#but little do we know the stars welcome him with open arms ❀ . ⋆ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraclewoozi · 3 months

Text

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

One.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

1K notes · View notes

dhampling · 2 months

Text

the sunwalker's gift gn!reader, 3.3k

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered. “The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

inspired by this ask where the reader finds a ring - after a lot of searching - that allows astarion to walk in the sun, and proposes with it. enjoy! wc: 3.3k cw: none. gn reader, fluff, all good stuff. no use of y/n. like one vague reference to sex. that's it. liberties taken with the idea of the sunwalker's gift.

Tardy.

“Here then, yes?”

A gentle dirt path carries to the town boundary, the marker one of dry wood and old brandish. Windows of amber; smoke rising to the stars, a biting chill settling on the ground as gateclose approaches.

You turn the map in hand to compare against the settlement before you.

“Think so.”

Astarion takes your arm in his, leaving the map hanging free in his wake.

It takes all the will you can muster not to take his hands in yours and spin him in some sleepy glee-bound whirl in the sheer ecstasy at the thought of what you have planned - instead pulling each other something ragged down the slope in a half-step, half-cant; giddy at the thought of Firewine by a fireplace as your breath clouds the air foggy past your heads.

You’re in a position where - maybe for the first time since the Netherbrain fell - you can see the end.

And it’s close. Ridiculously close.

You want nothing more than to drop and do it now. Knees muddied in the dew-thickened dirt clod and breeze heavy with frost under the big pale moon - teeth chittering, looking up to him;-

Gods. You can picture it. His eyes hooplike with uncertainty, the one last drip of doubt teetering on his tongue - is this some kind of cosmic joke? - a quiet whisper under his breath, a little tilt of his head. Hair rippling in the moonlight. A moment of mutability as he reconciles all you are, all you’ve become together. That there’s a future in which sincerity is all he knows moving forward.

No.

Before morning, for sure.

The gate welcomes you in one last waning breath as the guards head to their watch turrets until dawn, and it takes a minute to truly come to terms with civilization once more. Your eyes flit to each of the little flickering lanterns and candles in windows; to the railings adorned with browning vines and disused terracotta pots.

It’s been months since you and Astarion have been somewhat settled anywhere. Since the Absolute fell and you set off for adventures beyond anything you or he could ever imagine. Navigating the Underdark together, treading darkness above ground; wherever, it wasn’t of any real importance. You’d find lodging where you could, eat with whoever welcomed you; and you did it together.

Of course, your ulterior motive has managed to remain a secret. From clandestine discussions with the Society of Brilliance all the way back to the Gate; to fevered exploration in the deepest chasms of Sembia. Nights spent looking over the ferryboats on the Sea of Fallen Stars and discussing so many different futures the two of you could live.

He is completely disarmed and unsuspecting at your side. Radiant. Hopeful. The world is changed and he wants to see every bit he passes with eyes wide open to good fortune.

“A town called Tardy? Really?”

He sneers.

You shrug.

“It has a fun ring to it. Tardy.”

The word bounces on your tongue as you taste the mull-soak set between your teeth.

A wordless mission to stave off the chill now has you settled fireside in the closest inn with mulled Glowfire. The clock ticks and there’s lively chatter a little behind you in the main tavern room.

“The Scoundrel's Cellar, though. Now that’s a good name.’

He takes a small sip.

‘Why Tardy?”

You turn your head to him with a tight quirk of your upper lip.

“You’re asking me why?”

“Not really.’

Astarion looks at you and smiles.

‘It’s just… nice. To be able to talk at such leisure like this, I think.”

His cheeks are ruddied by the lashings of wind, the hint of a twinkle in his eyes as he reveres you. Hair a little unruly in the mop of curls atop his head but still unbelievably well-kempt for a man who's been on the road for months now. Lost wholly in his sheer exuberance, his joy in living despite the lack of a pulse. His chalice is close to his chest as he warms his hands.

You daren’t linger on your own appearance, thinking a silent prayer that the bathroom has a mirror.

It’s a long moment before you reply.

“Yes! Yes. Absolutely.”

He throws you a quizzical glance but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he shifts to look down at his drink.

“I sometimes picture having a fireplace, you know. How-’

A brief pause.

‘How nice it’d be to sit by it, on an evening like this. Home.”

Astarion stretches a palm outward to the flame and closes his eyes, basking in the scalding heat. Amber shades. Pallid skin a perfect canvas.

“What would you be doing, by the fire?” You query softly as you watch the gentle flickers of his hand, outstretched.

“I- I’m not sure.”

Something resembling a coy smile creeps onto his face, overrun by a timid quiet uncharacteristic of your long-term lover. You lean over to him and take his nimble fire-warm hand in your own. A small kiss planted firmly on the hot skin.

“Go on.’

The willing smile on your face as you egg him on, chin to palm. He tilts his head coquettishly.

‘What do you see in that beautiful head of yours? Because I can see it now - a sitting room full of tapestries and hangings; all of your design, of course. Patchwork blankets. Big comfy seats.”

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.’

Any ill-mannered jest fades almost immediately as he looks into your eyes and beams once more. He is safe here. He knows it.

‘I’m thinking big seats. Maybe-’

He brings his arms out wide.

‘Maybe this big? Possibly bigger? Somewhere to lounge, naturally.’

His hand finds yours in the low light once more, a tentative clutch as he maps out the vision in his head.

‘Soft carpets on stone floors. Incense - none of the dull stuff though, darling; only pure patchouli - and… and lanterns with glass of all colours, so the room glows with light constantly.”

“So we’ve set the scene. Then what?”

Astarion rolls his eyes at you fondly.

“And then… I don’t know. A little cat on the cushions. Books, papers scattered on the carpet as despite the fact we have those big comfy seats; I’m not seeing myself to be inclined to move Her Majesty.”

“After the cat at the Last Light?”

“The very same. But I want a girl cat. Boy cats feel… weird to me. Cats are girls.’

He grimaces and waves his chalice-hand.

‘Anyway. Her Majesty on the lounger, me on the floor. I’m drawing up patterns early into the morning. Big, thick shutters over the windows; but it doesn’t matter because the lantern light is so vivid, and you;-’

There’s a feather-soft look to him when he does look at you.

‘Oh, you.’

You become aware of him drawing small circles with his thumb, eyes unmoving; unblinking.

‘Always you. My love. Should you decide to join me in long-term domesticity-’

He plants a kiss on your hand as you did his. Your stomach is pure cream as you listen, nodding slowly with lids of honey.

‘Then you. Everywhere. Beside me on the carpet, laughing in that delicious way you do. Astride me in our bed -’

You smirk. He looks at you a little deviously.

‘Well, not just bed. Anywhere, really.”

“Is that what the loungers are for?”

A small grin.

“Maybe.’

You gesture for him to continue with a knowing grin.

‘Anyway. Yes. The future. Us. A townhouse somewhere in the Gate.” He sips slowly while pondering.

“What about younglings? You were fond of Yenna.”

The wine erupts down his pale chin in shock, eyes like saucers.

“I’m sorry?”

