fire running amok in your nerves, and the loud banging headache you felt when you were knocked down.

“You let your guards down,” Miguel found utmost amusement in the way you squirm underneath his foot, your arms struggling to catch a hold onto something, anything. To him, it was just an ordinary chase on the daily he would frequently experience, running off of the high that it gave him as he bent over to look into your gaze; filled with so much hatred and disdain—and all for him.

It excited him, almost.

But to you, having led the most normal life ever of an average person, being chased by a multidimensional superhero who could traverse the universe within a flick of his wrist was never part of your scheduled programs. And at this moment, you had no idea what to believe in anymore.

The universe was playing a cruel joke on you, and they are laughing.

You caught his gaze and could note the way his pretend-eyes glistened with a bundle of emotions: rage, annoyance, a murderous intent, and excitement. All seething and hissing underneath that stupid mask of his. If he was honest to himself, the situation was the most fun he had in a while.

“Next time,” as he got closer to you, his voice turned into a mere whisper, “Try not breathing so hard, cariño.”

With what you would assume was your death approaching in the figure of a bear for a man—his mask dissipated within an instance in pixels, his face now bare to you as he only got closer and closer, your eyes blown wide open with fear and the pace of your breathing picking back up into a brutal pace as anxiety swelled in your chest.

He had lifted his foot off of your back only to engulf you in his pair of strong, tree trunks for arms. You watched the way his jaw hung open, the light bounced off his fangs, the glint almost blinding you as you merely laid there, spent and mentally exhausted in his arms.

This was it.

This was how you would die.

In a game of predator and prey—and you were the prey that thought they got away.

And for the last few seconds of what you assumed to be the end of your life—you struggled against his hold, yet no attempts of yours were successful at feigning him off of you. He had the audacity to chuckle at your effort, like they meant nothing to him.

Because they didn’t.

To him, you were just an average, unfortunate prey becoming the meal he would treat himself to every night as a reward for his hard work having slaughtered you for his satiations; that being hunger and self-fulfillment.

And because he eyed you like one.

It was hard to miss the red glow in his iris, dominating the ring with his pupils blown out, looking like a crazed man with an addiction—and he had found his drug.

“Relax, you’re only making it harder for yourself.”

He brushed aside your hair, exposing the vulnerable spot of your neck—you could feel the way the tip of his fangs teased the bare skin on the back of where your neck and shoulder connected in a junction, taking his sweet time as his fingers traced up the sides of your arms, you could feel the bruises starting to blossom on your skin in response to his iron-like grip.

And before you knew it, he sunk his fangs into you, breaking your skin as you could only struggle even more so in his hold in pathetic attempts at escaping.

It burnt.

Oh God it burnt so fucking bad.

If you had thought your nerves were on fire before, they were quite literally bathing in a pool of lava by now. The venom has slowly integrated itself into your blood flow, inviting itself in like that annoying neighbor’s kid you never liked barging into your home.

You felt downright violated.

But you were helpless.

And for what felt like the last moment of your life, you could only sob, feeling the bubble of tears bursting and swimming down your reddened yet ghastly-looking cheeks like fish in the ocean. Consciousness slowly started to seep away like grasping at sands—little by little, they would be gone. Your vision gradually declined on you every second.

And along was what little dignity you had left as you slumped in Miguel’s arms, lifeless.

#spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #angst #hurt/comfort #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #spiderman

[yeollie-plz]

The Lovers

Knight! Pedro Pascal x Princess! Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: You always knew you would be queen one day, but you didn’t think the title came with an arranged marriage. Sir Pascal, offers you a way out.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: Y/N insert, mentions of blood and war, fantasy settings, contract marriage, age gap, fake marriage

Gif credits to owners!

The kingdom of Adéla was a small but strong one. It had a long running monarchy and a prospering army. Your family had been ruling for over five generations and soon it would be your turn.

The earliest memory you had was one of your father sitting you down on his thrown and telling you of the great things you could do for your country. His speech had made you feel empowered, you had never forgotten that moment.

