#& now I can’t sleep bc of that mere fact

[nunyverse-scribe]

I need to graduate high school already so that I can be at peace with the fact that I will never have to hear abt my ex-girlfriend ever again.

[jamminvroomvroom]

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

-

whoops? lol

-

taglist

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(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)

[nakahras]

᯽ my love (mine all mine) • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • domesticity with chuuya

warning • intentional lower case, fem!reader, tooth rotting fluff

wc • 1.1k

a/n • a little something something for you guys bc i needed some soft chuuya after the week i’ve had

it’s hot — far too hot, as a matter of fact, for the air conditioned room you fell asleep in. you didn’t mean to fall asleep. truth is, you were supposed to be waiting for your boyfriend, who was coming back from a mission today — one that lasted almost 3 agonizingly long weeks. but how the hell were you supposed to stay awake when he asked you to wait for him at his luxurious apartment… okay so maybe you didn’t have to lay in his bed to wait for him but you were so exhausted and his bed is like laying on a cloud.

absolutely no one could blame you for taking advantage of that opportunity, not even chuuya.

you’re becoming more lucid as the grogginess starts to dissipate and you notice a distinct weight on your chest when you go to move the covers off of you to get some relief from the heat. you begrudgingly open your eyes to find a mess of orange hair tickling at your neck. you can’t help the fond smile that settles onto your lips and the amused puff of air that escapes through your nose. your hand is already settling into the ginger's hair, gently stroking through the soft waves. 

you wonder, distantly, what time he got home and how you didn’t notice his presence until now.

his cheek is squished on your chest, mouth open ajar, drooling slightly. you don’t even have the heart to be annoyed by the wet spot on your (read: his) t-shirt because of how peaceful he looks. his face is void of any of the usual rigidness and worry he wears when he’s awake, thanks to his position as a port mafia executive. he deserves this break and the rest, god knows he’s earned every second of this and who are you to deny him of it?

you look around, trying to gain a sense of what time it is but thanks to chuuya evidently shutting his black out curtains, it’s impossible to tell midday from midnight right now. one thing you can tell is that it’s hot. chuuya has always been like a personal heater, body temperature running abnormally high, something about his body being a host for the god of calamity — apparently that tends to alter the average body. it comes in handy when it’s winter and freezing but during the summer it’s suffocating almost. 

you need to escape, your bladder has very unfortunate timing, not only are you uncomfortable from sweating but your bladder is screaming at you to empty it. 

the soft snores escaping chuuya’s lips tell you he’s in a deep enough sleep that you may be able to peel him off of you without disturbing his much needed rest. you gently and carefully unravel his arm from your torso. as you go to place his arm at his side, his face scrunches in protest and he groans. your breath hitches and you instinctively hold it in, body going rigid as you try not to disturb him any further. luckily you don’t have to do much else in ways of moving the executive because his groan is followed by a louder snore and him rolling over to his other side, facing away from you and curling in on himself.

you let out a breath of relief and cautiously roll out of bed. you don’t even bother putting any pants on, you scurry out of the room to find the nearest bathroom that won’t disturb your sleeping beauty. 

when you finish up, you don’t make your way back to the bed that’s still calling your name. instead, you pad out to the kitchen to find the sun slowly descending into the horizon, sunset a mere few minutes away. the sky is already drowning in a deep orange, the warmth of the glow inviting. you ignore the visceral need to stand at the glass floor to ceiling windows and watch the sunset to make yourself a cup of tea first. it takes you no time at all to brew up a cup for yourself.

you turn on some soft music and return to the windows just in time to watch the setting sun paint the sky various hues of purple and pink. you let your eyes droop, happy to just feel the warmth.

your thoughts are halted when a pair of arms sneak around your waist and a chin is propped on your shoulder. 

“abandoned me and didn’t even wake m’up ta say it ta m’face?” his speech is slurred from grogginess and a smile creeps up onto your face at the thought of him immediately seeking you out after waking up. 

you turn your head to find his face scrunched up into a pout, you let out an amused chuckle and place a soft kiss to his temple. you’re met with an accusatory glare.

“‘n’ now you’re tryna butter m’up.” his frown deepens and eyebrows crease closer together. 

you let out a snort. “of course i wasn’t gonna wake you up. i’m quite certain you needed the rest.”

you begin to sway to the music absentmindedly and chuuya follows in step and sways along with you. it’s soothing, finally being held in his arms after so long, the level intimacy of dancing with him like this and watching the sunset is something you find yourself craving all the time when you’re with chuuya. it was jarring at first, being someone who usually struggles with that type of intimacy, but it’s become second nature with him.

you hum contentedly, a smile still playing at your lips. “woke up just in time to watch the sunset with me, though.”

you miss the weight of his chin on your shoulder the moment he removes it but you don’t have much time to think about it. your expression twists into one of confusion when the ginger takes your now empty mug from your hands and places it on a nearby side table. you open your mouth to question him but, once again, you don’t get the chance as he twirls you around to face him. 

chuuya takes one of your hands and places it on his shoulder while he takes hold of the other. his free hand rests on your hip and he begins to sway the two of you into a more involved dance. you make a confused noise in the back of your throat but the executive is talking before you can.

“don’t, please- just… let me have this for a bit. missed you…”

you smile again and rest your head on his chest. “i missed you too, sunshine.”

[sunnebeam]

twin flame bruise. (02)

PART 2.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader, jeon jungkook x reader (yes they're different people)

plot: the jeon twins have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name. but in their senior year of college, the estranged twins may have found one more thing they share in common – you.

warnings: jeon twins au, possible headache bc the use of Jeongguk (nicknamed Guk) and Jung Kook (nicknamed JK) is v confusing, mentions of money laundering, strained family relationships

series index. | masterlist + disclaimers.

note: part 2 is here!!! this will have 8 parts + an epilogue btw! each part will more or less have the same word count as this one (since i still struggle writing long pieces),,, no update schedule, we just chillin' here and writing things when we have the time and energy <3 as always, feedback is highly appreciated!

It’s been a month and a half since Jung Kook last had a good night’s sleep.

But he supposes it could be worse. After all, the bed he’s laying on is decently soft, the pillows are freshly fluffed, and the bedroom he’s occupying doesn’t have that dusty-old-room smell. Yoongi really outdid himself with this one.

“Hey, kid.”

Speak of the devil.

JK turns on his side, his back facing the opened door and the person entering it. He hears another set of footsteps that tells him Namjoon just entered, too. Still, he doesn’t budge.

He knows his being a bit too hard on his two companions, but JK can’t help it.

“I know you’re mad at us…”

He’s not, actually. He’s mad at the situation.

“...and I know you hate this place…”

Not exactly. It’s a decent house. He just prefers his own.

“...but it’s still too dangerous right now. Please understand, kid, we need to hide away for a while. Make things die down a bit before going home.”

Home. He wants to go home. To his apartment. To his bed. To you.

JK sighs. He already had this particular talk with both Yoongi and Namjoon a hundred times already in the past month alone. He doesn’t mean to be so difficult but the situation just frustrates him to no end.

But then again, this is his own fault.

Entering the underground world of money laundering – even as an errand boy at the bottom of the food chain – wasn’t the greatest idea for a side job. But when you’re an impressionable college student mixing in with the wrong crowds, you don’t exactly make the best choices.

What started as a small, risky gig to earn some extra cash turned into an endless cycle of running his clients’ dirty money around different places and concealing them in clean, legal transactions.

He tried hiding his little errands from you but you were too observant for your own good. Though you don’t exactly know what he’s gotten himself into, you do know it’s dangerous. In fact, you told him time and again to get out and get his shit together. But by the time JK finally got his head out of the gutter and tried to leave, he couldn’t.

Because you needed money.

Money has always been a sore spot for you, having struggled financially for as long as you could remember. And yet, not once have you asked for his help nor forced him to put himself in risky situations just to help you out. Unfortunately for you, JK is nothing if not stubborn, and if there’s a way he could help you, he’ll do it.

But this time, though, he fucked up.

“You didn’t fuck up,” Namjoon interrupts his self-deprecating thoughts. “It’s not your fault, JK. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

But it is his fault. After all, their latest client was dangerous, influential, powerful. This client was not to be messed with, not to be stood up, not to be denied…

…and yet JK backed out of the deal at the last minute.

“You were right to back out,” Yoongi reassures him. “I wasn’t sure about that client, either.”

“You’re just saying that,” JK says.

“I’m not. If you hadn’t called to back out, I probably would’ve. Either way, the man's pissed off so we need to lie low for a bit, yeah? Don’t brood too much."

Yoongi turns and heads out the door, motioning for Namjoon to follow him out, but not before calling out to their younger companion for one last thing.

“You got a good heart, kid. Don’t worry, you’ll get home soon.”

And he will. He just has to hold out a bit more.

He can’t. He can’t hold out any more.

Jeongguk looks at the caller ID with panicked eyes, the incessant ringing of his phone echoing in his ears, and he realizes he can’t put off answering any longer.

Swiping the green button, he holds his phone to his ear and internally hypes himself up, before finally talking to his parents.

“Eomma.”

“Well, hello to you, too,” his mother responds sarcastically. “I was beginning to think we didn’t have a son anymore, with you not answering our calls and your brother giving us the silent treatment.”

His brother.

Guk pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering how he can keep feeding his mother the lie that his twin brother was just in one of his so-called moods and took an impromptu vacation somewhere.

He feels horrible for lying but he also doesn’t want to unnecessarily worry his parents on the fifty-fifty chance that his younger twin really did just take some time to himself without telling anybody. And maybe it makes Guk a terrible brother but he really thinks JK is capable of such a thing – of just going off the grid and not warning anyone.

But that’s the best case scenario.

As for the worst case scenario, the two of you already went to the police station to report his twin as missing. But since the last text he sent was telling you he was going somewhere and explicitly telling you not to follow him, the police couldn’t do much.

Still, Guk is nothing if not thorough, so he takes it upon himself to call in some favors and hire a private investigator. As of now, he’s still waiting for some updates.

“Sorry, Eomma, I’m a bit busy with homework,” Guk tries to placate his mother through the phone but at the mention of the last word, he’s reminded that he actually has company in his apartment right now when Taehyung and Jimin snort at his lame excuse.

“Homework?” his mother repeats. “You work too hard, Gukie,” she sighs. “If only your brother was more like you…”

Again with the comparisons.

“Nah, he’s alright, Eomma,” he defends. “Y’know, he’s not failing his classes, right?”

“Yeah, well, he’s not excelling in his classes, either.”

“He doesn’t have to. Cut him some slack.” At this point, he’s getting tired of the nagging, even though it’s not directed at him. This kind of nagging is the exact reason his parents’ relationship with his younger twin is so strained in the first place. “Anyways, tell Appa I said hi, will you? I gotta go. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up.

“Damn, Guk,” Jimin sighs. “Still haven’t told your parents?”

“I’ll tell them at some point, okay? I just need to make sure that JK didn’t leave on his own on a whim.”

“You still think that?” Taehyung asks incredulously. “I highly doubt he went missing on his own. Hell, even Y/N doubts that.”

At the mention of your name, Guk can’t help the slight reddening of his cheeks, something his friends immediately notice.

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”

He doesn’t even bother responding because how could he not have a crush? His growing, albeit awkward, relationship with you is plaguing his thoughts every minute since he met you. In between discussions about his twin’s possible whereabouts, your other conversations allow him to learn more about you, and what he learns is that you’re passionate, driven, diligent – all the good things.

And of course, to top all that off, you’re fucking beautiful, too. It’s no wonder that, despite the unlabeled situationship, his brother fell for you.

Guk just hopes, when all this is over, you’ll give him a chance.

Nope, you won’t give him a chance.

You stare at the customer who has the audacity to only order side dishes and nothing else again. He usually gets away with his request when your boss, Seojoon, is manning the counter. But with you? Nope, you’re not giving him another chance.

"You need to buy more than just pickled radish before I let you eat in this pub," you tell him, arms crossed. Your manager, Yiseo, is at your side, tapping her foot expectantly, her eyebrows raised.

He scoffs.

"Rude," he grumbles. "What if people find out you're turning away customers?"

"You can't be a customer if you only order the free side dishes," Yiseo retorts.

"At least I pay for the rice," he grumbles when a hand lands on his shoulder.

"That you do, Jin," your boss says, inserting himself into the conversation. He then tells Yiseo to cater to another customer who wants more drinks, before turning to you. "Y/N, why don't you prepare Seokjin's food while I show him to his table?"

You sigh, complying with the request and ignoring Jin's annoying smirk directed your way. Well, if Seojoon wants his business to be at a deficit, it's all on him.

Besides, you suppose you owe Jin now since Guk hired him, and being hired to investigate a missing person's whereabouts definitely isn't a walk in the park.

And speaking of Guk…

"Hey, Y/N."

Ah. Right on time.

"Hey, Guk," you greet him, waving your hand stiffly and awkwardly. Yiseo sees your shaky wave from across the pub and teasingly wiggles her eyebrows, but you silently plead with her to not make a comment.

After all, this has already become an everyday occurrence.

Everyday, a few hours before your shift ends, Guk visits the pub and eats with Jin, ordering a generous amount of actual food to compensate for the latter's small meal. Then, later at night after you close up, he walks you home – sometimes updating you on Jin's progress with the case, sometimes just talking to you about anything under the moon.

You've grown closer with him, without a doubt, but you can't deny that you're in an awkward situation – what, with your history involving his twin and all. You cringe internally when you remember the time Seojoon mistook him for JK, much to your embarrassment.

"Seokjin's over there." You point him to the table where the man is eating.

Guk looks at the direction you're pointing to before turning back to you with his eyebrows scrunched. You're about to ask him what's wrong when you see his hand reach towards your face, more specifically, your cheek.

"Eyelash," he says as an explanation, pulling the offending object from your cheek, completely oblivious to how you freeze up at his touch and proximity.

When he finally mumbles a low, "see you later," and heads to Jin's table, Yiseo rushes over to you and gives you a pointed look.

"I see you have a type."

"Please," you whine. "Don't."

She laughs at your expense, patting your shoulder and bumping her hips against yours playfully.

"Y'know," she starts, "you should consider giving him a chance."

"Unnie!"

"What?"

It's your turn to give her a pointed look. "Did you forget he's JK's brother? His twin brother?"

"Yeah, well, your fuckbuddy isn't here, so…" She shrugs. “I don’t see why you can’t ask him on a date.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself, your eyes downcast. "I can't even afford to go on dates, let alone have time for it."

It's the truth. Dates entail time and money – things you don't have. And it's not like you have any family to help you out, having been orphaned at a young age. You’ve only ever had yourself to rely on. That’s how it’s always been.

"Y/N."

You're pulled out from your thoughts when you see Guk approach you with wide eyes.

"Hey, Guk. Did you want more rice?"

"No. I, uh—" He looks from you to Seokjin who's frantically typing away on his phone back at their table. "Jin and I were just…"

He trails off. You stare at him, waiting.

After what feels like a hundred years, he finally gathers the resolve to tell you the three words you've been wanting to hear.

"We found him."

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[ninjafuuzz]

Hoffstrahm AU kinda thing idk

CW for mental health issues and su!c!de

OK LISTEN

What if post-glass coffin Hoffstrahm AU where Hoffman spares Strahm bc he pussies out at the end and couldn’t bear seeing Strahm die after his arm was starting to snap. Hoffman fixes him up (does a lowsy job at it ofc), Strahm miraculously survives the injury , he gets kidnapped and thrown in some cabin in the countryside where Hoffman feeds him and stuff, keeping him alive. Peter, still shell-shocked and helplessly incapacitated, stays with him. So Strahm lives but is so PTSD-ridden he can’t even function normally, he gets paranoia and panic attacks and practically depends on Hoffman like a little child.