“Children.” You repeat, holding his gaze with firm affection.

He moves to laugh but there’s a wavering indecision in the way his brows crease.

“Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. But if it is?”

He stops to think for a moment when the call for Grand High Lord Supreme General Admiral Ancunín - his favoured travelling name - comes from the frazzled barmaid at the front of house to signal your rooms are ready, and all discussion overruled by the fact you’re both bone-weary beyond belief.

As your hand moves to your pocket, you feel it.

Sequestered away in the little velvet box you bought from the Night Market months ago and kept for this.

Later.

Hours on and you’re settled. A small room with an adjoining washroom - modest, but surprisingly comfortable; and just as you’d hoped, there’s a balcony.

Astarion lounges on the bed with a large leatherbound book, looking fondly at you from time to time as you busy yourself with your recent findings, taking inventory and stashing bits away in their respectively labelled bags of holding.

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered.

“What?”

“This. The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

“No, not in particular.’ You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

‘Why? You’ve not been bothered before?”

“And I’m not now. But I am curious.’

He grins devilishly on the bed and flips the book closed, placing it next to him and sitting straight - legs crossed.

‘What’s the plan, lover?”

“Who says there’s a plan?”

He’s got you right where he wants you.

You feel yourself becoming giddy again - heart wholly aflutter. You’re aware that he’s attuned to the regular pitter-patter between your ribs and despite the conscious attempt to regulate yourself back to calm; you almost want him to find you out this way.

“Nothing. I’m just wondering where we’re - well, wandering. It’s beginning to feel a little aimless”

There’s a moment of silence, prolonged as you fiddle further with your trinkets.

“I-’

You reach for the box in your pocket and run a thumb over it reactively.

‘I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

He looks at you with a curious furrow, trying to eke out a little more information in the quiet din but you’re wise to it at this point in your relationship. You simply yield into his glance with a pleading smile.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave it with you. But I do expect answers!”

You heave a sigh of relief. He’s definitely picked up on it.

Once all of your spoils are packed away you take a trip downstairs to purchase more wine and request a bath to be drawn - after all, you’ve been on the road with rivers as your only source of cleanliness for gods know how long.

There are nerves. Of course there are nerves, small pins prickling from within and setting you ablaze with each new thought of him beside you for life, threads weaving a rich tableau life together. Lilting violins and piano sonatas. Finery for days. Some small townhouse, just as he’d described it downstairs.

But you found the thing you’d set out to find on your adventures. Where you head next is entirely up to the both of you.

Provided he says yes, that is.

You imagine the worst possible rejection he could give you - “No, darling. Let’s keep things as they are for now.” - and yet the thought of him calling you darling in that syrupy murmur is rousing enough to keep you afloat.

The bath is tepid, door open whilst Astarion watches from the bed between pages.

“More wine, love?”

“Please.”

Calm. Rain on the thatch roof.

He perches on the side of the washtub, one leg crossed over the other as he passes you a glass full of red. Hums absent-mindedly as he swirls the perfumed waters with a dainty hand.

Your mind drifts to the ring. How beautiful it’ll look in place.

He looks at you with that curious glint in his eye, and you roll your head to the back of the tub in an attempt at meek avoidance.

“Pretty.” He quips.

You laugh quietly.

“Hm?”

“You. Pretty. Hair all mussed like a siren. A vision.”

He lifts your wrist from the water and kisses the back of your hand a few times over, while you squirm in jest. He only retaliates by kissing you harder with a fiendish giggle.

“You’re one to talk.”

The lantern by the mirror lights the tips of his curls from behind. Angelic.

“Yes, I am beautiful. So are you. My darling.”

It must be late now. Maybe late enough.

As you lift from the water - assisted by your lover’s hand - and enrobe once more, you feel it.

Now.

Astarion begins his usual routine of light-proofing the room and blocking the shutters as the threat of sunrise looms on the horizon.

Well. Light.

The rain doesn’t show any sign of ceasing.

Nonetheless, you feel ready. A habit you can’t wait for him to break, checking the shutters for cracks.

“C’mere.”

He turns to you and looks you over.

“Hm?”

“Come here! Please! I’ve got something for you and it simply can’t wait any longer.”

The box is light in hand, soft. You’ve checked it multiple times for the ring and all is in place.

The way he steps to you is cautious. Catlike.

“Is this the thing? Is it finally time?’

You pull him in next to you on the edge of the bed, taking both hands in yours.

‘I can see that little box. Hopefully a trinket worth the hours of agony I’ve endured waiting for you to reveal your secrets.” He grins, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

You don’t say anything, freeing one hand to take the box.

“This is-’

A sharp inhale.

‘This is it. Wherever we go from here, it’s mutually agreed. All of it. But this is what I’ve been looking for, hence my leadership skills taking forefront again.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s a Bracing Band!’

You shove him gently and he giggles, reinforcing his clutch on your hand.

‘Okay, okay. I’m done. Show me.”

He waggles his fingers around your palm and grins expectantly. Gods. You rip the bandage off and open the box to him.

He’s seen a picture of it before - it’s in one of his books, that’s where you got the initial idea - but you know he hasn’t read it or he’d onto you weeks ago.

And he doesn’t recognise it.

“I- What is this?”

A gentle whisper as his eyes run over the golden rays cast with aged enamel.

“A ring.’

Astarion’s death glare takes a new form, this time wholly inhibited by the uncertainty in his frozen hunch.

You stand and spin to a kneel on the floor in front of him.

‘A special ring. Really, really special; in fact.’

Plucking it from the velvet, you hover the band over his fingertip.

‘Firstly though. Marry me?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so completely and utterly shocked.

Mouth firmly agape as red round eyes attempt to scan yours for any sign of deceit, jowls trembling a little in the yellow lantern glow. A small gulp as his lips meet once more.

“You picked an inn called The Scoundrel's Cellar, in a town called Tardy, in the middle of a thunderstorm; to propose marriage to me?”

“Had to be here, had to be now. Couldn’t wait any longer. You’ll understand in a minute, I promise.’

You rise a little to cup his jaw in hand, sinking into a chaste kiss.

‘Astarion Ancunín, will you marry me?”

“Gods!’

There’s a brief tremor as his lips wobble, then a practised breath as he speaks. One hand reaches for your flushed cheek to mirror the gesture.

‘Of course I will, you brute. Maybe you could’ve done with a better choice in ring, of course; but I can learn to love it, I’m sur-”

“You are beyond insufferable, Astarion. Kiss me right now.”

The immediately resulting kiss is brimming with yearning. A cup full to spilling as he takes the ring in your hand whilst you put it on him.

He hunches all the way over to meet you on raised knees, grabbing at body-warmed bedclothes for one another; tenderly, in peals of quiet laughter between breaths and silent shouts.

“Wait. I’m not done.’

He’s giddy now, too. Knee bouncing.

‘There’s a reason it had to be that ring.”

“It’s hideous, pet. Give me a reason to love it.”

You spin to your feet and to the furthest shutters, opening them a slight as he watches on in guarded curiosity with the biggest smile lingering on his face.