Although you were a princess, your life wasn't all ballgowns and parties. It was also duty and study. When you were not in the library reading any book that was shoved towards you, you were sat beside your father learning the ins-and-outs of politics. The next moment you were learning to ride or keeping the peace in town. It seemed like there was never a moment to relax. You were stuffed into corsets and powdered with makeup. You were rushed to taste all the new offerings of the kitchen. You were...exhausted.

And when you were finally in the solitude of your room, you would think but to your earliest memory. It would make you sigh, eyes shutting, as you attempted to rub the strain out of your worried brow. You knew you had to be the queen everyone needed. You knew you had to follow your duty and keep the strength of your kingdom alive.

Your twenty-fifth birthday was arriving rapidly. Although you wouldn't become queen until your father passed (long live the king), this was the year you were to take on more responsibilities and start making decisions on your own. It was tradition. You were prepared, yet admittedly nervous.

You usually wouldn't make a fuss about your birthday but your mother insisted on it.

"This year is special." She would say. You nodded in agreeance, knowing you would never be able to get her to back down.

Preparations for your birthday party caused everyone to bustle around the palace more than usual. Your father, knowing you didn't really care, set you up in the library with a few study materials and left with a wink to deal with your stressed mother.

You tried to focus but it became difficult with all the noise from outside the large oak doors. With a sigh, you gathered all of your materials into your bag, and made your way outside to the garden. There was still some people out here but if you just went past the trees, you should be able to find some quiet.

Finally finding a comfy spot you placed your bag on the leaf covered ground. Sliding your jacket off your shoulders, you laid it out under a tree and sat down. You decided to take a breath and look up at the towering trees before getting enveloped into your books. Shutting your eyes as a gust of wind flowed over you.

Just for them to snap open at the sound of a blade slicing through the air and sticking to the tree inches from your head. You looked up at the assailant with a mixture of fury and confusion evident in your face. You couldn't see their face with the sun shining behind them.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" A man's voice asked.

"Me? I should be asking you that. Especially after almost slicing my head off." Grabbing the blade of the sword you pulled it out of the tree and away from your face. You ignored the pain from the cut you had inflicted onto yourself and stood to meet the man.

His face came into view as his brows furrowed looking down at the hand you had used to touch the blade. He was of good height and build with dark curly hair. A knight's badge glistened from his casual jacket.

"Why is an off duty knight carrying a sword?"

He ignored your question instead asking about your hand.

You rolled you eyes, "It's fine. Answer my question."

"I was on my way to bring it to the blacksmiths when I saw you."

"So you decided to use it?" You laughed out of shock. He nodded solemnly, still staring at your hand.

"I told you its fine. So, you thought I was trespassing into the palace?" Another nod.

"And what if I told you I lived here?" He finally looked up at your face.

"You live h-" He's cut off by someone calling your name. You both look towards the voice a maid coming into view.

"Ah, Princess Y/N, there you are. Your mother's been asking for you." She spoke up, glancing over at the man who was still staring at you.

"Princess?" The realization of his mistake flashing behind his eyes.

You laughed again, this time from amusement. "Yes, princess, sir..?"

"Pascal." He responded.

"Well Sir Pascal, it was very nice to-" your eyes glanced down to his sword "-meet you." Bowing your head slightly, you followed the maid back into the palace. Glancing back to still see him standing there in shock. What a strange man.

---- One Week Later, The Day Of The Party ----

Your wound was healing nicely, despite your mother had given you a lecture about going into the woods and hurting yourself. You hadn't returned to the woods and you hadn't seen Sir Pascal since that day.

Today was your birthday and the day of the party. Your mother had told you to stay in your room until tonight and not greet any guests. You weren't really sure why, but you agreed to her conditions anyway.

Your maids had been in and out of your room, getting you ready all day long. All of them convinced you had to look even prettier and more put together than usual. You just let them push you around and do anything they desired, knowing it was better to just sit still. A knock sounded at your door about an hour before your big entrance. Your maids were almost done with their preparations when your father walked into the room. Everyone stood and bowed in greeting, he smiled back.

"Ladies, can you leave us alone for a minute. I would like a word with the birthday girl." His smile now reached his eyes as you looked at you. You maids hurried out, leaving just you two.