LIKE okay I know this is kinda another typical “Strahm-survives” kind of premise for a fic but listen. While Hoffman, who is, at the time, still the cold-blooded selfish murderer that he is, initially treats Strahm like a dog and lets him live out of mere pity, he SLOWLY realises, through his actions, that he actually wants to care and protect this utterly broken man who’s a result of his doings, and inevitably falls in love. (cue the florence nightingale effect) Hoffman begins cooking him meals, from imprisoning him inside the home to walking with him everyday when the sky’s clear, washing his hair, showing him his favorite films or music, letting Peter sleep in his arms whenever he has a nightmare.

I suppose we could imagine Strahm being so traumatised and wounded he’s drained of his usual rationality and temper and that’s why he lets Hoffman baby him. But of course Strahm isn’t COMPLETELY broken. His symptoms lessen, he gets better but still has frequent attacks. After some time he regains his usual wit and nature. At one point of course he simply realises what’s been happening and goes batshit angry. Hoffman sympathetically and patiently works it out with him. Strahm resists at first, perhaps by trying to kill Hoffman and escape or even attempting k!ll!ng himself. After trial and error and lots and lots of blood sweat and tears, Strahm starts realising that Hoffman genuinely cares… and not out of pity, but love. His mental instability and wanted status leaves him crawling back to Hoffman whenever he tries to run away.

Eventually Hoffman stops killing and cuts ties with Kramer. All his resentment and vengeance now replaced by his attachment to Peter. As for Strahm, he takes a tad longer to give in, and to accept the fact that he’s actually content and at peace when he’s with Hoffman and break through the moral boundary(aka the fact that Hoffman used to be a reckless bloodthirsty killer). Hoffman pretty much retires and wants to pursue a different way of living with Strahm.

And after everything, they end up becoming two runaways living in a wooded cabin surrounded by forests and mountains, secluded from a tiny town where they work together among the locals, indifferent to the past they’ve left behind. They’d go hiking and fishing, watch all the shitty films Mark would bring home, plant a garden, cut lumber, play-fight and cuddle in grass fields. Mark tending to Peter whenever he gets a panic attack, Peter learns to get used to receiving such solace. Slowly it becomes this usual, domestic thing between them. Perhaps one day one of them would propose to the other. Perhaps they’d grow old together, too.

-

P/S i was listening to The Bug Collector by Haley Heynderickx when I had this thought. i suppose i kind of saw this poetic analogy between “the bug” and Strahm’s chronic issues and inner conflicts that Hoffman wants to get rid of while Hoffman is the “bug collector” so to speak??.. idk interpret it however you will but this song truly inspired the whole mess. kinda fitted the misty earthy mountains vibe i was going for with this prompt too. really suggest you guys give the song a listen its beautiful. i also suggest checking out the genius annotation of the lyrics

[mr-president]

I really like your take on Levi, and now I wanna hear what was your Marxist critique on Levi.

Levi being transfem is interesting, though I can't really detach from Levi being tranmasc because the brainrot said so. I am aware there are trans men who also crossdress so it would seem like an interesting idea to have Levi dress in a feminine manner (probably courtesy of Marina) as a way as to not only distant himself from his past but also help him understand that he doesn't need to conform to society's standard of what a man should be. Wouldn't be surprised he initially accepted conscription because he tried to live up to that standard.

transmasc levi is a perfectly valid interpretation as well! if a character speaks to you in some way that makes you connect deeper w them, then kudos rock n roll my dude :3

anyway, k so basically the Marxist critique was like “levi’s suffering as a child soldier is somewhat presented as a depressing, unchanging ‘fact’ of reality is kind of disingenuous and peddles the harmful idea that everything awful in this world is ultimately unchangeable, and any attempts to change it is ultimately pointless.

‘because the funger world has the old gods who (though they have supposedly left) hold ultimate dominion over every event, then everything levi and to an extent all characters suffer is merely a machination of their existence. because the old gods exist, there is a sort of “reason,” the series posits.

‘and yeah, this is somewhat true to our reality because the systems that govern our world are quite intricate, vast, and unknowable—like a god beyond our comprehension— but it’s just that, a system, not a rule like the old gods of funger.

‘basically, Funger does this thing that i hate with most series where deeply bad shit happens and says “well, that’s just the way things are” to some extent—most attempts by people to break out of the cycle just repeat it once more, as per design.

‘levi—and every character’s suffering—may be resolved on an individual level (as they are in my interpretations bc i’m a whiny pissbaby who likes happy endings), but that still doesn’t really aid in addressing the root issue, does it? because that “root issue” is often ultimately presented as a result of otherworldly influences, beyond comprehension.

‘another Marxist critique is how the narratives of history have been ritualized, the world is ultimately controlled by the “Great Men” of history who decide how the next century should proceed. that’s literally how the New Gods operate, and though it’s mostly to emphasize how history continues to repeat itself, Funger doesn’t really acknowledge how humans have made real change. not through some kind of “great man” who was just Better than every other Guy around to cause any sort of change but

‘in a sense (and a potential counterpoint to my critique), you can interpret the ending A of Termina as a Marxist revolution—a collective movement of the people to unite as one and overturn the previous regime. the characters who get absorbed into Logic describe the process as something warm, like sleep, as they become something infinitesimally greater than themselves. the events of the festival can be metaphorically interpreted as a set of workers being pushed to their breaking point—individuals who have been largely cast out of their society and isolated from their work who now have “nothing to lose but your chains.” but i’d have to see where Mr. Haverinen takes Logic bc this interpretation is already super shoe-horny.”

But I didn’t go with this “opinion” mainly bc it doesn’t really address Levi too much and also bc I don’t really like presenting this opinion as something holistic. Like, this isn’t how the Funger-franchise is meant to be interpreted, and it’s point of view on suffering is less of a critique on class, power structures, the narrative of history, etc and more a reflection on a basic human condition: life sucks. Sometimes, you can’t do anything about it, but you persevere anyway. Here’s how you can use it for the better. But ultimately, this shit sucks, and sometimes that’s just the way it is.

It’s less concerned with solving problems and more focused on sympathy, suffering as empowerment, learning from it, that kind of thing. And I’m okay with just interpreting it as that bc that still is meaningful in its own way, and I think you get the most meaning out of a work of you view it from the perspective of how it’s meant to be interpreted.

Not to say that critiques or different POVs are completely irrelevant—the contrary actually. They reveal the deeper complexities abt the work or provide a fun reinterpretation for the sake of it. But ultimately, I didn’t think I’d be giving a genuine analysis if I analyzed Levi with this heuristic.

tldr; not everything needs to be disco elysium, unfortunately

[kumeko]

For risquetendencies, for the FE Three houses Spring exchange!

Prompt: For, Dorothea marrying someone else (maybe Hanneman bc the fact that they have a paired ending with kids blew my mind) because it was the best option at the time. She and Linhardt were mutually pining while at the academy but he lazed around too much then instead of shooting his shot and missed the chance to say anything. Years later, they cross paths again and old feelings are rekindled.

A/N: I absolutely love the idea of a reunion like this! Immediately it ate my brain and I had to write it. I was tempted to have her married to Manuela/Ferdinand, I think that would be a fun ot3, but I wanted this to be a more tempered piece and Hanneman fits a lot better than “whirlwind romance of 3 divas”. I also find Hanneman’s ending with her funny, I wonder how many years it took before she said “Yep, those are my kids and my husband.”

…

…

…

…

Dorothea.

A woman Linhardt hadn’t thought about in over a decade. A woman he hadn’t seen in even longer. Yet, despite the time that had passed, he knew the woman standing in front of him was her all the same. Her face had matured over the years, soft cheeks giving way to more defined cheekbones. Where before her hair had been loose and free, her wavy locks were pinned up, giving her an elegant look. And her clothing…

True to her wishes, she had clearly moved up in the world, swathed in silks and satin as she was.

Her green eyes widened as she caught sight of him. Despite her surprise, she recovered faster than he did, her ruby red lips curving into a provocative smile. “Linhardt. It’s been a while.”

Even now, her voice had a musical lilt. Tongue-tied, all Linhardt could reply with was, “Yes, it has.”

-x-

The Crimson Flower was a small but fancy coffee shop. Despite his passing knowledge, he could tell with a single glance that the red velvet seats and the intricately carved wooden paneling were of the highest quality. The last time he had entered such a refined establishment, he had still numbered amongst Fódlan’s nobility.

Now, as a mere researcher, it cost more than a year’s salary for a single meal here.

A problem Dorothea didn’t have, with the familiarity she perused the menu. A red fingernail traced the fine stock paper listing a variety of deserts. Her lips pursed as she tapped one before sighing and setting down the menu. At his curious glance, she smiled wryly and explained, “Tragically, now that I have a show in production, I have to maintain my figure.”

 Even in his relative hermitage, Linhardt had heard passing tales of her performances. “Your fans wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s sweet.” Dorothea bit her cheek before signalling a waiter and ordering the smallest slice of cheesecake. “I suppose it can’t hurt to have just one. It is a special occasion.”

Special. Throughout their school days or the war, they hadn’t been the most intimate. Just two acquaintances who’d bump into each other every now and then in the quiet corners of their school. His most vivid memory was of her sitting beside him in an alcove, her crossed ankles grazing his, her chin propped on her hand as she idly looked out the window.

Of her green eyes filled with silent mirth whenever she noticed his stare, her lips mouthing, “Like what you see?”

And now here she was, sitting across from him, more than a table between them.

“You look good,” Linhardt finally said after their coffees arrived. He hadn’t been keen on the drink until Hubert had all but foisted it on him. Now he could hardly handle a day without one.

Dorothea chuckled. “You? Giving Pleasantries? Since when did you care for social norms?”

His fingers curled around his hot mug. “I’ve had to adapt. It’s hard to get research grants otherwise.”

“Hmm, so I’ve heard.” Dorothea stirred her coffee twice. “I suppose time really does change everything. Even you.” She tapped her spoon on the rim as she studied him. “I wish I could say the same, but you look terrible. Have you been sleeping?”

He resisted the urge to turn to the window. Without looking, he knew what he’d see: dark bags under his eyes, pale skin, messy strands of hair escaping his ribbon. It had been a while since he’d last groomed. Suddenly, he wished he had. “Exhausted,” he explained. “The problem with research, I suppose.”

Dorothea frowned. “Ah, yes. Research. My bane.”

Linhardt paused. She’d never seemed to hate her studies in the past.

“What are you researching?” Dorothea asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Crests.” Was there an easy way to tell her? He usually talked to fellow academics; it had been a while since he had to translate to the layman. “To be precise, the variations of Crest strengths, especially on those that have diverged from other Crests over the centuries.” Cutting himself off before he could ramble, Linhardt looked away. “It’s hard to explain simply.”

Despite his fears, Dorothea didn’t look confused in the least. Her fingers rapped the table as she considered his words. “Is it just about the skills connected to the Crests or also about power levels?”

“The former.” Linhardt blinked, surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged this as an interest of yours.”

“I know enough,” Dorothea said with a delicate shrug. “A passing knowledge, though far more than I desire.”

There was a story there that she wasn’t telling. Linhardt sipped his sugary-sweet coffee. “You’re in a lot of shows now.”

“Dozens each year,” Dorothea confirmed with a confident smirk. There was that fire in her eyes, the one he’d seen whenever she’d marched past any of her detractors, the one that he couldn’t help but follow even if he was across the room. “I doubt you can pass a corner without a poster—though, then again,” she tapped her eyes. “you’re not going out, are you?”

He couldn’t deny that. “Research takes up too much time.”

“Research and napping, right?” Dorothea asked with a wink. She giggled when he reluctantly nodded. “Still lost in your own world. I’m glad that much hasn’t changed.”

The fondness in her voice almost took his breath away. It was strange. They hadn’t met in years and yet, it was all too easy to talk to her, to slip into old patterns. He’d asked her to dinner once, but they’d never gone—he’d kept putting it off. The war, the rebuilding, the research; there was always something else to do.

Would it be too late to do so now?

“Dorothea—” Sunlight through the window hit her and something glinted around her neck. It was a golden chain looped through a small, simple golden band.

Noticing his stare, Dorothea glanced down and softly gasped. “Oops.” Sheepishly, she pulled out the chain, her hand curling delicately around the ring at the end. Her expression softened. “My little secret. I can’t let my adoring audience know about this just yet.”

“You got married,” Linhardt replied automatically, putting two and two together.

She gently dropped the ring under her dress’s collar. “Yes.”

This time, his breath did get knocked out of him.

“I didn’t think I would, after…everything. Especially when Ingrid…” Dorothea’s eyes darkened as her voice trembled. Even after all these years, their former friends’ deaths still hit hard. “When they all died. It was hard to want that anymore. Though I…” She peeked up, her eyes meeting his, her gaze lingering as she continued, “I did have second thoughts. I waited…though I’m not sure for what.”

He could hear the unsaid words, the pointed barbs that led back to that delayed dinner, to that chance that he’d never taken.

To that chance he could now never take.

She broke eye contact first. “Anyways, I thought I’d just throw myself into work. Become the second Manuela, so to speak. It was hard at first, but I started to get bigger and bigger roles in the local opera troupes.” Dorothea sipped her coffee. “I didn’t have too many fans at first, but…well, I had one consistent one. Hanneman made sure to come to every single opening. Sometimes with Manuela, sometimes alone…”

Her gaze grew tender. “He’d promised I’d always know kindness, and despite my doubts, he proved it.”

Linhardt stared down at his coffee, at the murky darkness. He’d heard about her shows, from Hubert, from Bernetta, from Hanneman himself, the times they’d collaborated on Crestology. Once, just once, he’d bought a ticket, but he’d never been able to bring himself to go.

“One time, he’d missed the show. It felt so wrong—even after the curtains fell, I didn’t feel right until he came running as everyone was leaving, flowers in his hand.” Dorothea giggled, shaking her head. “The silly man apologized. He was so flustered—it was adorable.”

Now she looked up, locking eyes with him once more. “I remembered what you said. I’m not the kind of girl to wait—I do what I want, with my head held up high. So I asked him out.”

“Oh.”

“And then I had to ask him out a few more times because he thought I was just teasing.” Dorothea clicked her tongue. “As though I would take courtship lightly. He ruined all of my plans of nobility and marry rich.” Her hand rested on her chest, tapping the hidden ring. “But I can’t say I regret any of it.”

He couldn’t say the same. Linhardt curled his fingers. “Are you happy?”

“Very much so. It isn’t the whirlwind romance I’d imagined as a girl, or the quiet practicality I’d accepted as a teen but…” Dorothea smiled softly. “Love is a more complicated thing than that. It’s not the life I pictured but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She sets down her spoon. Just when had she finished her meal? His own coffee had grown cold.

“No, I suppose that is a lie.” Dorothea reached forward, her warm hand covering his. Despite the passing years, remembrances of the war didn’t fade easily and he could feel her scars and callouses. She squeezed his hand, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “I do have one regret.”

Linhardt turned his hand and squeezed back before she could escape. “Me too.”

She closed her eyes. Her smile turned bittersweet as she stood up, her hand slipping out of his grasp. “It was good seeing you, Linhardt.”

He could only watch as she left, as her figure appeared outside the window and she stepped into a waiting carriage. The seat across from him was empty, only a lipstick stained cup and some cheesecake crumbs proving that Dorothea had been there, had been so close and yet so far at the same time.

The coffee was cold. Linhardt picked it up anyways, turning slightly to stare out the window. Across the street, a giant poster for Dorothea’s latest opera was plastered on a wall, her enigmatic smile dominating the paper.

He took a sip but all the sugar in the world couldn’t stop the bitterness filling him now.

Let’s have a proper dinner, she’d asked him once. Not in the dining hall, but out. The two of us.