The first hint of light.

“C’mere.”

“You’re bossing me around an awful lot today, my darling betrothed.”

The weight of the moment is colossal, ocean deep. Despite his sheer joy he won’t come willingly. The burns from the dock the day the Absolute fell were molten for weeks and you still both have night terrors ringing loud with the sound of his agonising yells.

A gentle hand extends to him.

“The Sunwalker’s Gift.”

Then it clicks. Slowly. The final puzzle piece.

“No. Surely.”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be.”

“It had to be.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“Then we have a wedding to plan in the Underdark. But I wouldn’t traipse across the realms on just an inkling, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Well then.’

Your hand waits expectantly, fingers mimicking his waggle.

‘Just a finger. Please.”

He sits on the bed, spinning the ring mindlessly; before he looks at you with a resolute nod.

“I’ve trusted you with far worse, all things considered.”

Astarion approaches slowly and meets your hand, interlinking your ring fingers together and waiting for your word as you position yourself within the light.

“On three?”

Three arrives and nothing happens.

Hands raised, fingers lit in a single low beam of early light. Frozen.

“Astarion? All good?”

He moves your hands wholly into the light. Nothing. Twists the tangled fingers as if examining for damage. Rain careens into the window.

“I- Yes. Yes. All good.”

Dumbfounded.

You erupt into a bubbling grin, pulling him to the balcony doors and planting another soft kiss onto bewildered lips. Looking to the worn bronze handles with a brief head tilt.

A simple, overwhelmed nod. Brows knitted together in a milky daze, mouth slack. He looks like he’s going to collapse.

The doors edge open and you cautiously step to lead him by arm.

Nothing. Not a single sizzle, no cinders. Forearm, arm, body; head.

No tug on your hand as he races back indoors. No wretched cries of pain nor gasps of hurt.

It’s a few seconds before he speaks. The sun now burns bright enough to see the streets below with razor clarity.

“The rain. My- my hair-’

Barely above a whisper.

‘Looks perfect. As it always does.’

Your eyes don’t leave him. Not once. He’s completely floored, gazing into the middle distance mindlessly.

‘Love, sit.”

You gently tug an iron-wrought balconette chair over to him and help him to find purchase atop it amongst his overwhelm.

“I- I love you. Thank you.”

“Anything. Anything for you.”

He shakes from his haze once wet through, lightning on the horizon awakening the Astarion you recognise best. Closes his eyes with a soft smile.

“You’re going to catch your death out here, you know.”

His grip on your hand is vicelike, clutching it to his chest with zealous reverence.

“Then we’ll have to have a hot bath later. Right now though, I think a celebration is in order.”

You free yourself from his grasp for two moments, barreling back inside for the last of the wine and the large bedsheet. You place both chalices on the iron table and sit beside Astarion outside in fits of laughter whilst wrapping the sheet over both of your heads. He snatches your hand back and kisses it for an age. Devoted.

“To Tardy?”

He lifts his chalice in his free hand, and you do the same in yours.

“Tardy!”

#my writing #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x male reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #fluff #one shot #x reader

782 notes · View notes

simpjaes · 3 months

Note

how about jealousbf!heeseung who takes you to the empty soundproof vocal rooms and stuffs you full with no mercy after you looked at jay a little too much while they were doing their dance practice

tags: front man heeseung, wannabe groupie reader, he's not her bf !! non idol au, they're just in a band !!

wc: 1k

looking at jay was never an issue until heeseung was looking at you.

who would blame you though? it's not your fault Sunghoon always brought you to band practices. it's not your fault that Heeseung never really paid attention to you before they managed to finesse their way onto a label.

then again, it's not like you knew that Heeseung was always looking. You always seemed to share a gaze between him and everyone else too, so it wasn't really a competitive thing until he noticed you consistently looking at jay more and more.

Hah, always the fucking guitar players too. What do they have that he doesn't? Aside from skilled fingers?

Arguably, Heeseung's fingers are quite skilled too. Just because he's the front man doesn't mean he can't fuck like a guitarist.

So, well, it all really started when you didn't show up. It's rare that you don't, honestly, and all the members seem to miss you when you're not there but man.

Jay sure is a fucking asshole.

"I think she wants me." He joked that one day, nudging Sunghoon and watching them both nod in confirmation that yeah, it's probably true.

"I could take her into one of the soundproof rooms, none of you would even know." he said on that same day, giving Heeseung the idea to do it first.

After all, it's not like he hasn't seen you disappear into sticky bathrooms or dingy band van's at several small town shows with other bands and their members. Why would he be any different? Why would Jay be any different?

Exactly. You're a wannabe groupie and Heeseung is far too willing to feed into your fantasy of fucking a rock star now rather than later.

Jay likes the chase. Heeseung likes the hunt.

And so, that next "practice?" Of course you showed up. Bright eyes, slutty outfit, doe eyes blinking in awe at a bunch of guys who haven't even debuted past a burned CD with shit sound quality? Heeseung approaches you.

Being the front man and all, it's not hard to get you alone as the members take their time doing their own work on the new song. Heeseung's vocals were all finished, and Jay was too wrapped up in his guitar solo recording to notice you eye fucking him again.

"Welcome back, we missed you last time." Heeseung starts in a sweet voice, opening his arms out for a hug.

You kind of quirk your brow at him because, well, you've known the dude for like two years by this point but never has he done more than an awkward side hug while covered in sweat and the scent of musk and alcohol after a show or a hard practice session.

"Oh?" You question, surprised by the grip he holds on you.

"Wanna come with me somewhere?" He asks again, even though the question felt more like a demand in the way he immediately starts dragging you away from the recording studio and into the hallway.

You don't really say much, being more of a go-with-the-flow person than anything. You just shrug, following him into what you obviously know is one of the sound proof rooms they've used previously to practice the noise music.

Working out the kinks of a song doesn't always sound so good, yknow? Nobody really wants to hear that shit til it's ready either.

And it's not like you're stupid or anything. You know what this is, when he steps inside and closes the door behind you. In fact, you're entirely down for it despite not really knowing why the band's front man suddenly wants to be alone with you.

"Hah," Heeseung smirks, watching you already start to slip your shirt off. "I knew it."

You just kind of look at him.

"Well, what else would I expect after being dragged in here?" You ask, pausing your movements and allowing your shirt to fall back into place against your waist.

"I don't know?" He laughs back, rolling his eyes at you briefly before boxing you up against the wall. "Jay?"

You smirk.

"Honestly? Yeah. We've been eye fucking each other for ages." You laugh, brushing Jay off entirely. "Didn't expect you to be the one to come after me."

"Well, if you would have stopped staring at his fingers for thirty seconds maybe you would have noticed it."

"What can I say? He moves fast."

"And you think I would? You've seen what I can do with my tongue, right?"

You pause, noting all those instances during shows where he definitely treated his tongue like some sort of mating ritual. Licking up his microphone, flicking it between his fingers, even going as far as flattening it at multiple city girls that seemed to want a bad boy for the night.

"Don't think I have, actually." You roll your eyes playfully, blinking at him innocently. "Care to elaborate?"