"You look lovely, my dear." He father complimented, grabbing your hand in his. He turned it over in his hand and traced your veins.

"You know when your mother went into labor, I was so nervous. I knew one day I would have to have heirs, but when it was finally happening, I was besides myself. I didn't know how to be a father, let alone a good one. But the minute you arrived and the doctors had told me it was a girl, I felt like everything made sense. When I held you in my arms for the first time, I knew you would be a great leader. And as you grew it became more and more apparent everyday." He paused, as tears welled up in his eyes, yours mirroring his.

"Father..." You whispered.

He laughed and stood up straighter, dropping your hand. Breathing deeply to hold back his tears.

"Anyways, have a wonderful party my dear, I will see you down there." He moved towards the door and grabbed the knob. Turning it and opening it just a crack before turning back towards you.

"I'm sorry." He said before rushing out. Leaving you confused about what he was apologizing for.

Your maids finished getting you ready, after crying they had to touch up a bit of your makeup too. It was now time for you to join the rest of the guests down in the ballroom.

As you made your grand entrance down the large staircase, you scanned the crowd for any familiar faces. Your eyes locked onto Sir Pascal's, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked you up and down, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks before you forced yourself to look away.

The party was going smoothly, you were greeting dignitaries, eating, drinking, and dancing. Your mother had done an amazing job with the decorations, it was gorgeous. You kept meeting eyes with Sir Pascal but he never made his way over to talk to you.

You sighed finally deciding you would talk to him first. Just as you began to make your move towards him, your father called everyone's attention.

"I feel it's only right if the father of the birthday girl makes a speech." He laughed, causing everyone in the room to join in. "Y/N, is my only child and I have always held her close to my heart. One day she will be your Queen, a very important position, that she is more than prepared for." He smiled towards you. Tearing his eyes from you he looked over at your mother who nodded.

"But the Queen and I felt she should never have to rule alone." Your brows furrowed in confusion as two men made their way next to your parents. One was short, middle aged, with red hair. The other young, tall, and blonde. You weren't sure if you had met them before.

"Your new husband." A voice whispered behind you, you turned your head to see Sir Pascal standing there.

"My what?" You whispered back, sure you had heard him incorrectly.

"Your betrothed, the blonde." He nodded his head towards the younger man.

You snapped your head back towards your father who was trying to read your face.

"We have decided to agree to a marriage between our two nations. The second son of Corenth, Prince Xavier to marry our Princess Y/N."

You couldn't hold back the shock from your face, as your jaw dropped open. You looked to the blonde, who you now knew to be Prince Xavier, he looked solemn. He must not like the idea either. Your eyes shifted to your father, he met them, a look of apology flooding his features.

Suddenly a heat rushed through you, your heart pounding inside your chest, as an applause erupted at the announcement. You were now acutely aware of the amount of bodies around you and the boning of your corset crushing your lungs, no longer able to breathe. You grasped at the lace of your dress trying to find some sort of relief but it was of no use.

Someone congratulated you from your left and it snapped you out of your stupor. You glanced quickly at the large glass doors that led out to the gardens. Without thinking, you grabbed the bottom of your dress so you wouldn’t trip and ran straight out the doors.

You kept running until you made it to a gazebo, where you feel to your knees and attempted to catch your breath. The night air had a slight chill to it, shocking your system into working again. As your breathing became more steady, you started to really process what you had just learnt. Suddenly a voice sounded behind you.

“So, looks like that wasn’t only an announcement to the kingdom, but you as well.” Out of anger you met the face that went with the voice. Sir Pascal was leaning against the banister of the gazebo. Your eyes bore into him.

“And you’re not happy about it either.” He deduced, more to himself than to you. A scoff was all you could muster.

He lifted himself back to an upright position and walked towards you. He bent down to a squat next to you and handed a glass to you. You eyed it suspiciously.

“Water.” He said with slight amusement. “Not like I’d poison you or anything.”

“You almost chopped my head off the first time we met.”

This time he did let of a laugh, “You’re right, but if I knew who you were I wouldn’t have done it.”