He should have taken her then.

[pissfizz]

For context-

1) my sister is home for the summer. She has a ton of shit from her dorm. There is no floor space on her side of the room except for next to her bed. Piled very high, plus all the shit that was there before. Note she is currently away as she works as a camp counselor.

2) I have a lot of shit. I have tons of stuffed animals books trinkets etcetera I have a ton of fucking shit. Our room is a mess right now bc it’s overfilled.

3) last week I picked up a blanket off the floor and there was a bigass nickel sized spider underneath. It ran under my bed. Where I keep even more stuffed animals and all my shoes. I managed to find it and made my mom catch it for me because I’m scared.

4) skip to now. It is one am. I am reading fanfiction all cozy in bed. I need to be up relatively early tomorrow so I’m thinking of going to sleep soon. My light it still on though. I look up briefly, and see a black dot on the wall. I get out of bed bc my eye sight is bad and I can’t see what it is, and I’m about to be very annoyed if a fly got into my room right as I’m about to sleep.

5) it’s another bigass fucking spider.

6) I stare at it for a moment. It is on the wall across from my bed, aka my sisters side of the room, near the ceiling. I feel lightheaded and scared. I debate waking up my mom to come save me but she was annoyed when this happened in the middle of the day and would probably not take kindly to being woken up at one am. I resolve i can kill it myself.

7) I pick up one of my sisters shoes that’s lying in front of me. I climb up on top of her pile of shit most definitely breaking something, sorry girl, and try and squish it. It gets away. I try again, and this time it runs behind one of her award plaques hanging on the wall. I touch the plaque and it runs out to go behind ANOTHER one. I am breathing very heavily and have definitely made a lot of noise by now. My parents bedroom is directly under me and they can hear everything I do as I can with them.

8) I touch the second plaque. It runs out but doesn’t go behind anything so I slam the shoe on top of it, intentionally using the flattest part so I’m certain it gets it. I lift the show after squishing it around for a few moments. There is no squish mark either on the wall or the shoe, and definitely no spider body. I have no fucking idea where it went. I did not see it run out. It fucking vanished. I quickly realize this likely means it managed to go DOWN the wall, and is now behind her desk mirror. I am now fucking screwed. My legs are now shaking so fucking bad I can barely stand, especially on her precarious pile of junk. I drop the shoe, I don’t care about the noise anymore, and attempt to climb down. In the process I break a plastic hanger. I do not care we have tons.

9) do you think I’m fucking sleeping in there? Fuck no dude! I grab my phone and charger and also stuffed bunny bc of course and just. Leave the room. I feel like crying and throwing up. As I’m leaving after such a noisy ordeal, I realize my grandma is staying in the room across the hall from me, which has no door, nor any walls. Thankfully I don’t think she woke up, but I definitely was no quiet.

10) I go downstairs and my legs are shaking so bad I can barely walk. I am borderline hyperventilating and scared as fucking shit. Of course there is a stairs barrier so my dog doesn’t go upstairs that I didn’t realize was put up, almost fail to make it over this with my unstable legs. I go lay down on the couch and now it feels like bugs are crawling all over me.

11) now I am panicking over the fact there was not one but two bigass spiders in my room that look similar meaning there is in fact probably more but there’s so much shit in my room and I’m supposed to move out in mere weeks and don’t have the time nor space to tear the place apart searching. Additionally worried over the fact I have woken up in the past with ambiguous bug bites that might be related.

12) make a tumblr post about it because I am on the verge of tears and don’t know what to do and don’t want to re enter my room. Begin to feel better as I type out the story before getting to the end and suddenly now the anxiety is back full force and I want to throw up and cry bc there might be a fucking spider infestation in my room and not even of tiny inconsequential ones, but actually large scary looking ones.

13) the feeling of bugs crawling on me hasn’t left once

Time to set my entire fucking room on fire

[silkscream]

💌—you have no idea how feral the idea of waking peter up by rubbing against him makes me. like not even on purpose, just bc it’s hard to sleep in one position all night long.

mdni. 18+ only.

you blame the coffee you had at 6 pm for your inability to sleep right now, but you know you’re lying. you know it’s actually just your nerves, and the fact that peter parker is sleeping right next to you. the notion alone makes you feral, and now it’s a reality, and you haven’t the slightest fucking idea what to do with yourself.

it wasn’t your idea to sleep in his bed -- you never liked to overstay your welcome, but he insisted after the two of you ended up watching two movies back to back after your study session. you could’ve called an uber but peter insisted that it was too expensive (it was) and it was much too late to take the subway (it wasn’t). and so now here you are, tossing and turning in peter parker’s twin-size bed with him right up against you, sound asleep. 

there’s a moment when you literally decide to count sheep. one, two, three turns to fifty, and then you don’t think of anything at all. in fact, peter’s even breathing goes in tandem with yours, and you’re on the brink of falling asleep... right until peter wraps an arm around your waist. 

your eyes are wide with shock. he’s spooning you. which is rather comforting and something you could quite definitely get used to, but this was your friend. you’re sure it’s a mindless thing -- he’s fast asleep after all -- but you feel guilty in trying to remove his arm from your waist. not to mention that he’s caught you on your side with your arm stuck in a weird, uncomfortable position under the rest of your body. so naturally, you attempt to shift.

you inadvertently graze him, allowing more touch than what you think is appropriate, but he merely pulls you closer. with a sigh, you attempt to remove him, squirming. you stop in your tracks when you feel something right below your hip. you squint into the darkness.

another slight, experimental maneuver from you and your ass is nearly grinding into peter, and lo and behold, you hear a whimper. it’s so soft that you think you imagine it, but when you move again, the same whimper exhales from the mouth that’s right up against your neck. you even feel his breath. 

another movement. you’re nearly putty under peter’s grasp and for fuck’s sake, that’s definitely a hard-on you’re feeling against your ass. you feel almost ashamed. like you’re tricking his unconscious. 

the cuddling was bad enough, and it certainly didn’t help that you were developing the smallest crush on him lately. emphasis on smallest, you tell yourself. it’s getting hard to contain your desires when you’ve accidentally walked into a pleasant daydream of yours.

to your surprise, peter squirms behind you while still keeping you close, groaning and mumbling unintelligible nothings in his sleep that you don’t take notice of. until of course, he says your name in a way that’s so weak, so vulnerable that the mere sound of it has you wet in your core. 

“y/n,” he whines. you freeze.

“peter?” you whisper.

“please...” he continues. “y/n...”

you take yourself out of his tight grasp so that you can turn your body over, making you face to face with him. his eyes are screwed shut but he still seems slightly animated under his sleeping face. you caress his cheek gently, marveling at how angelic he looks.

you nearly jump out of your skin when his eyes open.

“y/n?” he exhales.

“hi,” you breathe. “sorry. you were... having an intense dream. i was worried about you.”

you can’t tell in the darkness of his room, but he’s blushing. not only because of your concern but also from how fucking close he is to you. and how extremely fucking hard he is right now.

“was i talking in my sleep?”

“uh, yeah. you were saying my name.” 

“oh.”

“what was happening in your dream?”

“well, i was... um.” he nearly chokes on his words when you move closer to him. god, you must feel how hard he is right now. you must feel how warm his skin is just from your touch.

“you were what, peter?”

“i was dreaming about you?”

“what about me?” you whisper. even in the darkness of his room, your face is tinged blue, bright enough under the moonlight for him to see your eyes wide and blinking innocently back at him. he swallows the lump in his throat.

“umm. it’s really stupid.”

“i doubt anything that happens in your brain can ever be stupid, peter.”

“you’d be surprised,” he mumbles.

you run your fingers through his curls and his eyelashes flutter erratically. 

“you were saying my name and you sounded so cute. and you kept cuddling me like, really hard.”

“oh. shit, um, i’m sorry. i move a lot in my sleep, i didn’t mean--”

“it was nice,” you interrupt. 

“it was?” he asks. his eyes are as wide as saucers.

“mhm. you can hold me again if you want. if that helps you sleep.”

he doesn’t say anything, only places a hand on your hip slowly. you shiver at the feeling of his fingertips touching the bare skin of your hip, the sliver of skin exposed between the shirt you borrowed from him and the top of your underwear.

“you can do whatever you want.”

“w-what?”

your eyelashes flutter the same way as his did before, except your mouth curls into a knowing smile. slowly, you close the distance between your bodies until your lips touch his as softly as a moth to a lightbulb. peter swears electricity sparks from the encounter. 

he’s so consumed in the kiss that his hand moves further up from your hip to your waist, then the skin right under your breast. his other hand is tangled in your hair, pulling you towards him as you grind your body sideways against him. he groans at the feeling of your leg grazing his hard cock.

“i really want this,” you whisper. 

“i do, too,” he replies breathlessly.

“we can, just, um... i’m on the pill. or is that too forward?” you whisper.

“is that what you want?”

“yes, i just said so. do... do you want it?”

he smiles with a cadence that’s almost bittersweet.

“i’ve wanted you for so long.”

and so his teeth nips your collarbone while you clutch him with your claws like you never want to let him go again. once he’s inside of you, you feel something new, something you haven’t felt before. that fullness, that warmth.

expletives are muttered under peter’s breath as he thrusts into you, holding you down while your both of your hands are clasped with his, completely intertwined. he kisses your mouth, nearly devours you, then descends down to attack your jaw. it’s sticky-sweet, the whole experience of him. 

“harder,” you whine. and he obliges.

“fuck,” he curses with a whine, holding your body even closer to him so that your belly is basically flesh with his while he grasps your ass with a tight grip.

you gasp when you feel one of his fingers descend down to your core, rubbing incessantly at your clit until your legs start to shake. you mewl like a kitten at the feeling, ultimately shooing him from the sweet spot because it’s too fucking much. you’re probably so close to literally exploding.

“‘m gonna come soon, peter,” you gasp.

“fuck, me too,” he replies. 

you wonder if the pounding drum of a heartbeat is ringing from your ears or if it’s actually his pulse. either way, the overture of your passion passes over like a giant tidal wave, and once your pussy clenches peter in a way that makes him forget his name, you can tell. you can tell because of the way he leans into your neck, whimpers loudly with expletives while his thrusts get sloppier. meanwhile, you’re chasing the same exact high as him, huffing and gasping and trying to get ahold of your sanity and your breath. it’s like a car crash.

and once the two of you come to, you’re both just breathing in each other’s skin, inhaling and exhaling. when he looks at you, he looks like he’s about to melt into your body entirely. and you lay like that in the dead of night, not caring about the fact that the two of you have class in just a few hours. being present with someone else has never felt better.

[hotwings0203]

Wat if katsuki actually had a s/o that loved Key word LOVED him but.....

Then when he started getting to aggressive and starts hitting her she suddenly stops all the love and affection. And that makes katsuki so confused and angry bc he like 'wtf why did they stop huggin and kissin me when I get home from my matches'. Then his darling becomes very depressed is and cooped up in her room all the time. So when katsuki friends come over they wonder where y/n is.

Tw:abuse, implied dubcon, depression

“Babe, you’re home!” You rush over to the door when you head it unlocking, arms outstretched already or embrace his wounds.

But when the door swings open you’re met with a scowling Bakugo who shoves you aside so hard you fall to the floor.

He grumbles and throws his bags down, kicking mud off his shoes onto the carpet as he glares at you.

“This place is a pigsty. Why the fuck didn’t you clean?”

You laugh nervously and raise an eyebrow. “Uhh, ‘cause I was out all day too? I just got home an hour ago and I was tired. What’s with you? Why’re you in such a bad mood?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen until they’re the size of dinner plates. His nostrils flare and his fists resume the same position as they do in the ring.

“You talkin’ back to me now?”

“What? No, you literally just asked-“

Crack.

The sound of him backhanding your cheek reverberates around the apartment, and you hold your face in shock.

It’s not so much the pain of him striking you that hurts, it’s the fact that this has been happening for a while now that aches the most. Nothing you do-no smiles, no amount of love you showed him in, no sobs or pleads-sways him.

You love him, it’s true.

But it’s hard to love him when he looks at you like that.

“Get the fuck up. And clean all this shit up, the next time I come home to this filth I’ll make the clean the floors with your tongue.”

He grabs you by your hair and throws you face-first onto the tile area, taking his own sweet time to turn around and walk to your shared room.

After you clean for hours until the place is spotless, you retreat to bed.

He’s on his phone typing away with a slight crease in his eyebrows, but he looks up at you as you walk in.

“Hey. You done?” He has the audacity to ask in a gentle voice.

“Mmhm.”

You don’t look at him as you begin changing your clothes in the restroom and close the door behind you.

His frown deepens at that. You’ve never shied away from being vulnerable and naked with him.

To test his doubt, when you walk back into the room with your head still down, he leans forward as you sit down on the mattress, your back turned to him.

You shut off the lights in silence as he reaches a hand out and curls it around your shoulders.

“C’mere, ‘wanna feel you.” He mumbles in his raspy sleepy voice.

But to his utter confusion, you gently brush his hand off and continue your journey to tuck yourself in bed.

With your back still facing him.

“I’m tired Katsuki. Not in the mood.”

His hand is still suspended in midair, his facial features still frozen in his initial shock as he’s left in a pitch black room which is suddenly overcome with a freezing cold creeping up his spine.

He’s too wounded, too shocked and shot from his ego to be irate.

You’ve never said no to cuddling at night. Never. So what was wrong now?

You were taking his anger so well for a while, what the hell was the matter with you?

But he doesn’t touch you again that night. He barely sleeps a wink to your usually comforting sound of soft snores and little mumbles in your sleep talk.

In the morning his lack of sleep gets the betterment of his temper, and he lashes out of you again in the shower.

You’re washing your hair when you feel a cool breeze against your bare body. You open your eyes and see Katsuki standing in front of you outside the glass door to your shower.

You feign an eye roll and merely grab the handle trying to close it shut.

He doesnt even let it budge. He just snarls down at your intruding hand and yanks the door back even further, pulling you along with the force.

You yelp and slip on the floor, falling unceremoniously at his feet.

The look on his face is frankly terrifying, much worse than yesterday’s. Bakugo slowly steps in along with your quickly reversing body and closes the door behind him, trapping you inside with him.

“Why’d you try to close it on me.”

It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Then get up and touch me.”

He’s towering over your cornered form, his fists dangerously swinging next to your head.

Your limbs don’t move though. Your heart thuds slowly, your love ebbing away from him with its slow rhythm.

You already know how this is going to turn out, but you try anyways.

“Please Bakugo, I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“Oh, so it’s Bakugo now, huh?”

Your body disassociates so you don’t feel it as much, but unfortunately your hands still flinch above your head in instinct.

“If you’re-thud-sorry, then you’ll fucking-crack-touch me you-smack-ungrateful bitch.”

Your cries are loud, but not loud enough to drown his roaring out, not enough to mute the sound of his hands cracking above your shaking body.

He leaves the shower unfulfilled in his heart and in his dick.

His mind is in shambles.

This is the longest you’ve wanted space from him, he could understand an hour but half a day?

He has a rude awakening when “half a day” becomes a couple more days, then a week, and then it’s half a month since you’ve willingly kissed his battle scars and loved him with your whole being.

He says willingly because otherwise you eat his hits up like you’re just another fighter in the ring when he gets angry at your apathy. The only restraining factor that differentiates you and the men he puts in coffins is his desperation for you to come back.

To no avail though. If you’re not keeling over on the ground or pinned underneath him and molding your anatomy to the shape of his fists, then you’re still as a corpse on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing you were anywhere else but here.

Bakugo doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to feel.

Rage is consumed by paranoia, paranoia is swallowed whole by depression, depression is swept away by panicked desperation.

His hair starts falling out, his punches grow weaker and he comes home with more and more bruises every day to match the ones littering across your body.