Man, he elaborated.

Without another word, actually. Which was a bit of a shock to you, considering he likes to rasp those vocals all night through song and shrieks. Ah, the sounds are so much different vibrating when his tongue is buried into you, moving faster than you'd have expected.

What's worse? You never really noticed how pretty his vocals could sound until he was muttering out words of degradation towards you. He went in raw, explaining that it's his right. That he should be the first to feel your pussy squeeze him dry. Whispers questions of how many other men have been in you like this. Asking if you've always been this breathless for them. Asking why you're not screaming loud enough for Jay to hear, even through the soundproof room.

In reality, your throat is dry from allowing yourself to be loud for him. Rasping and panting confirmations of his filthy words, only to feel him plunge into you harder, harder, harder. Like a mantra of a song he only wishes he could write.

The proof of having you before Jay could, the proof of fucking you better than anyone else could.

By the end of it all, to Heeseung? Doesn't really matter if every other member of his band has a turn with you know. He's only gonna ask what his dick tastes like. He's only gonna ask if they fucked you cross eyed too. Because he knows the answer will be no.

Why?

Because you keep coming back for more. Up until Jay takes note, mentioning a month later to Sunghoon, right there in front of everyone,

"What's gotten into her? She practically ignores me."

And of course Heeseung smirked, giving him the answer he probably didn't want to hear.

"Me."

#heeseung smut #enha smut #enhypen smut #ask #anon #hardthots

422 notes · View notes

snowskater · 2 years

Note

wow. can't believe you wouldn't love reki if he were a worm. talk about conditional.

This... feels like a trick? "I will love Reki as long as he is still... Reki." So that includes worm form, he supposes.

#anonymous #[ asks! ]#[ in character // little do we know the stars welcome him with open arms. ]#ANON PLEASE..

1 note · View note

hvlplvss · 6 months

Text

| welcome to the moulin rouge

summary: in which colby’s girlfriend stars in the hit broadway musical, moulin rouge. with little knowledge on the musical, he’s surprised when he first watches it.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, fingering, shower sex, praise, slight degradation, cream pie, hair pulling, slight edging. lmk if i missed anything !!

authors note: for those who haven’t watched moulin rouge, i recommend searching ‘welcome to moulin rouge-west end cast’ to get an idea about it. but if you don’t want to, it’s a musical based on a cabaret club and y/n plays one of the main girls from the club. i highly recommend it if you have never watched it!

y/n had recently been casted as ‘nini’ in one of her top three musicals of all time. moulin rouge. ever since the musical had come out, she’d adored it. knowing that she would love to be in it herself one day.

and that day was here. it was the opening night for the new cast of moulin rouge. she was also performing amongst some of her most favourite broadway performers.

her boyfriend colby and his best friend sam, who she were also really good friends with, had bought tickets for the first public opening show. they decided they might as well buy the most expensive tickets, which were the ones right at the front of the stage, where you got your own little table for two.

in true honesty, y/n had barely spent any time with colby recently. she’d been so busy at rehearsals and taking promotional pictures. so the only time she saw him, was once she arrived home, which was usually later than 11pm.

the boys sat at their table at 7:28pm, waiting for the show to begin. sam turns to colby, “so you have no idea, what this show is about?” sam asked.

colby shook his head in response, “nope. i’ve watched loads of other shows with y/n, but she won’t let me watch this, cause she wants me to see her in the show first,” he explained. “have you seen it?”

sam nodded, “yeah. y/n told me to watch it before we came to see this,” he answered. colby rolled his eyes, but a small smile stuck on his face. but he was slightly confused. how come sam could watch the movie, but he couldn’t?

the lights slightly dimmed, taking colby out of his confused state. aaron tveit, who y/n had spoke about, walked out onto stage and past the two boys, where he stood to the left of them.

aaron looked around the audience, then he looked back to the bright glowing red ‘moulin rouge’ sign. aaron lifted his hands slightly and the sign lifted up, clearing the view of the stage. the music began, a low thudding noise, with a drum every few beats.

aaron disappears off of stage, and a spotlight flashes on the back wall, where there is a silhouette of four girls. colby could recognise one of them immediately.

‘hey sister, soul sister, flow sister’

the curtain they were standing behind lifted, revealing his girlfriend. colby’s eyes widened in shock at what his girlfriend was wearing.

y/n stood there in barely any clothing. it was all lingerie. black to be specific. her hands and arms adorned red velvet gloves which stopped at her bicep. she wore black stockings, which were connected to the black corset like bodysuit by a thin piece of fabric. the corset revealed a great deal of cleavage, and left little to the imagination.

as the four stepped forward beginning to dance, colby didn’t know what to do with himself. his girlfriend dancing half naked on stage in front of hundreds of people.

the dance was as sexual as you could get, grabbing onto your own waist, dropping to the floor. doing anything that was vaguely provocative. and colby still didn’t know how to react.

what really riled him up though was when another character came on stage, someone called ‘the duke’ something like that anyway, colby wasn’t in the right mind set to even focus on that.

y/n had gone over to said character, and in simple words, had to rub herself against him. colby’s eyes stared dead at y/n. he wasn’t mad or annoyed. but he was so jealous.

the interval had just begun and colby still couldn’t stop thinking about you. sam spoke up, “you good there, colby?” he asked.

colby nodded, looking over to his bestfriend, “did you know all about that?” colby questioned.

“what your girlfriend being half naked on stage?” he answered, colby nodded, “well yeah, she’s been showing me behind the scenes things for ages. she wanted all of it to be a surprise for you,” sam added. colby hummed in response, turning back to look at the stage as the show resumed.

colby and sam walked out of the theatre and round to stage door, to meet y/n after the show. when they arrived there was a slight crowd stood there, asking for photos and signatures and what not.

y/n was amongst them, signing playbills and taking photos with fans of the show. colby and sam stood back from the crowd, allowing y/n to take her time. but colby didn’t want to wait. he was desperate for his girlfriend.

after what seemed like forever, the crowd had dispersed, meaning y/n could make her way over to the boys.

“there she is!” sam smiled, hugging y/n and telling her congratulations. she thanked him and then turned to her boyfriend.

y/n reached to kiss colby on the lips. and just from that, she could tell. she knew colby was riled up. y/n grabbed onto colby’s hand, as sam led the way to the car.

the three arrived home not much later, as they opened the door, y/n spoke up, “i’m gonna go shower real quick,” the boys nodded and y/n ran off upstairs.

“i’m probably gonna go to bed now,” colby stated, “it’s already pretty late,”

sam nodded, with a slight eyebrow raise of disbelief. he knew his friend wasn’t going to sleep, he knew exactly what was going on with the boy. but he wished him a goodnight and walked off into the kitchen.

colby walked up the stairs and into his room. he could hear the shower running from the en-suite, which was connected to their room. he could also hear y/n’s light humming of some of the songs from the show.

colby began undressing himself and walked into the shower with y/n. “you know, what you did to me, y/n?” colby suddenly asked.

y/n jumped in shock at the boys voice, “shit colby, you scared me,” y/n smiled, turning to face her boyfriend, taking him all in.