“So if I wasn’t the princess, you would’ve just done it, no hesitation.” You took a sip from the cup.

“No, if you weren’t so beautiful, I would’ve done it, no hesitation.” You choked at his response, quickly you covered it by clearing your throat.

“Sorry, I’m betrothed.” You said with an eye roll.

“But you don’t want to be.”

“No, I do not.” You looked down into the cup.

“What do you want?” He moved from his squatting position, fully onto the floor next to you. He rested his head on his hand and leaned in a little closer. You could almost feel his breath on your neck.

“I’m really not sure. My whole life I’ve been trained to rule. I always knew I was stuck in this box of being princess and later I’d be even more stuck as queen. But I never thought my choice of love would be taken away.”

He hummed in response. A silence washed over the two of you.

“Marry me.” He spoke up suddenly after a minute or two of the silence.

“What?” Now it was your turn to be amused.

“Marry me.” He repeated, it was a statement not a question.

“And how would that solve my problem?”

“We can say we got married in secret, I have a few friends who would be witnesses. Plus that maid saw us together the other day.” He pondered for a second.

“So your solution to me getting out of a loveless marriage is to enter a fake loveless marriage?” Your eyebrows raised in a mix between confusion and curiosity.

“Yes. We say we got married in secret and consummated it, I’m sure the King of Corenth, won’t want a daughter-in-law that’s been deflowered.” He said the last word like it was a curse. “He’s old fashioned. He’ll want the perfect, obedient wife for his son.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Well I’m actually from Corenth, my mother used to work in the palace. She told me many stories.”

You nodded.

“What about my parents reactions?” You had forgotten about them entirely.

“I’m a pretty high ranking, officer in Corenth, I’m sure they can still work out a deal with them.”

There’s a silence again as you contemplate his plan.

“So?” He spoke up.

“You’re not tricking me right?” You were suddenly aware of the distance between you. You were also now aware of the things he was implying.

“I would never trick you.”

You scoffed.

“So?” The amusement was back.

“Fine, I’ll marry you.”

#pedro pascal #fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #princess!reader #knight!pedro pascal #knight x princess #the last of us #game of thrones #oberyn martell #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal scenario #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal angst

[velvet-cupcake-games]

Made Marion Development Update, Feb 2024

Hello everyone, and happy belated Valentine's Day! Will took a moment of his time to make everyone a very special Valentine.

Darn it, Will.

The Writing Desk

I am moving into Will Chapter 2!  These first couple months of Will route development have been challenged by some unavoidable IRL issues, but those are all cleared up now and I am devoting the rest of February and March fully to writing Will's route.

Chapter 1, as predicted, will be around 20,000 words. I still have one more Chapter 1 scene to finish, but it's a big action scene, and those tend to take me forever as I figure out all the logistics. I decided that rather than delaying the rest of the adventure, I'll slowly add to that action scene while writing Chapter 2.

Will Preview Video:

In case you missed it, we created a preview stream featuring the beginning of Will's route for the Steam Storyteller's Festival in early February.  Here it is!

Art Roundup

Some backers have been curious as to the completion status of our art, so here's the roundup:

Sprites and CGs (Arrapso)

All main character sprites are complete, save for a ??? variant sprite that will only be seen in the DLC.

We have 3.5 major NPC sprites yet to be completed: Hugh, leader of the Grey Wolves (backer sprite); Issa, Lord Geoffrey's cousin in from Nibiru (backer sprite); Kafeel, leader of Nottingham's Sunjati Merchant association and Will's friend; and the final version of Thomas, a character who is only seen in Alanna's route. I will need Kafeel for Will's EA release and am hoping to have Hugh and Issa for it as well, although they are more important on the Nottingham side.

After those are complete, Arrapso's main job will be CGs. I have ordered 4/5 Will CGs and am still deciding on the design for the final one. We also still need to design the backer wallpapers (which will be available in PC and phone formats).

Backgrounds & Creature Sprites (Sandra)

Backgrounds are almost entirely finished. I have one more major background to commission and then it'll just be the occasional variation as needed or maaaaybe one or two more major backgrounds later on to add more variation to the Nottingham Town exteriors.