One might wonder whose the real fighter-him or you.

And so one day when he can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand the silence and tension that’s so palpable you could taste the iron in the air, he invited his friends over.

He need the distractions. He needs happiness, a word that doesn’t seem worthy of his pathetic being.

He’s more pathetic than your unmoving body.

“Heyyy man!” Sero and Denki exclaim in obnoxious unison and throw their arms around Bakugo’s shoulders. All three of them barrel through his half-opened doorway and practically topple him over.

The air of excitement is so foreign to him, but oh so welcoming.

“Hey,” he grunts back awkwardly.

“You’ve never really invited us over without Y/N dragging you by the ear for it. How is she by the way? Haven’t heard of her in a while.” Kirishima nudges his shoulder.

But before he can open his mouth Denki cuts in. “You knock her up yet? You sly bastard, no wonder you’re hiding her from us. The gigs over Y/N, show us that beautiful belly!” He cups his hands around his mouth and the quip slashes through the air and infests Katsuki’s heart. It’s a mockery, a cruel reminder of what he cannot have.

When their friend doesn’t answer and merely walks off, the boys behind him awkwardly look at each other.

Usually he’d explode at them or at least chase them around the room.

And usually you would come out to greet them.

Katsuki was wrong.

You weren’t different from him anymore.

Because when he accepts that not even his friends can release his stone cold heart from its catatonic confines, he’s never felt more in sync with you than he has now.

[haruhey]

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired​ @phoenixblack89​

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[fueledbyapplepi]

Hii I was wondering if I could rq Mikey, Baji and Mitsuya with a gn! s/o who is the sole provider in their household? and the guys only find out because they saw their s/o while they were at work? but they didn't know they even had a job bc they kept it a secret? it's perfectly okay if you aren't up for this rq! I hope you have a good day/night!!

Given it All | Mikey, Baji, and Mitsuya

- The boys with an s/o who's a breadwinner of the family.

warnings: mentions of family problems

genre: fluff, angst

A/N: Writing this made me kind of emotional because I have friends who are the main providers for their family and I see them work very hard. This one's for all the independent and hardworking people out there <3

Mikey (Sano Manjiro)

Another day. Another one.

Mikey loves feeling your hands. They're soft and smooth against his calloused fingers. He'll feel the palms in your hands every moment he gets. He always felt like a baby being caressed by your soft hands.

But there seems to be a detail in your hands that he can't miss. Every time you two see each other, Mikey would notice the burns and red marks on your hands.

"Y/N, what happened to this?" he asked.

"Oh, it just got itchy again. You know, the usual," you replied, trying to brush off the topic.

It has always been like that. Each time that Mikey points it out, you always try to avoid the topic or reason out that it's just a scratch. And it's not like he's saying that you're a liar, he just knows that there's more to that than just a mere scratch.

Which is true.

You didn't really want to lie to your boyfriend. It's just that, it's something that it's hard for you to open up and talk about.

At a young age, you were forced to live by yourself. Your mother died at a young age, while your father was a drunkard - eventually getting out of the picture.

In order to provide for yourself, pay for rent and other fees necessary to make a living, you worked hard. Currently, you're working full-time at a family restaurant where you're assigned at cooking. Although this was a daily task for you, you never fail to get yourself burned from the boiling oil.

It wasn't an easy life especially living alone. But at least, you have your boyfriend by your side to get by.

Now that you're shift has finished, you were tasked to throw out the trash at the back before you leave.

As you were about to walk away from that alleyway, you heard a familiar voice.

"Y/N?"

Looking at the source, it was your beloved boyfriend with a questioning look on his face.

"Mikey? What are you doing here?" you asked, anxious about how you'll explain this to your boyfriend.

"I just finished beating up some guy," Mikey said as he pointed out to a dude who passed out on the further part of the alley. "How about you?", he continued as he looked at your uniform and an obvious face that's waiting for an answer.

You knew this day would come. You just didn't expect that it would be today.

Sighing, and taking deep breaths, you explained to Mikey your story and why you work here.

"Y/N, why didn't you tell me?" Mikey asked as he caressed your cheek.

"It's hard for me to talk about it. I'm sorry for not telling you," you said as you looked down.

"Hey, it's okay," Mikey said. "I have a better idea,"

"What?" you asked

"Why don't you just sell Dorayaki and I'll buy all of them every day. Then you'll be rich," Mikey said jokingly.

You looked at him with a deadpan expression.

"But seriously, live with us!" Mikey said with such a happy look on his face.

"Eh?" you asked confused.

"Live with me, Emma, and gramps! I'm sure they'll be happy to take you in, you're my s/o after all," Mikey said, "Plus, you wouldn't have to work this hard if you don't have to pay for rent," he continued.

Your heart felt like it's floating in the air. How can you have such an adorable and loving boyfriend?

"I love you, you know that?" you said.

"Thank you so much, Mikey,"

"It's nothing," your boyfriend said as he kissed your hands. "You're like family to them after all,"

Maybe, the true family you've been looking for was always been by your side.

Keisuke Baji

You sleep early but the bags under your eyes were noticeable for your boyfriend.

Baji always thought that it was weird that the eyebags under your eyes were evident. Not like it's a bad thing though. You're still beautiful as ever in his eyes.

It's just that you always tell him that you sleep at 8 in the evening. Yet here you are, looking like you pull an all-nighter every day.

Maybe it takes you hours before you actually go to sleep? That's possible. But what if you just don't want to spend the rest of the night with him? Is it possible that you're getting tired of him?

It's only been months since you've started dating, but Baji couldn't blame you if you get tired of him.

But it's not like you don't want to hang out with your boyfriend. Hell, who doesn't want to hang out with theirs and experience late-night dates and night rides right? Especially if it's with Baji.

It's just that, you don't have the luxury of spending the night with your boyfriend. Being the eldest of a family of four, you have to work and provide for the needs of your mother and your two younger siblings.

To help your family, you work two part-time jobs every night. One is being an employee at your local convenience store and the other is being a kitchen staff at a local pub. Two jobs might be heavy, and tiring for you, but it's what helps you and your family to get by.

Your boyfriend knew nothing of this. You know that Baji's a great guy, but you're afraid of embarrassing the 1st Division Captain of Toman, so you just try to hide it and make lame excuses.

Tonight's the usual night. Same excuse. Same job.

Currently, you're responsible for the counter at the store. It's past midnight, and you wish you can catch up to some sleep. But you know you can't since you'll be unable to get your minimum wage.

As you're looking at the countertop, someone suddenly handed Peyoung yakisoba.

"Baji's favorite" you smiled as you thought to yourself. Oh, how you miss your boyfriend.

"And that'll be 145 yen," you said as you look up at the customer.

Well, that was unexpected.

"Baji?" you said, seeing your boyfriend's face.

"Y/N? You work here," Baji said, with a confused look on his face.

"Sadly, yes," you said.

"Well, care to share this with me?" Baji said as he pointed out the Yakisoba.

"I have a 15-minute break. Sure," you agreed. Thinking now's the time to explain.

As you and Baji met at the small parking lot, you immediately explained.

"Look, Baji. I'm sorry for hiding this. I want you to know that I'm the breadwinner of the family that's why I can't hang out at night with you. I didn't tell you because I don't want to embarrass you," you rambled as you look anywhere but Baji.

"Embarrass me?" Baji said, walking closer to you.

"Y/N, I'll never be embarrassed at you. I'm proud of you, okay?" your boyfriend said, reassuring you. "I just wished you trusted me more,"

"I'm sorry, Baji," you whispered as you hug him. "I love you."

"Text me okay? I'll pick you up so that you won't have to walk," Baji said as he smiled at you.

"Thank you," you said, with tears threatening to fall.

"You're welcome," Baji said as he kissed your forehead, "Now, let's eat okay?" your boyfriend said, excitement laced in his voice as he opened the Peyoung yakisoba.

Mitsuya Takashi

You're a busy bee. That's for sure.

Whenever Mitsuya invites you on dates on the weekends, you weren't available because you're busy.

When he invites you to have dates after school, you always have to decline because again, you're busy.

He understands it though. Mitsuya knows that you have to study hard for your siblings and that you have to take care of them as well. As someone who always looks out for his younger sisters, Mitsuya knew that it can be hectic sometimes.

What he doesn't understand though is the fact that it's evident that you're trying to hide something from him. He's not that oblivious when it comes to you. Especially after dating you for months.

You're bothered with it too. As much as you love your boyfriend, you're embarrassed about the job you have. But it's not like you have any choice. The job pays well and is enough to make a living for you and your two younger brothers.

After school and on the weekends, it is true that you're busy. Busy with the maid and butler café that you work on.

It's embarrassing enough to be dressed like this. But being seen by the love of your life? That's a different level of shame.

Now that you finished with your shift, you felt the exhaustion on your body. Standing and serving customers isn't a joke anyway. You didn't even bother to change out of your uniform. You just wore a hoodie over it, not caring about the frills of the clothes peaking underneath.

As you were walking home, you heard the familiar sound of an engine. Turning around, you saw a familiar face.

"Ehhh? Y/N?" Mitsuya said, stopping his motor beside you.

"What are you doing?" he continued, eyeing your clothes and looking at you as if he's waiting for an explanation.

"Mitsuya, I can explain," you said as your face reddened from embarrassment.

"Hmmm, I'm listening," your boyfriend said with an unreadable expression.

"Well, uhm, you see, I work at this café that requires us to dress like this," you said as you pointed out to your clothes, "But I don't do anything bad though! It's just we dress like this," you further explained, waving your hands.

"You look cute," Mitsuya smiled "I kind of hoped you just told me sooner. I would've made you some clothes,"

"Huh? You're not mad?" you said, surprised.

"How could I be? My s/o's working hard. Plus, I get to see you in cute clothes. What's there to be mad of?" Mitsuya said as he smiled at you.

"Baby, I love you," you said as you looked at your boyfriend with adoration.

"I love you too. But take me there someday okay?" Mitsuya replied grinning.

You just nodded and blushed at the idea.

[hypmicdaydreams]

CAN I ASK FOR Ichiro .... Idk bc or a lil quick whatever if fine but Ichirojust napping with his s/o type of stuff (TT)(TT)

so cute , so fluffy <3 i hope this was along the lines of what you wanted anon! it was the perfect way to end my night ^^ thank you sm for your request, and i hope you enjoy 💕

-pairing: ichiro yamada x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-summary: ichiro comes home to find you fast asleep on the couch

-word count: ~950 words

when ichiro comes back from another odd job complete that day, he quickly comes to notice your sleeping form on the living room couch. 

you had invited yourself in while he was gone, ichiro realizes, the spare key he had given you so loosely-held in your hand. he can’t help but wonder just how long you were here, all alone, at home, how long you had waited for him. and the thought of you sitting all alone, bored out of your mind and waiting for your boyfriend to return, does ache his heart just a little. but even then, ichiro can’t let go of that warm feeling that blossomed at the base of his gut.

there were definitely butterflies. and the way his face flushed with such intense heat at how cute you looked wasn’t all too preferable, having just come out of the beating summer sun. but man, he hadn’t really noticed just how keen he was to the idea of coming home to you. ichiro was a family man - he knew that himself - but simply the mere thought that you were waiting to greet him made him all too weak in his knees (or maybe that was the effects of the summer heat settling in). he’d never imagined such a domestic life, but he was utterly obsessed already. 

this pretty much made his entire day, especially after that tiring odd job he’d just finished. 

and it’s really the first he notices how adorable you look sleeping, the first he’s really gotten a good, detailed view of your features. your parted lips look so soft and kissable, and the way your hair is just sprawled everywhere surely does earn a small laugh from him. you’re so relaxed and at peace, so deep in sleep; ichiro hoped you were having only the best of dreams. and you're dressed in one of his hoodies, snuggled up to the sleeves, and damn do you look good in his clothing; it’s already practically yours now, after having seen just how well it fits. and he can’t help but take a few photos to commemorate, his mischievous side seeping in just a bit (and don’t be too surprised when it’s his home screen in a few days time).

had you missed him? the thought makes him soft, and ichiro can physically feel his heart melt, the way his own lips tug up into a smile. it’s a pleasant stinging sensation almost, torn on being down that you had missed him that much but yet purely ecstatic at the fact that you also missed him, his scent, his touch, even when it hadn’t been too long. 

you two were so alike. 

and you looked oh so comfy that it was tempting. simply observing you had reminded him of his own fatigue, the weight of the day finally taking a toll on him. working on a job in the beating ikebukuro heat certainly does take a toll on the body, and it’s also the first time ichiro notices just how drained he was. stepping in from the high ninety-degree weather into the contrasting cold home really had him hit. the contrast was stark, and so was his energy levels. 

a nap would make do, especially all huddled up next to you under the comfort of the ac. 

so he wastes no time in making room, gently moving you as to not wake up. you stir in your sleep ever so slightly, mumbling some incoherent words that ichiro finds all too cute, but ultimately stay asleep. he’s much too careful, not wanting even the slightest possibility that you’d wake and disturb your rest. he handles you with such care and fragility, as if you’d break from even the slightest heavy hand. and the softness in his gaze never leaves. 

ichiro immediately feels a sense of relief wash over him as he snuggles you big spoon style, and his fatigue is eased almost instantly (the effect of your touch, really). he gets a whiff of your shampoo scent, his heart only growing three sizes or so when he realizes it’s his own. man, you really were cute. 

you’re so warm, even compared to how hot he feels, but it’s still a pleasant touch. it was comforting in a way the outside sun hadn’t been, and it’s the type of overwhelming warmth that he doesn’t mind too much. and ichiro feels the way his nerves get undone, how the tension in his shoulders eases. it’s as if sleep came to him all too quickly, but he doesn’t mind; he was hella tired after all. 

and he doesn’t miss how you instinctively snuggle into him the moment you feel his warmth. there was a large smile on his face, one he couldn’t see, but ichiro so clearly feels your movements, ones that mirror his in a way. it doesn’t stop his own grin from becoming larger, or from the blood so quickly rushing to his face, turning the tips of his nose and red an even brighter shade of red. 

thankfully, the ac would cool him done; otherwise, he would’ve been a sweltering mess. 

ichiro finds himself drifting off to sleep soon enough, face buried within the crook of your neck. he couldn’t be happier. surely there wasn’t anything better than being in your arms, the one he loved oh so much, and being surrounded by your scent and warmth, just you. it instantly made him feel better, any of the day’s troubles forgotten within seconds. it’s difficult to fight the closing of his eyes and the drowsiness weighing in; it’s difficult to fight off just how good you made him feel. 

it was the best nap he’d taken in a long time. 

[nemeseos-noctua]

God I love your work so much?? You guys are amazing .

Can I request how Albedo, Xiao and Diluc react to their s/o pushing them away in attempt to keep them safe from danger? (Eg they may be the traveller who is connected with the fatui and the abyss aand therefore fears for their s/o's safety.

Tysm!! I love your guys' writing style. requesting this specifically bc it's not fair Xiao gets to be to edgy one all the time in the fics🙄 how does it feel to get pushes away now loverboy? (/j!! I love him just thought this prompt would be a neat inversion).

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: albedo, xiao, diluc (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: not proofread, blood, mentions albedos story (spoilers), xiao story spoilers, reader is not traveler

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: hehe tysm!! ALSO 100% haha i LOVEEE xiao but yk he be a lil stingy when it comes to safety! i want to tuck him in and tell him it’ll be alright 😔😔

during your travels across teyvat, you have encountered far more fatui and abyss mages than you’d care to count

and some of which— had some, err, not so kind grudges against you

these grudges were so serious that you began to worry for albedo’s safety. you personally did not care for blood staining your hands nor soul—but if that blood was albedo’s... oh boy

so, coming to a conclusion... you decided on the inevitable: keep albedo at arm’s length—for your heart and his

and, it worked. for a month, it worked. your visits to his camp in dragonspine lessened, your chaste kisses and morning voice left his life like... regrettably, his master

Staring up at the whirling winds of Dragonspine, Albedo’s teal eyes trailed over the ice, wishing to see a familiar silhouette among its blizzard.