“you know, how i felt? when i was sat there watching you,” he repeated, “seeing you dance against everyone,”

y/n bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. but colby could tell. it was a habit she always had.

“you think it’s funny? that your boyfriend was sat in the audience with a hard on?” he asked seductively, “it won’t be funny soon,” he said lowly.

colby grabbed his girlfriends cheeks and brought his lips to hers roughly. he held her face with one hand and her lower back with the other.

colby wasn’t playing nice at all. the rough yet passionate kiss was clear enough to say how frustrated he was.

colby’s mouth left hers and began making it’s way down her neck, biting harshly, causing y/n to let out a whimper. “come on, let me hear you,” colby said.

y/n had only seen her boyfriend like this a couple of times. usually when he’s jealous or wound up by something.

“don’t tease, baby,” y/n pleaded.

colby hushed her, “i’m taking my time. just like how i had to sit there for two whole hours, watching you dance about with barely anything on,”

colby grabbed her tit, going back to roughly kissing his girlfriend. y/n let out a moan, but it was sealed by colby, who’s mouth covered hers.

colby let go of her tit and reached down, letting his fingers cascade down y/n’s sides. she arched into his touch, “so needy,” colby spoke against her lips.

his fingers finally reached where she needed him the most. his thumb pressed firmly on her clit, rubbing in circles.

y/n moaned out, leaning her head on colby’s chest, letting the water from the shower run down her back. colby removed his fingers, causing y/n to let out a small whine.

“you’re such a desperate whore, aren’t you?”

“only for you,” y/n answered.

“only for me, huh?” colby smirked, “you’re mine, aren’t you.” y/n nodded, “say it, y/n. say you’re mine,”

y/n removed her head from colby’s chest and looked him directly in his eyes, “i’m yours, colby,”

colby nodded in approval, “good girl,” y/n’s head went back onto colby’s shoulder, as two of his fingers pressed inside her cunt, stretching her out.

y/n stifled a moan. as her boyfriend worked his fingers inside of her, she latched her mouth onto his lower neck, causing colby to groan.

she littered dark purple bruises across his neck and chest, admiring her work after each one. she knew he’d eventually get her back for the mess across his neck as he couldn’t show it all over social media, or else people would talk.

colby could feel y/n approaching her orgasm, so he removed his hand. causing y/n to remove his mouth off of colby, “what-”

colby hushed his girlfriend, “want you to cum at the same time, baby,” he answered.

he aligned his cock with her pussy, letting it glide against her folds, teasing her.

“please colby,” she begged.

“awh, you’re begging now? that’s cute,” he answered.

colby slid his cock in slowly. y/n moaned out and colby let out a low groan, watching the pleasure that washed over his girlfriends face.

he wrapped one arm around her waist and placed his other arm on the back wall of the shower.

after a few seconds, colby began moving his hips. snapping up into y/n, causing her to moan out loudly. her arms clung onto colby’s shoulders, staring directly at him.

she grabbed onto colby’s wet hair, and slightly tugged, causing the boys head to loll back.

“you getting close?” colby asked. y/n nodded, her bottom lip coming between her teeth, “thought so. feel so tight, baby,”

y/n pulled colby in by his hair to kiss him roughly, which made him speed up his hips. colby mumbled against her lips, “cum for me,” he looked at his girlfriend, who stared directly back at him.

colby felt y/n release around him. he wouldn’t last much longer himself. his hips stilled, realising himself inside of y/n.

after a few moments, he removed his cock from her. placing a kiss on her forehead and then a soft one on her lips.

“you okay?” he asked.

she nodded, “are you?”

“i’m more than okay. and i’m so proud. so incredibly proud of you,”

“well, if when you come and watch me perform and it ends up like this, you might have to come watch me a few more times,”

#colby brock x reader #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #colby brock #sam golbach #smut #moulin rouge

562 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 1 month

Text

The Color Green

Summary: Based off of the Bradley Cooper cold open: Melissa is jealous that the famous movie star is flirting with you.

WC: 1.8k

Written in literally an hour this morning because I couldn't get it out of my head :)

Bradley Cooper is standing in Melissa Schemmenti’s classroom as a literal part of show ’n’ tell because one of her students found him. He found him at the corner store, and decided to bring him in because everybody else saw him and was gathering around. And because the Oscar nominated movie star is a considerate man, especially when it comes to all things Philly, he agreed to come in.

Melissa is absolutely starstruck. She’s always found him to be quite attractive, and she can’t help the little giggles that bubble up through her body.

“I’m just textin’ the other teachers,” the redhead tells him as she taps away on her phone.

“That’s fine,” he chuckles.

The rest of you come filing in to see if the second grade teacher was just pulling your leg or not, but there he is. You gather in the back of the classroom, and you find it quite odd when his eyes land on you. The have a particular sparkle when he looks at you- the one your girlfriend has when she looks at you. It makes your heart flutter.

You all take a picture with him, and he’s very particular that you stand right next to him, despite Melissa being there. She lets you in like the wonderful girlfriend that she is to you, and when the photo is taken, you have two arms around you. One is Melissa’s, of course- the other is Bradley’s.

He claims that he has to leave after that, so you all begin to file out and you head down to your classroom again, but he follows you.

“Hey!” he calls after you. You spin on your heel and look to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hi, Bradley Cooper,” you chuckle. “How can I help you?”

“Well,” he scratches the back of his head. “I could use some help figuring out how to get out of this school. It’s been a while since I’ve had to navigate a hallway like this.” He flashes that charming smile at you, and it has you swooning even though you have no sexual attraction to him at all. Anyone with eyes can say that Bradley Cooper is quite the handsome man.

“Oh, just down the hall to your left,” you tell him with a dopey smile. “None of the alarm systems work, so you can really leave through any door.”

“Thanks,” he tells you, but he doesn’t make any moves to leave. “Uhm, are you doing anything later? Like, after school?”

You look up at those sparkling eyes. “I kind of have a thing later with all of the Abbott crew, but you would be more than welcome to come along! I know the other teachers would be thrilled if you showed up.”

His eyes dull just a little. “Yeah, that would be great actually. Could I get your number so you can text me the details?”

You fire out your number before smiling back up at him. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I really do have to get back to my classroom.”

“Right.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, it was really nice to meet you…”

“Y/N,” you tell him as you stick out a hand. He shakes it, and then you both head on your way.

During lunch, you get a text from an unknown number. Hey. It’s Brad. Let me know where you guys are planning on going later, and I’ll be there.

“Are we just going to our usual spot?” you ask your girlfriend as you take a bite of your salad.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t we?” Melissa rolls her eyes at you playfully.

You shrug. “Just making sure.” You type out that you’ll be at your usual bar for happy hour, and he quickly responds that he’s looking forward to seeing you again. You leave it at that. There’s no use in flirting with him when you don’t even like men, and you are happily taken by the redhead sitting next to you.