All major creature sprites are complete.  I may commission one of Geoff's beloved hunting hounds during his route, but haven't decided yet. Meissa's bird friend will likely be a cut-in like our messenger doves.

Lore Intro and Cut-Ins (Lawrichai)

Lawri has been having some IRL challenges but should be back with us soon. Her main jobs right now are sexy silhouettes and the lore intro animation. We may be transforming the lore intro graphics into a full .webm animation instead of using Ren'py's built in Animation and Transition Language, as this might actually be easier for Lawri, as well as looking a lot smoother and making me pound my head against my desk less. It's a win/win/win! We'll have more on this next time.

Otherwise, Lawri's work is ongoing depending on budget and how much she is able to complete from route to route (I can always add in more cut-ins, but for now we're focusing on more critical ones as we have time after the sexy sils are complete per route).

So that's where we are with art right now!  We're in pretty good shape overall, there just might need to be some more intense art production while I complete the second half of Will's script.

See you next month!

#made marion #made marion dev update #english otome #amare game #Youtube

[wayfayrr]

Love your work and househusband has me in a choke hold. But I have an idea what if when a month or two with reader and sage in reader's world with him getting used to it and knowing the ins and outs of reader's life and so getting rid of some of reader's friends who got too touchy for sages taste and when things so perfect as he doesn't have to do hylia's bidding anymore and monsters aren't attacking and people are finally understanding that reader is his and he getting almost all of reader's attention then when he gets back into the house from shopping he finds the traitors (chain) in the living room and now the chain know reader is OK and the bickering between the chain and sage happens again altho much easier since reader is gone at work at times. Like the idea reader works at an office and when tired from work goes to coddle sage.

May I be 👾 anon

Of course you can be 👾!! ✨✨ It's great to have you and I'm glad you like it!! And you're certainly not the only one that househusband Sage has in a chokehold ASDKMFVJFG, the idea of him being all domestic is straight-up addictive.

But for Sage to have everything so perfectly in the palm of his hand only to be reminded of everything if the chain just drop in? It would infuriate him. If there wasn't the chance that his darling could either come home at any moment or that their neighbours could call the police, the chain would be gone. But he can't risk this life that he's earned after everything that disgrace forced him to endure. That he's put so much effort into making it perfect for both of you, taking care of anyone in the way. He had it all. And now these traitors think they can just come and steal you after all of his hard work? like they deserve what belongs to him? they're no better than Hylia herself.

Below the cut is a short snippet of reader getting home to find Sage and the chain, because I just couldn't help myself ASKNDFV

 It’s strange to think how easily Sage has settled into living here now. Seeing as it’s been less than three months and he seems so much happier than he ever did in Hyrule. I still worry about the chain every so often, but now things are starting to look less like we’ll ever go back to them. While it was stressful a couple of weeks ago, now it just seems like everyday life with the added bonus of having someone to go home to at the end of the day. Sage mentioned he was planning something for today, going for some ingredients in order to attempt to make something special. That alone's a huge improvement, given he usually only goes shopping with me. 

Why is there - Is that arguing?

“Sage is everything alright I could hear– Guys? What? When did you get here?”

They, They’re actually here. They’re safe and alive. The shadow didn’t manage to kill them. Although Sage looks like he might. His bags strewn across the floor and his knuckles white from how tense he is. But not before Wind chirped up.

“[Name] you’re alright! We’ve been looking for you for so long!”

“You’ve been looking for me? But surely you should’ve been focusing on… you should’ve been going after the shadow.”

Time’s grimace wasn’t what I needed to see at that moment however, it answers the question enough. He barely took a step towards me before Sage had me in his arms growling at him. Warning him to stay away from me. Like he was before they went missing. The others didn’t take that lightly, not with how openly he was being possessive; with only Rulie being calm enough to try defusing the bomb that is clearly about to blow. “It’s not like we aren’t chasing the shadow, but you’re important to us [Name]. But we can all go back to Hyrule now, can’t we?”

“I mean -” “No. I - We don’t want to go back there. We’re better off here.”

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