He had been counting. It has been five days, two minutes, and 54 seconds since you last visited him—

Hah, just kidding. He didn’t count—but it has been five days.

Where were you? Maybe you were busy—the alchemist knew you had a life outside of—well, him. 

It was unfair of him to be impatient, for you had been nothing short of patient towards him. But still, his heart longs and yearns for your touches, his head feels cold without your fingers twisting through his silky blonde hair. 

Dragonspine was cold, but without you, it was colder.

he’d eventually head back down to mondstadt, solely for the purpose of finding you

his mind got the best of him as he spiraled into a brief insanity. maybe he did something to make you mad? maybe you were injured, recovering without his aid? so many questions spinning around his head he almost missed the sight of your [e/c] eyes

“[Y/N]—“ Albedo’s voice cut through the crowds of Mondstadt as the alchemist rushed forward. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, desperation taking over him as he reached a hand out for you.

“Albedo...?” You stopped in your tracks, taking in the sight of your boyfriend’s unruly hair and tired eyes. His lips were still purple—as if he had come back down from Dragonspine recently.

“Where were you?” The alchemist asked, his gloved hand wrapped around your wrist delicately, his eyes scanning all over you as to check whether you were injured or not.

“Ah... I was—adventuring,” You sweatdropped, the coldness of his gloves stinging your wrist, your eyes wide at how cold he was.

he doesn’t believe you—hah. of course he doesn’t, albedo is a genius in fields he wishes to study

he knows you too well to fall for your mindless responses or excuses, he knows your eyes too well to succumb to the smile on your lips or kindness in your touch

he knows, he knows he knows he knows—so why? what are you hiding? why are you hiding? from him of all people?

everyone has secrets—albedo is aware, for he has his own share. but please, can’t you spare his heart? just this once?

“Tell me the truth, [Y/N],” Albedo asked—no, begged. He wanted to know what kept you so far from his reach, what stopped you from visiting him or loving him or just being with him. Was he the problem? Was this the end of your love?

“I...” You looked away, tugging the alchemist against the current of the crowds, seeking an area for just the two of you.

And once you found it, you pulled the blonde into a hug. The coldness of his coat didn’t faze you, nor did the way his eyes widened or the way his arms hesitantly wrapped back around you.

“I don’t want someone like you to get involved with me, Albedo. You’re...” You looked away, your face still buried into the alchemist’s shoulder. 

“... A weakness. You’re a weakness that’ll be used against me.”

albedo is in utter disbelief

he—you—what?!

he’s... your weakness?

albedo doesn’t know whether to be flattered or hurt. he knows you have a dangerous job, he knows about the amount of letters you receive threatening him or you, he knows what you’re doing is for the better...

but—he cannot allow it. he wants to hold you without regrets, he wants to kiss you and eat lunch with you at good hunter...

“[Y/N],” Albedo breathed, cupping your cheeks in the palm of his hands as he stared violently into your eyes. Gaze softening, he couldn’t bring it in himself to scold you for all the worries you brought him to.

“I promise you—that even if Fatui and Abyss Mages disrupt my alchemy, I promise that I want to get involved with you—I, I want to be with you.”

His heart, it wants so much, it wants to have you, it wants to love you.

So please—won’t you let him do that? 

xiao also has many people out for his throat

well, i suppose... the difference between those ‘people’ and your ‘people’ is the fact that xiao’s debts are owed to the dead

the whispers, the screams, the agony. it plagues every part of his mind, like a melody with no beat, like an endless tune that he will hear for the rest of time

and you—you’re like, the charm. the ward and sigil that scares away all of those demons. you’re the sunshine that seeps through the cracks of caves

and now... you’re drifting. like a ship at sea, he wonders... will you be back?

regrettably—you think—maybe, maybe... you won’t return

What is this? The third week Xiao has sat atop the roof of Wangshu Inn? Hoping mindlessly to hear your steps up the staircase?

Hah. Is this who he has become? An adeptus who waits for a mortal like you to come, an adeptus who should be defending Liyue, and yet, here he is.

he’s a bit... put off

like. who are you to make him feel this way, mortal? (derogatory) 

he doesn’t want to admit it... but... he misses you. there! he said it. he misses you. now can you come back, please?

he knows, he knows he is not the best lover... that he is blunt, enigmatic, and sometimes... rude. but— but you, you accept him for that

and he ponders atop the roof of wangshu inn—perhaps, was this ignoring scheme long overdue? have you finally grown tired of him and all of his karma? have you found someone better—someone you can love you, hold you, and care for you like you deserve?

he hopes—the answer is no

but he knows... the answer is probably yes

“Oh, [Y/N]! You’re back!” Verr Goldet’s hushed voice ran through the adeptus mind as his form shot up almost instantly. Staring down from his position on the roof, his yellow eyes stared over at your familiar form, your [e/c] eyes and vision that dangled from your hip.

“Haha, sorry about that.” 

You smiled, but Xiao didn’t miss the way you winced upon doing so. Your arms and legs were wrapped with bandages, dried splotches of red and clothing as messy as could be.

“Your room is upstairs, sleep well,” Verr Goldet nodded knowingly, a bittersweet grin on her face as her mind flickered to the thought of Xiao and his shortening temper.

once you step out onto the balcony, you do not need to look to see who has appeared beside you

“Hello, Xiao!” You say openly, arms outstretched for a hug as the adeptus merely stared at you. Three weeks. Three weeks without you, three weeks too many—and here you were, opening your arms like you had just returned back from an hour long trip.

“ . . . “ Staying silent, Xiao could only cross his arms, glaring at you with mixed emotions. He was relieved to see you back and ‘happy’, but still, he was frustrated and irritated at the way you behaved so recklessly.

“You owe me an expla—“

“—nation,” You finished for the male, an exasperated smile gracing your features as you turned over to the balcony, the setting moon and proud stars soaring like the birds of Mondstadt.

“I was... dealing with some encounters,” Your tone was laced with a malice even he wasn’t expecting, the number of bandages scouring your skin finally making sense as his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Fatui? Tell me where they are, I wi—“

“No.”

Turning over to him fully, Xiao’s breath hitched. Ugh, again—you and your pretty smile and charming features. The simplest things you do made him go insane like the karmic debts that flourished through his mind.

“You can’t get involved, Xiao. They will only go after you. I returned here today to tell you that I’ll be going off for three month—“

“What?” The Yaksha breathed in disbelief. Did he hear right? Were you seriously leaving again?! 

“I said, I am leaving again... Xiao. It’s not you—Celestia no... it’d never be you. It’s just...” You looked around, to anywhere, anyone but him. If you glanced at him now, chances are you’d succumb to his sunny eyes and stay back at Wangshu Inn. 

“... The Fatui. I got on their wanted list and—I don’t want them to use you against me. So I’ll go out and get rid of them, and I’ll be ba—“

“No.”

It was his turn to decline, for he didn’t want to hear anything you had to say. You got on the Fatui’s wanted list?! What?! He...

He was going to kill them. 

“Do you think I am weak, [Y/N]? Eons of slaughter and—“ 

“Xiao!” You facepalmed, raising your voice slightly at the male as he blinked, taken aback that you, a mortal would ever thing of committing such a heinous crime towards a divine being like him.

“You’re not weak! It’s just... I’m weak. And if they find you, they could just threaten me with everything they’d do to you! Even if nothing happened at all...” Your voice died down, your heart hammering against your chest as Xiao’s eyes softened.

Xiao was—speechless. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Nobody had ever thought of him so kindly before, neither have they ever treated him as something other than a weapon of war.

So, he vowed. Like the night Rex Lapis found him all those millennia ago, like the night he broke free from the chains of manipulation—he vowed, time and time again—

“I will protect you, [Y/N]. For there is no need to protect me.”

[internal screaming]

diluc, of all people, no longer is afraid of ‘grudges’ or ‘debts’ owed to the fatui or abyss order. he dances with evil, masquerading each night for his life

and now, the only light in his world full of darkness, the only fire in the cold icy winds...

left

you left. you left with a little note saying you’d be back in what—five months?

a part of him was... shocked. it was surprised at how abrupt it was. one moment, the two of you were laying in bed, cradling each others’ forms. and the next? you were gone

the other part of him was... worried. did you want to leave him? what was this about? did you owe debt to the fatui? you could’ve told him, he would’ve payed for it all in a heartbeat

but diluc of mondstadt—hah, he was not known for stepping down so easily. so until he figures out why you left so suddenly, he is not stopping his search for the truth

and once he so happens to run into lumine and asks the traveler where you’ve been—he’s shocked

at first, he thinks lumine must me mistaken. what? what do you mean “[y/n] is heading out to fight the abyss herald”, you’re kidding... haha...

(lumine swore she saw her life flash before her eyes when diluc wrapped his head around the news)

diluc feels a bit... guilty. he feels guilty that he didn’t know sooner, he feels guilty that the abyss order is bothering you like how it bothers him, he feels guilty for everything

Wiping some blood that spilled from the corner of your mouth, you grimaced at the metallic taste. 

What was it? Err... day five? This was the first Abyss Herald you have encountered so far, and you could only assume it was the first of many.

Standing up, you sheathed your weapon. Your vision glowed brightly in the darkness of the ruins, the moon illuminating the way out as you sighed, pulling yourself across the stone cold floor.

As you trudged outside and into the moonlight, a twig cracked under a foot that wasn’t yours, prompting you to reach out and materialize your weapon, charging it with power from your vision.

“Who?”

Stepping out from the trees, your eyes widened at a sight you hadn’t expected to see—at least, expected to see this soon.

“Diluc?” You breathed, heaving a sigh of relief as the male took no notice to your words, instead, his vermilion eyes traced over your battered form, his eyes worrying even more with each glance he spared.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, rushing up to you as he pulled out some bandages, wrapping them around your wounds so he could get you back to the winery.

pushing yourself away from his grasp, diluc watched in hurt as you kept him away from your figure

“i couldn’t—i didn’t want you to get involved,” you mumbled guiltily, looking away from the male as his eyes seemed to berate you silently

“me involved? what do you mean?” diluc asks in disbelief. he of all people should be the one telling you that

“the abyss. i got in a tumble with them and now they’re after my blood,” you murmured, only causing diluc’s heart to pound even louder in his chest, his brain flickering to unpleasant memories as he rushed up to you, securely placing his hands on your shoulders

He’s... speechless. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He’s usually the one keeping people at arms-length—yet here you were, stealing his lines and his worries.

“I...” Diluc paused, trying to form words, and yet, nothing came to mind.

“...”

Silence. It filled the ambience and your hearts, yet, it was not the same silence in the abyss, nor was it the same silence before a nightmare.

It was a silence of awe, a silence that you’d hear before a firework would shoot up in the sky—it was calming, a relaxing wave like a seashell pressed against your ear.

A silent love—like the one you and Diluc shared. An unsung melody that played in the beat of your hearts, the breaths of the wind...

A silent promise, like a marriage or a confession, a promise to—

“I will be by your side, [Y/N]. No matter what.”

Through thick and thin, cold and warm, there is nothing but you two, two lovers against the darkness, dancing with ghosts and evil.

— constellations! 💫

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

how to fake date your best friend | jake sim

✰ summary: the rules were simple -

pretend to be the boyfriend of you, his best friend who wants the attention of their crush, for a week and a week only

no kissing (bc gross cooties amirite) allowed, unless needed in times of desperate measure 

and no matter what, absolutely, most definitely, do not fall in love. 

simple, right?

well apparently not. because news flash––jake's already broken one of the rules. 

and to give you a hint, it's neither rule 1 or 2.

✰ pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. members of enha!] 

✰ genre: fluff, comedy | fakingdating!au, highschool!au, bestfriend!au, friends to lovers

✰ warnings: cursing, high-schoolers doing dumb highschool things, underage drinking (pls don’t actually do any of this irl), jake being a certified simp, it’s LONG (i’m so sorry), cheesy kithes bc im a sucker for kithes ( ˘ ³˘)♥

✰ wc: a whopping 9.5k

✰ a/n: it’s finally finished :’)))))) it ended up being much longer than i wanted but i had so much fun writing the characters that i got carried away lolol anywaysss i hope you guys enjoy it,,,i got a little unmotivated during the process bc i didn’t know if it was good or not but here it is heh (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ 

Tuesday, December 8th

Jake Sim lives a simple life. 

He likes to think he leads the normal, stereotypical life of a teenage boy. Has decent grades, plays soccer after school, skateboards around the neighborhood, has a best friend who he’s desperately in love with, and has a stable group of friends. 

Okay, maybe not so simple, because this boy would physically launch himself to the moon and drill at its surface to collect moon dust for you if you asked him to––despite his deadly fear of combusting in outer space. 

But that fear doesn’t even compare to his worst one yet: not having you in his life. 

And so, he decided to just repress any and all feelings he’s had for you ever since he discovered them in middle school, when he realized he hated seeing you go to the eighth grade dance with a date––that wasn’t him. 

He decided that he wasn’t going to risk losing a life-long friendship over some dumb, teenage boy feelings. 

They were probably powered by his testosterone anyways. Yeah, that’s totally it.

He’s totally not in love with you. 

So yes, he lives a pretty normal life. Every day is the same as the last, and tomorrow will be the same as today. But he likes it like that––he doesn’t want anything to change. 

Especially not now, when he finds himself content with every aspect of his life (okay maybe except for his history grade, god, does he hate history). 

So, it catches him off guard when you arrive at the group’s usual lunch table, located outside in your school’s courtyard, looking as excited as ever. 

Jake’s the only one at the table so far. The remaining usually showed up late––Heeseung spends his first half of lunch tutoring freshmen for community service hours (but the poor boy has no idea what he’s doing), Sunghoon is probably stuck in line in the cafeteria again (he always forgets to pack his own lunch), and Jay is...well actually, no one ever knows where Jay comes from. He’s a special one. 

It catches Jake even more off guard when you skip over any greeting a normal person would give, and start speaking at one hundred words per second. 

And that catches us up to the present.

“Y-You want me to what?” Jake’s stuttering as you stare at him with your hopeful eyes from across the lunch table. 

Despite the expression planted on your face, which screams your excitement for your “brilliant, amazing, genius, Einstein-could-never” idea (or whatever other words you used to describe it––Jake can’t exactly recall the specific terms you used, they all came out of your mouth too fast), you don’t respond to his question of bafflement. You continue to stare at him, awaiting his response. Jake could compare the look on your face right now to a puppy looking up at its owner, eagerly waiting for a treat. You know, tongue out and all. 

He swallows the lump that’s lodged in this throat (is that the sandwich he’s having, or his nerves?) and continues to give you his look of confusion laced with a nervous smile because surely, you’re joking. 

You grab what’s left of your sandwich from his hands and take your own bite. Somewhere in between you arriving at the table and now, Jake’s managed to steal the sandwich you brought today. You did make the best chicken sandwiches, in his defense. 

“Well? It’s only for the week! And I promise you, after one week, if nothing happens––if he doesn’t make a move or anything––I’ll move on from him like you’ve been telling me to.” Your words are muffled from you savoring your sandwich, or what’s left of it anyways. (Mental note to self: don’t share your lunch with Jake ever again.) 

When Jake still doesn’t respond (you’ve truly gotten this poor boy paralyzed), you find it as a sign to continue. 

“I think it’s the perfect plan. Plus, if it doesn’t work out, it’ll be like the universe is telling me to finally move on, right?” 