After work, you find yourself sitting in the back of the bar with your crew, and Melissa has her arm draped around you as you both sip on beers. You hear the doorbell ring at the front, and Bradley is making his way over to you when you look up. As he makes his way over, everybody sits up slightly straighter; Melissa retracts her arms from around you.

“Hey guys,” he smiles at you all (but his eyes definitely just linger on you) with an endearing smile. “Mind if I join?”

Of course, you shimmy in closer to Melissa. He orders another round for everyone on him, and your friends are absolutely giggly that he’s sitting with you all.

Despite him showing up ‘for the group’, he only really keeps his attention on you. And you can tell that your girlfriend is starting to get jealous. Still, she maintains her composure because… it would look really bad for a headline to state that a teacher from Abbott Elementary got into a fight with the Bradley Cooper.

After a bit of chatting, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and you glance to Melissa. She has a frown written on her face, a stark contrast from the bubbly smile she wore this morning.

“Babe, what’s wrong? I thought you would be thrilled Brad came!”

“You knew he was coming?” she furrows her brow.

“Yeah! He asked me what we were doing after school, and I told him that we were gonna be here and he could join!”

“Y/N,” Melissa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “He’s flirting with you.”

“No he isn’t,” you roll your eyes.

“Yes he is!” Jacob chimes in.

“It doesn’t even matter,” you tell your group. “I am very happy in my committed relationship to Melissa.”

“He don’t know that though,” your girlfriend grumbles. “N I don’t like that he’s flirting with you.”

“He is not flirting with me!” you laugh nervously. “He’s just being friendly!”

“Friendly my ass,” the redhead mutters. “His eyes are only on you.”

“Babe, I usually like when you wear green, but this shade of green does not look good on you,” you tell her. “Please, just… be nice?”

“I will, but if he makes a move on you, don’t think I won’t come out swinging.”

“I cannot handle another court case,” Ava pipes up. “So don’t go startin’ no fights with pretty boy.”

Bradley makes his way back to the table, and as he sits down next to you, he’s a little closer than he was before. Now aware that he could be potentially flirting with you, you pay more attention. And… okay; he is flirting with you.

The more he flirts, the more you can practically feel the rage radiating off of Melissa. And finally, she’s had enough.

“Hey, Brad?” Melissa bites out. “I’d really appreciate if you’d stop hitting on my girl.”

The man’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Stop flirting with my girlfriend, or we’s gonna have a problem here,” the redhead says cooly as she drapes her arm around you and pulls you in so close that you’re practically in her lap.

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, Melissa. I had no idea the two of you were an item.”

“Mel, I told you to play nice,” you laugh out.

“That was before he very blatantly started flirting with you in front of me,” your girlfriend tells you. Then she turns to the actor and grits out, “She’s mine.”

“She’s yours,” Bradley repeats. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be. One more flirty comment, and we’ll take it-”

“Melissa!” Barbara cuts off her work wife.

Melissa just leaves the unsaid in the air, although the Oscar nominee clearly knows where she was going. His flirting with you comes to an abrupt halt, and he directs his attention to the entire group. Your girlfriend keeps her arm around you protectively through the rest of happy hour.

When you all decide it’s probably about time to head out, Bradley picks up the tab like the generous man that he is. He’s met with a chorus of thank you’s.

“Anytime, guys,” he smiles. “Seriously, I did have a nice time. And Melissa and Y/N? I’m sorry if I caused any issues. I never meant to.”

“It’s all good,” you smile at him softly. Melissa just gives him a nod with steely eyes. You bat at her.

“Thanks,” she huffs out.

He heads out, and then the rest of you start to gather your things to head home for the night. You and Melissa walk out hand in hand, ready to start the walk back to your townhouse.

It’s a quiet and peaceful walk, and the entire time you think about how sweet it was that Melissa was willing to fight for you- fight a famous actor at that. You’ve never had anyone fight for you, ever. Usually, if your girlfriend found someone more attractive, you were on the curb before you knew it and left to pick up the broken pieces of your heart by yourself. But Melissa? She had quite literally told off a movie star and was willing to fight to keep you. And it makes you feel special; like for once you’re someone’s first choice.

“Hey,” Melissa says softly as she squeezes your hand and brings you back to the present. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Oh, just thinking.”

“I know,” she chuckles. “What were you thinking about, amore?”

“How much I love you,” you smile at her and lean in to kiss her cheek.

She grins. “I love you too.”

“I- I’ve never had anyone fight for me the way that you just did,” you admit shyly. “It felt… really good, in a weird way.”

“What do you mean no one’s ever fought for you?”

“I mean…” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I was always the second choice, but you were about to fight Brad if he made another move on me.”

“Because you’re my girlfriend and I love you?” she states as though it’s the obvious. “He needed to be put in his place.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh. “But even in past relationships, I’ve always been a second choice.”

“Not with me,” Melissa squeezes your hand again. “You’ll always be my first choice. And I’ll fight anyone, even Bradley Cooper, in order to keep you.”

You walk up the steps to your house and unlock the door. She opens it and lets you head in first. When the door is closed, you have her pressed up against it.

“I know I said I didn’t like this shade of green on you,” you kiss her hungrily. “But that was a lie. Jealous Melissa… she’s really fucking hot.”

Tags (and lmk if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

303 notes · View notes

greatooglymooglyyy · 2 months

Text

The Last Ride (An AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo Story)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: cursing, drinking, drug use, emotional manipulation, kissing, sexual aggression, 1.2k words

a/n: hiiiii guys, welcome. this is my first real series and i really hope you like it. this chapter is set up and does not include Chris yet. we'll met him in chapter one. but i wanted to establish Y/N first. love you guys.

series masterlist

Prologue

“You have to come! We’re literally celebrating your birthday.” Brielle whines, frowning over her latte at me.

I roll my eyes, lean back in my chair, and cross my arms. ”My birthday isn’t for another two weeks. You guys just want an excuse to party.”

Jace tuts, throwing his arm over the back of my chair and leaning forward to give me his signature grin. “C’mon, don’t turn all lame on us. It’ll be fun. We haven’t had a good party since graduation.”

My heart speeds up stupidly at his attention, especially when he moves his hand up to squeeze my shoulder. I sigh, letting my eyes scan the table of my friend’s faces, before agreeing reluctantly.

The conversation turns to who’s bringing the alcohol and I pick my phone up, tuning them out. I love my friends, I really do. But lately, I don’t know how much I like them. Everything with them is so fucking boring. If it’s not about a party, drugs, or who’s wearing knockoff Cartier, they never have anything to say.

But as I think this, Jace leans over me to speak to one of the boys and I remember why I deal with any of this at all. He’s been my best friend for more than half my life and I’ve been in love with him for longer than I can remember. I resist the urge to push his floppy hair out of his face, knowing he only likes me to touch him when no one is around to see.

I push the thoughts out of my head and send my dad a text to let them know I won’t be at family night tonight making up an excuse about researching colleges. The sad face my he sends back almost immediately squeezes my heart but I just set my phone down and look up at my friends.

“So what are we wearing?”

***********

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I exclaim as Jace pulls into the parking lot. The parking lot of my dad’s new investment, a run-down old abandoned warehouse.

“Jace, my dad will actually kill me if we get caught.” He rolls his eyes as he puts the car in park, reaching over to tuck my hair behind my ear.

“Can you relax? We’re not going to get caught, alright?" He winks at me before opening his door and hopping out.

"Be careful when you get out. Last time you left smudges on my door." He says before closing his door and heading inside.

"Oh no!" I mutter sarcastically. "Not fingerprints on your precious Lexus." I sigh and drop my head into my hands, needing a second before I get out.

Brielle and Lydia giggle in the backseat, opening the door and sliding out before smoothing down their miniskirts. “Hurry up, Y/N. I don’t want the boys flirting with any randos just because we’re not there.”

“Randos? I thought this was just going to be a few of us!” I say, finally stepping out of the car carefully. Lydia shrugs, locking arms with Brielle and walking ahead of me into the party. I tilt my head up at the sky, straining to see the stars, and send up a little prayer that tonight doesn’t get out of control before I follow them in.

The warehouse is filthy and I turn my nose up as I avoid stepping on the broken glass and beer cans littering the floor, but the boys have clearly tried to set the mood. There are a few folding tables scattered around the space, one piled with cheap bottles of liquor; they always keep the top shelf for the in-crowd. They've strung up some lights that give the space some much-needed light and someone bought a speaker that is blasting Drake.

There are people everywhere already and I scan through the bodies until I spot Jace in a corner leaning over some blonde. Of course. I ignore the feeling in my chest and push through the crowd until I find the rest of my friends. Brielle gives me a sympathetic look when she sees my face and I shrug with forced indifference.

“Pass me the Don Julio.”

***********

I giggle uncontrollably as I sway to the music in the middle of the crowd. Lydia grinds on some guy she just met, looking over her shoulder to see if her boyfriend notices.

I feel a hand on my waist and I turn to see Jace giving me his grin. “Are you drunk?”

“N-No!” I hiccup, immediately breaking into laughter that he joins.

“Come on.” He grabs my hand and leads me to a storage room, shutting the door behind us. I look up at him in confusion before he comes closer, dunking his head to kiss me roughly. I kiss him back cautiously but when he puts his hand up my dress, I push him away with a hand on his chest.

“Wait, Jace. Not here.” He rolls his eyes and leans forward again, pressing me into the wall.

“I’m serious!” I say, pushing him away again. He huffs in anger and steps back, glaring at me.

“Why are you such a fucking prude all of a sudden?” He barks out and I blink at him in surprise.

“Because I don’t want to fuck in some storage closet in the middle of a party?” I ask sarcastically, leaning on the wall to help my balance.

“God, you are such a princess.” He sniffs, rubbing his arm over his nose and it clicks.

“Oh my god, Jace. Seriously? You said you were done with cocaine.” I snap, reaching forward to place a hand on his arm but he snatches away.

“What are you, my mother?" He scoffs, turning away from me. "Whatever dude. I’m out of here. You’re not the only pussy at this party.” He says, throwing open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

I stand frozen for a minute before hunching over and placing my hands on my knees. I bite back the sobs that are threatening to fall and try to compose myself. I knew before I ever started this friends with benefits bullshit with Jace that he'd break my heart, telling myself it'd be worth it to have him at all. But Jace off blow is a whole different breed of asshole. I give myself a few more minutes before I straighten up and prepare to go back to the party.

But when I place my hand on the door handle, I get a gut feeling that something is wrong. The hum of the party has changed; the music has been cut and the chatter sounds more panicked now than fun.

I throw the door open and step out, seeing everyone running around and grabbing their stuff. I ask someone who's passing by what's going on but they ignore me and jet outside.

“Freeze!”

My heart hits the floor and I curse loudly as realization sets in. Cops. I look around for Jace or any of my friends but they are nowhere to be found. They have to be here. They wouldn’t have left me. Would they?

I try to figure out what to do next but in my confusion, I run right into a police officer who looks very unimpressed.

“We got one.” He says over his shoulder, taking my arm.

No. No. No. I groan in defeat, letting him lead me to the patrol car when I hear a familiar voice behind me and turn.

“It’s okay, officer. Unfortunately, that one belongs to me.” My dad says, the disappointment so thick in his voice that I bring my eyes to the ground.

Great.

taglist: @sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos @teapartyprincess4two

174 notes · View notes

voidpetrova · 3 months

Text

a little less lonely II — jj maybank x reader

part one can be found here

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, slight suggestive themes, alcohol consumption — angst, fluff

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: all you wanted from him was an escape, a way out. all he wanted was to show you the way back in.

✧.*

the universe had a way of being cruel, starting up twisted games that nobody really had interest in playing. the night was always much kinder, much more peaceful. full of secrets, more than anything. even as the stars shined, offering a token of temporary peace and quiet, everyone revealed their true colors under the blanket of black.

when your eyes had first fluttered open, there wasn't much for you to register. you flinched, welcoming the pounding headache you knew was awaiting you. it was the first thing you had registered, unable to ignore the way your head screamed, as if telling you off for every decision you had made just hours ago.

you blinked a few times, trying to get yourself together. “fuck,” you whispered under your breath, sighing as the pain spread from the top to the very back of your head. your fingers traced the thick material of your bedsheets, pressing them into your naked flesh as a familiar heat engulfed you. you straighted your neck, positioning yourself on your lower back as your eyes shot to your side.

jj was still asleep, blond hair caressing his forehead as he remained in a peaceful slumber. you couldn't help but smile at him, watching the way he didn't budge, arms still halfway around your waist. you had never seen him more calm, at peace. you sure as hell weren't planning on waking him.

everything that had happened the previous night dawned upon you in a slow, orderly fashion. you reached out for your nightstand, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the drawer. as you carefully lighted one, you had all the time in the world to think. you had agreed to something stupid, something that would put a permanent fent in your friend group if ever to be exposed. the thought of it sent a shiver down your spine, especially knowing how you and john b were on shaky ground. you took a long drag, careful to exhale away from jj.

whatever happened last night didn't happen for no reason, that didn't go unnoticed. what if there truly was something more to your relationship with jj, something that went above and beyond a rebound? you smoked away as you thought about the way he stroked your hair, the way he held your hand—during such an intimate moment. it could have been a ruse, just a way to keep you in bed. it could have been something more, his way of telling you, he was still yours.

“no invite?” your head snapped in his direction, thoughts disappearing into thin air. his eyes were open, and you couldn't help but wonder how long he had really been staring. “and here i was thinking we were getting somewhere.”

you smiled at him, matching the teasing smile of his own. quick to retrieve your cigarettes and lighter, you held the box of marlboro reds in front of him, allowing him to join you despite having just awoken. “did i wake you up?” he shook his head, morning cigarette pressed between his lips as he brought the lighter in, inhaling the smoke as he lit the tip up. “wish you had, it's kinda late.”

it was only ten in the morning, but you had grown quite fond of waking up around six, you were both usually filled with things to do. you watched him smoke—it was your turn to watch. once he had met your gaze, he couldn't help but smile. “relieved to see you, actually,” he paused, taking a longer drag. “thought you'd be long gone by now.”

your heart sank at his words, smile fading as you peeled your eyes off him. would that have been the better option, letting him wake up to nothing but a cold spot, with no one to talk to? would it have saved you both the pain, leaving before he could gain consciousness? it might have, but you couldn't find it in your heart to leave, almost as if you wanted to stay.