Wrong. 

Jake has been encouraging you to move on from your crush because well, if we’re being honest here, he selfishly wants you to himself. Even if it wasn’t romantically.

Preferably, he would kill to get to be the one who holds your hand in the hall, call you cheesy pet names, post disgustingly cute couple pics for the ‘gram––but for the sake of potentially ruining his relationship with you, he’ll just have to settle with the role of being your best friend. 

(And he’s totally fine with that! Totally. Yup.) 

But he didn’t think that you moving on would only be a mere possible outcome (that may not even happen!) from whatever this stunt is you wanna pull. 

Said stunt: Pretend to date one another and hope it catches the eye of a certain someone you have your eye on: Park Sunghoon. 

Ah yes, Park Sunghoon. The previously mentioned one who’s probably still in line waiting to get his lunch as we speak. 

Park Sunghoon, the tall, kind, intelligent, charming young boy that everyone knows. And if anyone didn’t know him, they most definitely knew of him. He wasn’t hard to miss in the halls; everything about him just radiates perfection. 

If you plucked a random high-schooler from the halls of this school and interviewed them on the Park Sunghoon, they’d say you’d be lucky enough if the quiet boy so much as sparked a conversation with you, even if it was about what last night’s chemistry homework was. 

Well if that were true, then you and the rest of the boys would be considered lottery winners. 

How that happened, how the four of you dysfunctional beings earned his friendship, the world may never know. However, Jake is fully convinced that this was the universe’s way of playing a cruel joke on him. 

For as long as Jake could remember, it’s always been just the two of you. You and Jake. Jake and you. (With the exception of Heeseung and Jay, of course, who came along in middle school) 

In fact, your earliest memory of Jake was when he peed his pants in the kindergarten during nap time. You would know, you had the privilege of sharing a sleeping mat with him that one fateful day and in result...let’s just say the smell didn’t wear off from your clothes until a week later. Five-year-old you didn’t forgive five-year-old Jake for the longest time. 

And since then, you’ve been attached by the hip. And Jake liked it like that. Jake didn’t need anyone else in his life (with the exception of Leila) if he had you. He had found his home within you, and he didn’t plan on sharing his space anytime soon. 

Nevertheless, the universe had a completely different idea for the two of you. 

Sunghoon came into the picture last year, towards the end of the school year. Despite being the new kid, he found his way into your cherished friend group and naturally, the five of you grew as close as friends could be. 

That was the problem. Jake wanted to hate Sunghoon, to despise him for being the one that you had heart eyes for, but he couldn’t. 

Not only was Sunghoon one of Jake’s closest friends, but he didn’t want to ruin the dynamic of the friend group. After you, the three chaotic boys were the next most important people in Jake’s life. 

And so, we have the typical love triangle plot that every coming-of-age movie follows. Of course, this is all unbeknownst to you––you may be intelligent and a people-person, but oh boy can you not see the heart eyes your very own best friend has for you. 

“It’ll be easier than you think, really! Look, we can even set boundaries or rules or whatever,” you propose, as if you’re trying to get him to sign a contract. 

Rules to a fake relationship? We’re not living in a Netflix romcom, are we? 

“Okay rule number 1: it’ll only be for a week and a week only, rule number 2: we don’t have to do anything too couple-ly like...” you pause to wonder for a second. 

“Like PDA or anything! You know, unless we really need to convince him,” you casually add. When he responds with radio silence and stares at you with absolute concern painted all over his face, you cough. “Jake, I’m joking.” 

Right. Of course. Obviously. 

“And of course, just try not to fall in love with me, it’ll be hard, I know,” you send a playful wink his way. 

Too late. Turns out it’s not that hard. Jake would know. 

Jake continues to stare at you in hesitation. Yeah, you’ve had your fair share of crazy ideas (that Jake always find himself agreeing to––the poor boy just can’t seem to say no to you), but fake dating you?

Jake is sure he wouldn’t be able to pull it off without slowly destroying himself. He’d just have to say no, he’s sure you can find someone else to do it for you. 

Yes, that’s it, just say no. 

Jake has to keep some of his pride in tact. 

Jake does not say no. 

He doesn’t know what went wrong. His mind said one thing, but his words said another. 

To be fair, Jake’s actions have always been influenced by his heart, not his brain, anyways. And when it comes to you, you bet it’ll be coming from his heart. 

So here he was now, under the stare of three equally shocked and confused guys across from you and him at the lunch table, your fingers intertwined with his.

Just a few seconds ago, you had spotted the rest of the lunch bunch approaching the table, and you quickly grabbed Jake’s hand and scooted in closer to him.  

Now here you were, explaining to your friends of your sudden relationship.  

Jake is too zoned out to even physically pick up your explanation. Something along the lines of "we’ve been dating for a while but didn’t want to tell you guys yet." From the feeling of your hand clutched tightly into his and your body right up next to him, his mind was short-circuiting. 

How is he supposed to last an entire week of this if he couldn't handle innocent hand holding? Hand holding? God, what are we, back in the fifth grade?  

Two minutes into this scheme and Jake's mind has already downgraded itself to a fifth grader's.  

Jake mentally scolds himself for giving in, this was not a good idea. 

It takes Jake approximately 12 hours to conclude that this stunt of yours may, actually, be a good idea. He knows this because approximately 12 hours after the events surrounding lunch, he receives a text from you: 

y/n [12:03AM]: thanks again for doing this for me jake

y/n [12:03AM]: ur actually the best

y/n [12:04AM]: ew ok that was cheesy but really i owe u a big one <333

Following your thread of texts is a really close up photo of you widely smiling into the camera. A smile so big, Jake’s convinced your face was probably in pain after taking that picture. 

Anyone else might’ve thought the photo looked borderline insane but because Jake’s Jake, aka a simpᵗᵐ for you, he comes to the conclusion that it’s singlehandedly the cutest thing he’s ever seen in the entire world. 

After quickly saving the selfie into his phone, Jake tells himself that maybe this won’t be a bad thing after all. I mean, anything that makes you smile like that meant it has to be a good idea, right? 

Spoken like a true simp. 

Plus, dating you––fake dating you––is pretty much the same as it was before. He already spends most of his days with you to begin with. Now, it’s just with added displays of affection. For show, obviously. Obviously. 

And look, if Jake will never get to actually be with you, then he’ll take what he can get. And if that meant fake dating you, well, he reasons that it’s better than nothing at all. 

Wednesday, December 9th 

Jake’s playing with the rings on your right hand and you’re in the middle of dramatically telling the lunch table about the infuriating Karen you had to deal with at work the other day when Jay comes up with a grin you all know a little too well. 

“Okay that grin means one of two things: you finally grew the balls to ask out that poor girl you’ve been teasing all year or you have something planned that we won’t like,” you interrupt your story when you catch Jay’s sly expression, evoking a chuckle from Jake, who’s now found a new distraction with the bracelets perches on your wrist. 

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know that I did ask her out. It just so happens that she’s currently ‘in between boyfriends’ whatever that means. Ouch, by the way,” Jay feigns hurt from your comment by clutching the area above his heart through his shirt. Ever the drama queen. “But yes, I do have something planned. And no, it’s not a bad idea.” 

Jay squeezes his way in between Sunghoon and Heeseung from across you and begins to pull out his own lunch. Everyone’s eyes follow him as he settles in because as bad as his unknown idea may be, you’re all still curious on what this boy has to say. 

“Well are you going to elaborate or...” Heeseung speaks up for everyone after you all mentally debate one another through darting eyes on who’s going to have to bite Jay’s silent bait.

Jay then forcefully sets both hands on his table, which elicits a little jump from you as you go for a bite of your sandwich. Adorable, Jake tells himself. 

“My parents are out of town this weekend. We all know what that means...” 

Yes. We do know what that means. The four of you have seen this scenario play out many times, a little too many times for your own good. 

This meant one of Jay’s infamous house parties that he always throws whenever his parents go out of town. And because his parents are hot-shot CEOs of an important company whose name you don’t remember (it’s nothing personal, your brain can only handle so much information and this physics exam you were studying for took up 90% of your brain capacity at the moment), they’re out of town often. 

And along with Jay’s parties comes chaos. Lots of it. And that’s because...well, it’s safe to say that despite the many school-wide presentations the police officers of your school have held in the auditorium on why you shouldn’t drink underage, Jay’s parents’ liquor cabinet always seems to find itself missing many a few bottles after each party. But we don’t talk about that. Shush. 

Almost simultaneously, everyone at the table lets out a groan, much to Jay’s disappointment. 

“C’mon guys! It’s been a while since anything’s fun happened to this school, think of all the sad students in that building right now,” he extends a finger whole-ass arm and points at your school, “who are in dire need of fun and a little...” he punctuates his sentence with the hand motion of chugging down a drink, followed with a gulping sound elicited from his tongue clicking. 

You roll your eyes along with everyone else. Don’t be like Jay, kids. Listen to those police officers. 

“Jay, it’s midterm season! I have an exam on Monday and I definitely do not want to spend the nights before wasted,” you give him an apologetic look. As crazy as Jay is, you do feel bad nonetheless. The boy just wants to have fun. 

Your response is followed up with similar comments from around the table. 

“I’m helping y/n study” 

“I have an important skating performance on Sunday” 

“Uh...my hamster died?” (ok Heeseung panicked, don’t blame the guy)

Ignoring that last excuse of an excuse, Jay continues his debate nonetheless. “Just come for the sake of it! No one’s saying you have to get wasted. Pleaseeee for me?” 

Jay throws these parties so often, you’re not sure why he’s so set on making sure you’re all going to be there. Well, I guess who wouldn’t want their closest friends to be at their own party? 

That and, Jay needs to make sure his friends are there to stop him from doing anything stupid. We all know this boy has had enough embarrassing moments to last him a lifetime. 

Everyone at the table gives each other the same hesitant look. Heeseung is the first to give in, “Oh fuck it. Sure, count me in.” 

Jay’s fist pumping the air before turning to Sunghoon with the most hopeful eyes. 

Sunghoon simply sighs in return. “Alright okay, I’ll bite. But if you vomit on my shoes again, I’m out the door.” Jay’s finger is automatically drawing a cross over his heart as a promise to not ruin Sunghoon’s Nikes again. 

He then looks to you with puppy eyes. 

You, who's already staring back at Jay with a stoic look in your eyes, are stubborn and (unlike the previous weaklings) are not as easy to convince. And somehow, this began an unannounced staring contest between the two of you, a contest to see who would budge first. This isn't an uncommon occurrence between you and Jay, but the rest of the boys are still on the edges of their seats watching this duel.

Jake casually wraps an arm around your shoulder and you’re brought in close, but still undeterred from your death-stare match with the boy across from you. 

If it’s not obvious enough, Jake’s really gotten into his role of being your boyfriend, despite it only being 24 hours since he last froze at your touch. Character development, you’ll give him that. 

You almost forget he’s faking it for a quick second. And for an even quicker second, you imagine he wasn’t faking it. And you swear you feel butterflies in your stomach at that thought. 

Weird. 

You mentally shake the thought out of your head. Priorities first, aka, beating Jay in this staring contest. 

“Fuck,” you stutter when you finally blink, admitting defeat to a grinning Jay. “Okay, okay, I’ll THINK about it. I’ll let you know.” 

Not exactly the answer Jay was looking for, but he’ll take it. Better than a no. 

He turns to Jake next, knowing there’s no way Jake will turn down a party. Just like Jay, the boy loves himself a good party. 

But–

But because Jake would take your physics exam this Monday for you if you asked, because Jake would bungee jump in the Grand Canyon without a safety net below him if you asked, because Jake would fake date you to make your crush jealous for you if you asked, he doesn’t hesitate in his answer this time around: “Same as y/n, I’ll let you know.” 

Jay looks at Jake. Then back at you, who he’s still clinging onto like a koala to a tree. Then back at Jake. “You two are gross. Admittedly cute. But gross.” 

You look up at the boy next to you to see him already grinning at you. 

For the first time today, you find yourself agreeing with Jay. 

Admittedly cute. 

Thursday, December 10th 

You are having a bad day. 

You’re having the mother of bad days. 

Not only is it midterm season, but you still have all your regular weekly assignments to finish before Friday hits. So as a natural-born procrastinator does, you stayed up all last night trying to get a good amount of work done because what’s better than cramming all your work the night before it’s due? Doing it two nights before it’s due. 

Well apparently it wasn’t such a good idea. Because now, here you were, frantically throwing on whatever articles of clothing you find nearest to you because you slept through all your alarms. 

You’re lucky enough to make it through your school’s doors right as the second bell rings, even if you did look like you just walked straight out of a zombie apocalypse. 

You’re not so lucky when you find out your first class of the day, calculus, had a pop quiz. A pop quiz on the only unit you just happened to know absolutely nothing about. 

To top things off, you forgot to pack your lunch during this morning’s frenzy, meaning you’re automatically stuck sharing with Jake.

And because his mother started making him pack his own food out of a lesson of responsibility (she said something along the lines of: “Jake, you’re about to be in college and you don’t know how to pack a decent meal”), he only has a plain PB&J sandwich and a pack of Scooby-Doo gummies in his bag today (because newsflash, he still doesn’t know how to pack a decent meal). 

Not that you could care less at the moment, you were too preoccupied with catching up on your assignments to even eat. And if any of the boys noticed your zombie-like state during lunch, they did a good job of not mentioning it. They knew better than to bother an irritated y/n. 

Somehow, you make it through the entire school day and your after-school meeting for environmental club (save the trees!) in one piece. As you finally walk out of the school building, you exhale, automatically feeling lighter. At least the hard part of your day was done. 

Now you just had to wait for Jake to finish soccer practice, which usually ended around the same time as your club, and he can drive you home, where you can continue being irritated with your day in the privacy of your own space. 

You wait on the steps of the school’s entrance, waiting for a smiley Jake to come around the corner as he usually does at 5:30pm every Thursdays. 

Yes, a smiling Jake is exactly what you needed to make your day ten times better, you conclude. 

As if on cue, you hear a ding from your phone. 

Jake [5:30PM]: ugh coach is extending practice for “team bonding” 

Jake [5:30PM]: idek what team bonding is 

Jake [5:31PM]: you ok if i cant drive you today? :// 

It’s as if the universe decided to use you as its punching bag today. 

You physically let out a distorted groan, not caring if anyone who happened to hear you thought you were a creature from out of this world, as you send him a text back.

y/n [5:32PM]: it’s all good lol have fun with tEaM bOnDiNg

Things were not all good. But no matter how upset you may be, you weren’t going to project your negative vibes onto Jake’s naturally positive ones. So you get up from the stone steps and begin your dreaded walk back home. 

It’s freezing out. You should’ve known better to just throw on a hoodie and call it a day when it’s the middle of December. But then again, you figured by now you’d be in the comfort and warmth of Jake’s car and presence...not walking home in these freezing temperatures. 

You think about Jake and how he’s probably currently suffering from not only his team bonding exercises (but really though, what are team bonding exercises?), but doing them in this weather as well. The poor boy. 

You’re quickly broken out of your thoughts by the sound of a car engine from behind you. When you don’t see it pass by you and instead hear it pull over and park next to the curb of the sidewalk you’re currently on, you automatically deduce that this is it, this is my time, I’m about to get kidnapped by whoever it is behind me but y/n, you should probably turn around and check first before you drive yourself insane in this inner dialogue. 

You turn around and squint into the front window of the car. If it were a kidnapper, this is exactly what your mother told you not to do. Her exact words were: “Run, don’t look back, and scream bloody murder.” 

Good thing it wasn’t. Just an innocent Sunghoon waving his hand at you, motioning you to get in. 

“Sunghoon?” You approach his car and stop at the passenger side’s open window. 