“no reason for that, jay,” you assured, but you didn't know how affective nor comforting your words were. “we're friends, after all. aren't we?”

for a good minute, you earned no response from him. the silence was suffocating, and you had regret the answer the minute it passed your lips. you didn't know whether to say something or not, make up for the obliviously insulting question or not, but jj had decided to fill in the blanks. “that's how we're gonna play, really?” the smile that had been so welcoming just a few minutes prior had faded long ago.

“what do you want me to say, jj?” you sighed as you brought what was left of your cigarette to your lips a final time. you inhaled as much as you could, leave only the filter you were quick to put out. “you've got a girl waiting for you back home.”

he clenched his jaw as he processed your answer. it was almost as if he couldn't believe what you were saying. “can't believe you think i want anything to do eith kiara.” you scoffed, retorting with an answer you had thought of being more light-hearted than anything, but today truly wasn't your day. “why wouldn't i? she's who you left me for.”

the second your answer hung in the air, jj found himself turning around, extinguishing his cigarette before pushing you back down. you were startled, ready to fight him off as he nearly crawled onto you, hands on your chest as he held you down. “jj, what the fuck are you doing?” you struggled under his touch, but he only pushed harder, and you found it impossible to escape his grasp. he did his best to be as gentle as possible, having no interest in harming you.

“i know what i did,” was the first thing he said, and you listened. the smell of cigarettes filled your nostrils. his tone was steady, voice soft. “i'm reminded of it every single day. not by john b, not by you. by me. i wake up every day, and i live with the mistake i made. i've earned your friendship and your forgiveness, but losing you is something i'll never forgive myself for. last night wasn't me rebounding from kiara, but from you. it didn't work all those years ago, and it didn't work now.”

you listened, you were so grateful you did. at a loss for words, all you could do was return his gaze, and wonder how honest he was really being. he had just poured his heart out to you, and in that moment, he wasn't the boy who had cheated on you anymore, just a boy living with the consequences of his own choices. you had gone silent for far too long, earning a sigh from him. in that moment, his grip loosened as he pushed himself off, eyes bathed in disappointment. he had his feet on the floor, spinning around towards the door, ready to leave more than ever.

“jay, don't go,” was all you could utter out. it was enough to stop him in his tracks. “please.”

he faced the door quietly, still prepared for anything despite his stillness. you wrapped the sheet around your bare body once more, now leaning forward. “we can talk about it, don't go. we can figure something out.”

for a second, there was hope. his eyes lit up at your answer, although his hand remained steady on the doorknob. he thought about what you said, heart thumping in his chest. finally, he turned towards you, your eyes locking in an instant. “you really mean that?” his voice was just above a whisper, you couldn't remember the last time you had seen him so vulnerable.

“of course i do,” you assured. “not gonna lie and say i didn't feel anything last night, jj.”

the emotional turmoil you had been experiencing ever since you had agreed to his stupid proposal, was overwhelming. you had gotten so used to the way things had been for so long—you and john b, kie and jj. that's the way it had been for such a long time, it was what everyone had gotten used to. that didn't mean, however, that it was the way things shoul've been. the spark that had been ignited between you and john b was blown out by a cruel fate, but that also meant jj showing up at your door last night was no coincidence.

“oh, yeah?” he murmured, now taking steps right back towards you. “what'd you feel? what do you feel now?” he was inches in front of you, staring down at you as you gazed up at him. your breath hitched in your throat as you searched for the right words to express your dismay. you couldn't get yourself to focus, not with him in front of you, in nothing but his boxers, giving you a better view than anticipated for a moment like this.

jj caught on quickly, a sly smirk painting his lips which only earned an eye roll from you. “i thought all i wanted from you was a good fuck,” you finally admitted. he listened carefully, smirk dropping in an instant as he prayed, and boy did he pray, that a second chance was in the works. “then i woke up, and i didn't see john b. i saw you, and i wasn't disappointed or worried. i was relieved the second i saw you.”

he licked his lips, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. he swore he felt it flutter, the way a schoolgirl felt butterflies in her stomach after having her first kiss on a school playground. “would you have felt better if it was john b?” he hesitated, but the question rolled off his tongue like butter.

it wasn't something you had to think about, really. john b had spent a good portion of your relationship fussing over jj, comparing himself to him, tossing meaningless accusations around, it was all too much for the both of you. you would console him each time, assuring him that you and jj had broken up for a good reason, and that you were all his. you had never recovered from jj, that was something you had always known, but never dared to tell john b. you did it for yourself, holding all those feelings back. you couldn't afford to crumble under pressure. “even when i was with him, i spent moments wishing it was you instead.”

it should've been a bad thing—that was his best friend, and you had just broken up, the wounds were still more than fresh. but he couldn't help himself, not while he kneeled in front of you, extending his arms and placing them in your lap as he rested his head. for a minute, everything went quiet. you watched jj with sympathetic eyes, the newfound touch bringing you comfort. “jay,” you didn't have to say anything, eyes widening as his body began to shake, quiet sobs causing his his frame to throb.

“no no no, jay, come on.” you did your best to interfere, to calm him down—at least a little bit. your fingers found themselves tangled in his blond locks before frantically moving down his back, your arms attempting to pull him upwards and into your embrace. during all the years you had known jj, not once had he broken down. not in front of you, or anybody else. he stayed strong, for everybody's sake. this time, he knew he couldn't.

you pulled him into your arms and he didn't fight you, not one bit. he shook like a leaf on a branch, as if his breathing could come to a halt at any second. you said nothing as you listened to the way he cried, face buried in your neck. you could feel tears of your own brewing, no matter how much you wished not to break down. you had to stay strong, for his sake.

“jj, please, it's all okay now,” you cooed, stroking his hair as you blinked back your tears. your voice shook as you spoke, his arms tightening around your waist as you spoke. “i'm here now, jay. i'm back.” he couldn't believe what he was listening to, as if he was living his dreams in an unstoppable loop. even as he looked up at you with glossy, pink eyes while you said it, he couldn't believe it.

“i'm sorry, (y/n),” his voice was meek, you had never witnessed him in such a state. all you could do was smile as he gazed at you, tears spilling down his cheeks. you placed a kiss onto his forehead. “forgave you a long time ago.”

for a while, you stayed like that. with your arms wrapped around his back, him on your chest, and his arms hugging your waist protectively. this had been a decision you could very well come to regret, you were well aware of everything that could go wrong. however, it wasn't something you necessarily cared to think about then and there. not about the past, not about kie, not about john b. you had everything you needed in your arms, helping you feel a little more loved and a little less lonely.

#outer banks #obx #outer banks x reader #obx x reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks angst #outer banks smut #obx fanfiction #obx smut #obx angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut

203 notes · View notes