“y/n! It’s freezing out, I’ll drive you home c’mon,” he nods his head towards the passenger side door. 

Well, how could you say no? Sunghoon owns a nice car. Like a nice car. Like car-seat-heaters-that-make-you-feel-like-you’re-physically-melting nice. Beats getting hypothermia outside, right? 

“Why are you going home from school so late?” You ask as you settle into his car, instantly melting at the touch of the aforementioned heated seats. 

“Debate club, actually. Decided I needed another personality trait other than ice skating,” he starts the engine and begins driving towards the direction of your neighborhood. 

You laugh at his comment, you didn’t peg him as a debate kind of student. Quiet Sunghoon? Debate club? If 2 plus 2 is four...

“Hey, I don’t call you the Ice Prince for nothing! Also, don’t forget your other personality trait: forgetting your lunch every day.” 

Sunghoon quickly glances over at you to send you a dirty look (because eyes on the road, kids!), which you return with a cheeky grin. “Need I remind you that was you today?” 

“Touché,” you click your tongue. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the faint sound of Sunghoon's music in the background filling in the quietness.  

You’re humming along until Sunghoon breaks the silence, “Did Jake get stuck at practice again?” 

You don’t know why, but you swear you feel your heart beat faster at the mention of Jake’s name. No, that was always there right? Because you were with Sunghoon...your crush..obviously. Obviously. 

Ignoring the feeling, you turn your attention towards the boy driving you. 

“Oh yeah, something about team bonding. How’d you know?” 

“Eh, I just figured since he wasn’t driving you home like he always does.” He turns into your neighborhood. 

You nod at his answer. 

“You two make a good couple.” 

You whip your head at him. Did you hear him correctly?

“It was about time, really. You two have been ogling at one another for so long, Heeseung, Jay, and I almost placed bets on who would be the first to make a move.” 

He keeps his eyes on the road, casually going on about how you and Jake make the cutest couple he’s ever seen. 

You're frozen, unsure of what to think, let alone say. 

You think to two days ago, when you started this entire fake relationship because of the very boy driving you home right now. The same boy who's complimenting you on your fake relationship. The same boy who's supposed to be jealous over that said relationship. The same boy you’re supposed to be crushing over.

But now...only a mere 48 hours later, you were finding yourself okay with the fact that he was happy for you. And for the life of you, you couldn’t remember why you liked Sunghoon in the first place. Not saying he isn’t one to be crushed on, I mean, look at the guy. 

Maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the fact that you didn't feel nervous or giddy or..anything at all when you got into the car with Sunghoon. At least, not until Jake's name was mentioned. That's when you felt the butterflies. At the mention of Jake.  

Jake. 

Weird. 

But before you can come to a conclusion on why you're feeling the way you do, Sunghoon interrupts your thoughts.  

"Well, we're here! Say hi to your parents for me," he pulls into your driveway as you're still collecting your thoughts.  

You give him a quick thanks and one last wave as you enter the front doors of your house.  

Seeing that your only solution towards confusing feelings meant distracting yourself, distract yourself you did.  

Even if it meant distracting yourself with your piling assignments.  

The next time you look up from your work, it's suddenly way past sundown and a heavy storm has taken over. You’re surprised it hasn’t started flooding yet with the amount of rainfall you were hearing. 

You check the time on your phone, the bright 8:16PM on the screen illuminating your dimly lit room. Seeing that neither of your parents have yet to be home from work, it looks like you were going to have to settle with some instant ramen for dinner tonight.  

As you trudge down the stairs of your home, the sound of light knocking against the front door catches your attention. It's been a long day y/n, you're probably hearing things, it's definitely just the rain.

Nope. There it is again, but much louder. Much more urgent.  

You contemplate any and all potential disasters that could happen from answering the door. Only a crazy person would be willing to go out in this hurricane-like weather to be frantically knocking on your door.  

And so, you assume it has to be some psychopath trying to get into your house. Yes, there’s definitely no other logical explanation. 

You scramble around your living room, looking for the next best weapon to defend you. Resorting to the flower vase your mother keeps on the table next to the front door, you hold it out in front of you, as if you're waiting for the door to burst open.  

The knocking continues, gradually getting louder. You mentally curse at yourself for dropping out of the taekwondo class your dad signed you up for when you were younger.  

Vase in hand, you swing open the door and brace for–

"Jake? What the fuck? Get in here, you're gonna get sick!"  

You’re suddenly aware of how stupid you look, holding a light pink vase with a couple of orchids as your only form of self-defense...for it to only be your own best friend. You immediately put it back on the table as Jake quickly rushes past you and into your humble abode.  

You close the door behind you and turn to face the soaked boy.  

“I come bearing gifts, also known as take-out and hot chocolate from that one cafe you love. Also my company, if you’ll take it. I had a feeling you weren’t having the best day today,” he’s simply standing there, holding up a large brown paper bag in one hand, and a deliciously smelling cup of hot chocolate in the other, but you’re looking at him as if he bought you the Moon. 

You stare in awe at the angel of a boy in front of you, silently thanking the stars for gifting you this amazing human being as your best friend. You don’t know what you did to deserve him. 

You give him a soft smile. “Jake, you didn’t have to. It’s practically a shitstorm out there,” you cock your head towards the window, showcasing the downpour of cats and dogs outside. Jake stays by the entrance as you go down the hall and through your house’s linen closet to find a spare towel for the drenched boy.

“Nah it’s no big deal, really. Just fulfilling my duties as your loyal boyfriend,” he grins, even though you can’t see him. He likes calling himself that. Your boyfriend.

Jake continues to shake his messy hair to get the excess rain off, giving a mental apology to whoever is going to have to mop up the puddle forming on the floor due to his unannounced visit. Probably you. 

Jake hears you laugh down the hall. “You’re really invested in your role, huh? Keep this up and you might actually trick me into believing you’re my actual boyfriend.” 

Actual boyfriend? Jake likes the sound of that. Maybe he will keep this up then.

Jake doesn’t have much experience in acting, unless you count that time he played the role of Town Villager #3 in the third grade play, so he never found it as one of his interests. But playing the role of your boyfriend was one he was willing to fulfill for the rest of life, even if it was just for show. 

Jake doesn’t respond to your comment, he’s instead self-aware of his blushing cheeks, thankful that you’re too busy rummaging through your linen closet to take notice. 

“Plus, you didn’t have lunch today and I had feeling you were going to be too caught up in your work to feed yourself anything other than instant ramen,” he sets down his gifts to you on your living room’s coffee table as you come around the corner, fresh towel and new set of clothes in hand. 

His eyes fall on the familiar looking pair of sweatpants and hoodie resting on the palms of your hands. 

Hm. A little too familiar. 

Then, it clicks in his head. 

His eyes narrow at you as you giggle at his reaction, “Oh, so it takes me getting drenched in the rain for you to finally return my clothes that I’ve been missing!?” 

“Hey! I’m not returning them, simply loaning them out to a friend who’s in dire need. You basically gifted them to me the second you left them here months ago.” 

“You’re annoying.” 

“Love you too,” you toss the clothes at him and take a seat on the floor around your coffee table, prepping the table with the boxes of Chinese food Jake supplied. 

After Jake changes into the stolen dry clothes, he takes a seat next to an already-eating you at the coffee table. 

“You. are. my lord and savior Sim Jaeyun,” you’re saying with your mouth full of fried rice. You sigh from satisfaction and rest your head against Jake’s shoulder as you continue chewing. He grins as he helps himself to his own serving of fried rice and orange chicken. 

You look up at him from your spot, “How was team bonding today?” 

Jake groans in response, clearly annoyed. “Stupid. I don’t get how doing trust falls and pyramid building is going to get us any closer. If anything, I almost FELL off that pyramid today!” 

You don’t know why, but you find yourself admiring him and his soft features as he continues to rant about one of his teammates, specifically, the one who almost dropped him. 

The way his messy hair, unkept from the rain ruining it, almost covers his eyes (but you tell yourself you like it this way, it looks more natural on him), the way the corners of his lips are always perked upwards (even when he’s ranting), the way his eyes sparkle whenever he’s truly passionate about whatever he’s talking about, the way his eyes look at you like–

“Stare much? Look, I get you can’t resist my good looks but at least be subtle about it,” he smirks at you as he takes another spoon of rice. 

You break out of his trance and scoff at him. 

“You’re cute when you rant,” you nonchalantly say as you move from your spot to mirror his actions and add more rice to your plate as well.  Jake’s stills at your sudden comment, unsure of how to respond. Lucky for him, you’re distracted by the mountain of food on your plate to even notice the blushing mess of a boy next to you. 

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute. Or else I’d deck you right here and now for ditching me after school today.” 

Anddd there goes the moment. Leave it to you to follow up a compliment with a threat of violence. 

Jake finds it cute anyways. He always finds you cute. 

Jake narrows his eyes and lightly shoves you before an apology is written all over his face. “Sorry about that by the way. I feel awful about making you walk home when it was freezing out.” 

“Nah, it’s okay. Sunghoon gave me a ride, actually. Did you know he does debate? I guess you learn something new everyday,” you ramble, unaware of the boy next to you getting tense at the sudden mention of the other’s name. 

Up until now, Jake’s completely forgotten about Sunghoon's involvement in this entire scheme. In fact, the past 48 hours with you have felt so normal, so comfortable, he almost forgot about the deal in the first place.   “You think he has any clue?” Jake suddenly asks, referring to the plan. 

You immediately know what he’s referring to, as Jake practically worded out your very own thoughts. 

You shrug. “Not a single one. We’re practically William and Kate in his eyes. But honestly, that’s the least of my worries right now. I’m too distracted by my exams right now to care.” 

Jake feels guilty for being satisfied with your answer. He’s 100% sure that if convincing Sunghoon took you two an entire lifetime of fake dating, he’d be all too willing to do it. 

“Go to Jay’s party with me tomorrow,” he abruptly says, catching your attention as your mouth is stuffed. Cute. 

He pokes your cheek. “It’ll get your mind off of work and plus, what’s more convincing than showing up to a party with your amazing boyfriend?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. Jake doesn’t know where he gets his sudden surge of confidence. But he does know he loves calling himself your boyfriend...even if it’s for the time being. 

Rolling your eyes and swatting his poking fingers away from your face, you ponder on his suggestion. 

“You mean my annoying boyfriend,” you stick your tongue out at him. Jake takes a mental picture and hopes it never leaves his mind. 

“But I guess you could be right. Maybe I can clear my head for the night before I study my ass off all weekend.” 

Friday, December 11th 

The party does not clear your mind. 

If anything, it gives you enough headaches to last you at least until the end of high-school. 

You come to this revelation as you and Jake approach Jay’s home, a luxurious mansion sitting at the end of a cul-de-sac, lined with similarly luxurious palaces, located in an equally luxurious neighborhood. 

You come to this revelation when you can already feel the pounding bass of music as you walk up Jay’s driveway. 

You come to this revelation when, not even two seconds after entering Jay’s front doors––

“You’re here!” A buzzed Jay shouts at the two of you, causing the both of you to contemplate your past choices that brought you here today. Jay definitely isn’t straight up drunk yet, but Jake still makes a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight. Just in case. 

The blonde-haired boy is quick to hand over two red solo cups of god knows what, to which you and Jake immediately put down on the nearest table after Jay walks away to greet the next incoming guests (you know, to not hurt his feelings). 

You and Jake are lucky enough to have been around Jay and his parties long enough to know that going all out at these parties will not be pretty the next morning.

You cringe at the memory of last year, when you had to suffer from possibly the worst hangover of all hangovers after one of Jay’s parties. Jake will never let you forget how miserable you looked the next morning. His camera roll’s album titled “y/n blackmail pics” can vouch for that.

“Remind me again to never listen to you,” you almost have to shout at Jake over the thumping music. Jake laughs at your comment and tugs at your hand as he begins entering the house.

The two of you do your rounds of greetings to the people you know...and random underclassmen who you swear you have never seen before but somehow made it to this party. You’ve always questioned how Jay’s invite list worked. Maybe there isn’t one. That would explain how it looked like someone announced Jay was giving out free Teslas and the entire school got hold of the news. 

“Thank god you guys are here,” you hear a voice come from behind the two of you as you guys leave the main room to enter the house’s smaller, but just as luxurious looking, den. You turn to see Heeseung with Sunghoon following closely behind, trying his best not to get swept away in the crowd of people. 

The den is where you usually stayed during these parties. It’s not like there are rules of where people are allowed to party, by any means, but it’s like how a high-school’s cafeteria worked. There’s a mutual silent agreement of where everyone goes, and the den is where the party host and his friends went.  

“Okay, is it just me, or is tonight’s party just a little...too..much?” Sunghoon asks as the four of you take your seats on the main couch of the room. Jake’s quick to make space for you next to him as you go to sit, but to his surprise, you find your home right on his lap. 

“You said be convincing right?” you say into his ear as you settle yourself. Right. That’s totally why. Because you had to go along with the ruse. Obviously. 

You shift a bit so you’re more facing sideways, not blocking off Jake’s line of vision as the boy himself is..well, calling him a rag doll might be excessive. 

But he’s sure he looks like one right now, having lost all senses in his limbs, leaving him frozen underneath you. 

Jake Sim is the epitome of politeness. He was raised in a family that taught him how to respectfully greet others, how to always offer food to others before eating it himself, how to properly treat a significant other. As a result, Jake grew up to be one of the sweetest, kindest, purest people to ever walk this earth. 

(Relatively speaking, the earth is large, but so is Jake’s heart.) 

But human-beings aren’t perfect, they must have a balance. A balance of pros and cons. 

Sure, he can’t pack his own lunch and sometimes forgets to water the little succulent you gifted him that’s currently seated on his window sill. Sure, sometimes he’s too sweet for his own good, you know, like willing-to-be-your-fake-boyfriend too sweet. But aside from the minor details, Jake Sim doesn’t have many cons, no. 

But he sure can be awkward. 

And so because Jake Sim is sweet, kind, pure, and awkward, he is unsure of what to do with himself when you’re seated right on top of him. 

As if you could read his befuddled mind, you take his arm that’s resting behind you to wrap around your waist as your support as you throw one of your arms around his shoulder. And throughout this entire adjustment, his widened eyes are staring right at you. 

Bless this pure, pure boy. 

Also bless the position you’re in, blocking the two other boys from directly seeing Jake’s face. Because if they were to catch glimpse of Jake’s expression right now, your cover might be blown, just like that. You’re lucky Heeseung and Sunghoon are distracted by another classmate who came up to them. 

“Relax,” you sweetly laugh, cupping his chin with your free hand and lightly squeezing his cheeks. “You’re so adorably awkward.” 

Jake pouts at you. “I am not awkward!” 

“Right, and I’m totally dating you for real,” you playfully whisper at him, eliciting a poke at your waist in response. 

Twenty minutes of people-watching-aka-“who do you think is gonna pass out first?”-from-your-spot-on-the-couch later, the four of you draw your attention to the rowdy party host you all have the honor of calling your friend––aka Jay––dancing (that is, if you call wildly swinging your limbs in all four directions dancing) in the middle of the den. 

"Oh god, look at him," Sunghoon voices from besides you.

Heeseung's already filming the moment on his phone. Ah yes, technology. The best thing to ever happen to drunk teens' friends.  

"He's so wasted," you throw your head back as you let out a laugh. “We should help the kid out.” 

Poor Jay. He's not gonna hear the end of it after tonight.

"I don't know why he thinks these parties are such a good idea when he knows how trashed he's gonna be when he wakes up," Jake says, his hand naturally squeezing your waist as you giggle at his comment. "And how trashed the house will be."  

Jay slumbers over to where the four of you are seated, and abruptly stops right in front of the couch.

"My best friends!" Jay happily cheers. “Having fun?” 

“Watching you? Always,” you say to the boy who’s squeezing into a seat between you and Sunghoon, as if the small couch wasn’t already suffocating enough (and that’s with you on Jake’s lap). 

“But for real though, you should probably lay off the drinks for now,” Heeseung insists. “For all our sakes.” 

Sunghoon nods along and grabs the cup Jay’s currently nursing and sets it down where it’s out of Jay’s reach, much to his dismay. But the disappointment quickly leaves the dazed boy’s head, as his attention is now directed towards you and Jake. 

“Well if it isn’t mom and dad,” Jay turns to face you and Jake, certainly amused by your seating arrangement. 

“You know–” Jay points a finger at the two of you. “For a couple that’s certainly close, I haven’t seen you two kiss.” 

Jake is immediately coughing, certainly not expecting that to come out of his friend’s mouth. 

“Okay and your point is?” Jake frowns at Jay. If Jay wasn’t tipsy, Jake would’ve smacked the back of his head by now. 

“I’m just saying...” the blonde responds, both hands up in the air as if Jake is accusing him of something, when in was, in fact, the opposite. “But nevermind, Jakey boy here is probably too innocent for such nonsense anyways.” 

Yes, it’s confirmed. Once Jay sobers up tomorrow, Jake is driving over to his house (even though it’s a good ten minute drive from his own) just to smack him. 

“What do you mean I’m too–” 

Jake doesn’t finish his sentence. In fact, Jake doesn’t even remember what he was going to say. 

Jake doesn’t think nor feel anything else other than your lips planted on his. 

You’re pulling him in close, your hands cupping his face as his own are twitching on your waist, his mind flustered. You move your hands from his face to his neck, to which Jake immediately relaxes at. 

Sure, you two are in the middle of a dumb high-school party, one filled with pounding music and shouting teenagers, but right now, in this moment, Jake can only feel you. And he doesn’t want the feeling to ever stop. 

When you part, Jake’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, his own parted in shock. He thinks he might pass out right here and now. He thinks his heart might explode right here and now. He thinks he might lov-

“Happy?” you turn to a satisfied Jay, ignoring the looks of amusement from Heesung and Sunghoon besides him. 

“Well,” you pat Jake’s leg as you get up from your spot. “I’m gonna get us some drinks. Punch only, of course.” 

Jake’s eyes are on you as you walk away, his face tinted pink from the adrenaline of it all, his heart racing. 

Jake thinks back to three days ago, when he told himself that this idea of yours was going to be all fine. After all, it was only going to be for one week. Afterwards, he can move on with his life as if nothing happened. 

But fast forward 72 hours later, 72 hours after you and Jake started this act, 72 hours after Jake told himself it’ll be all fine, Jake knows he was poorly mistaken.

Because 72 hours later, in the middle of a party that reeked of the combined smell of alcohol and sweat, Jake knows one thing and one thing for sure.

He never wants to move on from the feeling of being with you. He never wants to move on from this.

From you. 

He’s screwed. 

Saturday, December 12th 

When Jake wakes up, much later than he intended to, on Saturday morning, the first sensation he feels are his tingling lips, still in disbelief that they graced your own last night. 

The second sensation being his pounding mind––it’s running through ten million thoughts at a time, telling him no last night wasn’t a dream. 

Third: his heart beating so fast at the thought of you, he thinks he might beat out of his chest.

And fourth, a buzzing noise. 

Jake blindly flounders his arm to the table beside him in hopes of finding the origin of the annoying sound, aka, his phone. 

After knocking down multiple miscellaneous items on his nightstand (he makes a mental note to clean his room later), he successfully retrieves the item of search. 

Jake squints at the bright screen, mind still cloudy from a mix of 1) being half-asleep, and 2) still processing what happened the night before. 

y/n [11:10AM]: r u awake yet? 

y/n [11:22AM]: imma take that as a no

y/n [11:35AM]: lemme know when ur up 

jake [11:44AM]: just woke up sorry 

jake [11:44AM]: are you okay? what’s up

y/n [11:45AM]: r u busy? 

y/n [11:45AM]: kinda wanted to talk abt smth

jake [11:45AM]: uh well no im still in bed lmao

y/n [11:46AM]: cool im outside your door 

Jake’s eyes widen as he processes your last few texts. 

Talk? Outside his door? 

Jake’s heart is nervously pounding as jumps out of bed and quickly puts on the first plaid flannel he finds. He scrambles to his mirror and gives his reflection a quick run-down. 

He’s sporting your his favorite hoodie underneath the flannel that’s long overdue a wash and his tousled hair has seen better days, but he couldn't care less. 

Before his mind can catch up to his actions, he’s rushing down the stairs, skipping two at a time and to this front door. Because he didn’t want to keep you waiting? Because he was too excited to see you? Maybe a mix of both. Definitely more of the latter, however. 

He quickly runs a hand through his hair to try to fix it up as much as he can, to no avail, before opening the door to reveal you, sitting on the steps of his front porch. 

“y/n,” he’s breathing heavily as you turn to greet him with your sweet smile he didn’t even realize he was missing. Is it possible to miss someone overnight? Jake concludes yes, it definitely is. 

“Did you run down here or something?,” you question his out-of-breath state, a teasing tone laces the tip of your tongue. 

“Or something,” Jake mutters as he closes the front door behind him to join you on the steps when you make no sign of moving. “Have you been out here all morning?” 

“Not allll morning. I had a feeling you’d sleep in so I came around the time I first texted you. Would’ve knocked but didn’t wanna bother your family,” you hum, keeping your eyes trained on the peaceful scenery around you. 

You’ve always loved Jake’s neighborhood, it brought you a sense of peace, a sense of home. 

Or was that because it reminded you of Jake? 

“You could never be a bother,” he quickly rebuttals as he takes his seat next to you on the steps. 

You respond with a soft smile before turning your attention back to anything other than the boy next to you. Your mind seems to be lost in its own thoughts, Jake can tell by the distant look in your eyes. 

The sound of birds chirping in the distance fills the silence that falls between the two of you. 

Any other day, Jake would love this. He savors every second he’s with you, even if it’s just pure silence. 

But this silence was different. It wasn’t the usual comforting, warm silence that the two of you share on a typical day. This one held tension, tension so thick that Jake doesn’t know where to begin thinking. 

But here’s the thing. Jake doesn’t think. 

Not when it comes to you. 

He takes a deep breath. Rubs his hands together. Pats them on his lap. Turns towards you. 

“Look, I-” 

“I think I might like you.” The words come out of your mouth so fast, Jake’s positive he heard you wrong the first time around. 

He whips his head to meet your eyes, your own already staring back at him, your bottom lip nervously tucked under your teeth. 

“No, I––I do. I know I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you and I don’t think I’m doing a very good job right now,” the words are all of the sudden tumbling out of your mouth as if your brain flipped a switch and isn’t able to turn it off. “In hindsight, I should’ve known better to fake date my own best friend. But these past few days made me realize how much I love being with you. And not like how I’m always with you 24/7 before this entire thing started, but being with you. I even started getting that weird, bubbly feeling in my stomach every time I so much as heard your name. And then last night at the party, I realized afterwards that I wouldn’t have kissed you if some part of me didn’t see you in that way. Even if it meant Jay would’ve been on our asses all night if I didn’t. So yeah.” 

You finish with a deep breath and look up at him to meet his widened eyes. Silence.

Jake thought he was braindead during last week’s history quiz. Jake thought he was braindead when he had to cram a semester’s worth of chemistry content the night before his exam. Heck, Jake thought he was braindead when you first told him about your idea of a fake dating him. But no, this is braindead.

He’s finally hearing what he’s been dreaming of for so long, and of all times, now his brain decides to shut off.  

“Are you..uh..are you gonna say anything?” You’re nervously fumbling with your hands, desperate to distract yourself with anything else apart from his silent stare. 

"Why are you sorry?" Jake says before his mind can think of anything else. He doesn't pay attention to his thumping heart that's one look-from-you away from exploding right then and there. "You didn't do anything wrong. If anything, you took the words right out of my mouth.” 

Now you're staring at him with the wide eyes, the words processing in your mind.

Jake realizes he's waited too long to do this. A few years too long. He also realizes he shouldn't have put on that extra layer of a flannel. The nervous tension created by the two of you was suffocating enough, and being outside under the bright sun didn’t help. 

"I like you too. God y/n, I like you too so much," Jake doesn't even care if his words are all sorts of messed up right now. He just needs you to get the idea. "I have for a while now.” 

You let out a relieved sigh, ecstasy rushing through your blood. “Really? I think I have for a while too. I’m so stupid, it took me so long to realize it. It didn’t hit me until I realized how I felt around you, compared to the guy I’m supposed to actually have a crush on.” 

Jake lets out a laugh, the tension immediately dissolving. “Hey, if it wasn’t for Sunghoon, I don’t think we’d be here right now.” 

“You’re right, I’m too oblivious and you’re too awkward to actually make a move,” you wink at him. If his heart wasn’t fluttering at the sight of you, on his porch on a Saturday morning, confessing your feelings to him, Jake probably would’ve lightly shoved you away. 

Instead, he’s turning to you with the most endeared look on his face, and you’re blushing underneath his gaze.

“What? Stare much?” You giggle, quoting the boy himself as you shyly duck your head to avoid his stare. 

Jake gently grabs your chin to tilt your face towards his, and before you can process what’s happening, he suddenly meets your lips with his own, closing the gap between you two. 

Jake thinks if the ground underneath him right now decided to open up and swallow him whole, he’d die happily. 

Jake smiles against you, feeling comfort in ways he’ll never be able to achieve without you. 

Your hands instinctively find their way into his hair, as one of his rests below your ear, thumb softly caressing your cheek, the other pulling you in by the waist. He’s naturally leaning into you, gravitating towards your warmth, unable to stop the giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. 

He doesn’t think the feeling will ever go away. 

When you pull away to catch your breath, you rest your head against the nook of his neck, basking in his presence as his arms both find their way around your waist. You sigh in pleasure. 

“Remember at the beginning of all of this, when you told me ‘Just try not to fall in love with me?’” Jake gently says. Jake feels the slight nod you give against his shoulder as you hum in response. 

Jake whispers two more words into your ear, filling you with happiness and warmth you know you won’t be able to find through anyone––or anything––else. 

“Too late.” 

✰ if you made it ‘til the end, ily :’))))) 

[babymilkawa]

random boyfriend headcanons no. 2 with:

bakugou katsuki

gn!reader :)

no. 1

Bakugou rubs his head on ur neck because ur warm and he wants you to pet his hair

sometimes if you’re chilling and sitting face to face, he’ll ✨softly✨ slam his forehead with yours and u guys have a glaring contest

u lose obviously

but he’s there for that cute scrunch u do that’s meant to be intimidating

if he wants you to pet his hair he’ll even nudge your shoulder with his head so you can get the frigging hint 😤

at this point I should just do cat!bakugou hcs amiright

and whenever you yawn, he’ll put his finger in between your teeth and maybe get a little excited when you bite them 👀

bakugou loves anything squishy

and if it’s part of you? even better

he’ll just rub his face on them

give them vacuum kisses

by now, he’s used to the fact that your mere presence can have his heart doing jumping jacks

he’s given up on trying to deny it

that doesn’t mean that he won’t do the same to you

man will find ANYTHing to get you flustered or annoyed

not straight up pissed tho, that’s somewhere he doesn’t wanna go

if he does manage to piss you off, unintentionally, his lower lip will droop down to his feet I swear

if you’re passing by each other at the hallway, he’ll just whoop, pick you up by the waist, turn you so that you’re going the same direction as he is and drag you to wherever he’s going

your body is like this straight stick when he does that it’s hilarious

whichever hand you write with, he’ll sit on that side of you and go nudge

your pencil, flying across the page

he gives you forehead flicks period

just a “dumbass” flick

if you do that to him, he’ll scoff like he can’t even feel it but when he thinks you’re not looking, frantically rubs that spot on his forehead LmaO

dammit why do they flick so hard

on lazy Sunday mornings, he’ll cling on to you unless he’s got work to do

if he has to get up before you, he’ll just sit at your desk and watch you

asks you to go the hell back to sleep if you wake up early on a relax day

he’s soft during the night ok

will look at you straight in the face in the dim glow of your lamp and just caress your cheek

he has so much to say but he doesn’t know where to start

he wants to tell you that looking into your eyes makes him fall deeper into his love pit

he wants to tell you that kissing you feels like he’s tasting heaven

that holding and touching you makes him want to put a ring on that finger

he wants to keep you, he wants it all

but he’s bad with words and doesn’t want to mess anything up

instead he speaks with his eyes and his actions

you seem understand exactly what he’s feeling and you feel the same way too

except you tell him exactly that

that you can’t believe he’s yours, that you don’t want to imagine a life without him 

the emotion swimming in his eyes don’t change but his thumb stroking your cheek, falters, clearly flustered from your words

presses his forehead to yours and nudges your nose with his

your limbs are tangled together and bakugou’s heart is just at its limit when you plant the softest kiss on his lips

it bursts

you can practically see red hearts bouncing off his body and flying around your room

pulling you back to his lips, he tries to cover the heat in his cheeks but you can feel them against your own

yikes did not mean for this to be a Drabble for how much he loves you 

anywaysss, bakugou sneaks money into your wallet huehue

if you’re going out with friends, he’ll put some extra cash in there, or slip in a small plastic water bottle

he also carries your bag for you, no buts

I don’t understand why some men are uncomfortable with this

if you’ve been out for a while and you’re feet are tired, he’ll offer a piggy back ride

but only cos “u won’t stop whining abt ur feet”

will complain about you being heavy, receiving a wack on his head

but he’ll also massage your cute ass feet when you’re home

maybe even kiss your toes a little

when you’re eating together, he’ll fill up your plate first with the food u like

maybe stuff it a little too full to hear you complain and pass it back to him

..only for him to sneak it in there when ur not looking

whenever you start reading/watching sthing he’s already seen/read, he’ll PRETEND to spoil sthing for you

like he’ll say that a specific character died or sthing but they didn’t and u, thinking that he’s telling the truth, start ur stages of grief and he’s like “tch just watch, brat”

so you’re mentally preparing yourself for the death of that character and you’re complaining abt getting attached to them but once you finish it, it never happens

“HAAa??” you look at him instantly and he’s there snickering his ass off

he’ll never really spoil it tho, he just loves to see your reaction

at this point, just don’t tell him you’ve started sthing

even then he’ll find out, I mean he won't purposely snoop around, it’s just cos u suck at hiding things babe

n ur trying to cover his mouth with ur hands before he can utter a single word

he wants you to tuck him to sleep

but it doesn’t happen very often because a. he won’t verbally say he wants it and b. it only happens when you’re not sleeping together bc he’ll just pull you into his arms if u do 

but he almost never does it to you unless you need sleep more than he does or you won’t stop your whining

he just looves to have ur face be the last thing he sees and to have ur comforting hands tuck the blanket all snug around him

and oh my god the finishing touch is having you kiss his forehead

man goes over the moooon

will take candid pics of u

like he’ll grumble if you pull him in for a selfie but he’ll be that person who shows the corner of his face and you behind him lolol

you’re not looking at the camera in any of them but he still thinks u look stunning

ur side pROFILE UGH

has that photo widget for iPhones where you can put a picture on ur home screen and it changes every day

yea he does that

with his album for photos of u

yk sometimes bakugou just randomly slumps on you

like you could be standing and on ur phone answering a text rq when he just puts almost all his weight on you, almost

obviously enough to startle you but not enough for the both of you to fall

then ur forced to wrap ur arms around him and he can snuggle in ur neck mmm

a/n: wow I've had this in my drafts for a while and I’ve just been adding on to it lolol

bnha masterlist