#…it really shouldn’t be asking all that much

[vivsinkpot]

When Should You Describe a Character’s Appearance? (And When You Really, Really Shouldn’t)

It’s one of the first instincts writers have: describe your character. What they look like, what they wear, how they move. But the truth is �� readers don’t need to know everything. And more importantly, they don’t want to know everything. At least, not all at once. Not without reason.

Let’s talk about when to describe a character’s appearance, how to do it meaningfully, and why less often says more.

1. Ask: Who Is Seeing Them? And Why Now?

The best descriptions are filtered through a perspective. Who’s noticing this character, and what do they see first? What do they expect to see, and what surprises them?

She looked like someone who owned every book you were supposed to have read in school. Glasses slipping down her nose. Sharp navy coat, sensible shoes, and an air of knowing too much too soon.

Now we’re not just learning what she looks like — we’re learning how she comes across. That tells us more than eye color ever could.

2. Use Appearance to Suggest Character, Not List Facts

Avoid long physical checklists. Instead, choose a few details that do double work — they imply personality, history, class, mood, or context.

Ineffective: She had long, wavy brown hair, green eyes, a small nose, and full lips. She wore jeans and a white shirt.

Better: Her hair was tied back like she hadn’t had time to think about it. Jeans cuffed, a shirt buttoned wrong. Tired, maybe. Or just disinterested.

You don’t need to know her exact features — you feel who she is in that moment.

3. Know When It’s Not the Moment

Introducing a character in the middle of action? Emotion? Conflict? Don’t stop the story for a physical description. It kills momentum.

Instead, thread it through where it matters.

He was pacing. Long-legged, sharp-shouldered — he didn’t seem built for waiting. His jaw kept twitching like he was chewing on the words he wasn’t allowed to say.

We learn about his build and his mood and his internal tension — all in motion.

4. Use Clothing and Gesture as Extension of Self

What someone chooses to wear, or how they move in it, says more than just what’s on their body.

Her sleeves were too long, and she kept tucking her hands inside them. When she spoke, she looked at the floor. Not shy, exactly — more like someone used to being half-disbelieved.

This is visual storytelling with emotional weight.

5. Finally: Describe When It Matters to the Story, Not Just the Reader

Are they hiding something? Trying to impress? Standing out in a crowd? Use appearance when it helps shape plot, stakes, or power dynamics.

He wore black to the funeral. Everyone else in grey. And somehow, he still looked like the loudest voice in the room.

That detail matters — it changes how we see him, and how others react to him.

TL;DR:

Don’t info-dump descriptions.

Filter visuals through a point of view.

Prioritize impression over inventory.

Describe only what tells us more than just what they look like — describe what shows who they are.

Because no one remembers a checklist.

But everyone remembers the girl who looked like she’d walked out of a forgotten poem.

[elodieunderglass]

There was an utterly random person who accused me of reblogging things in a pattern indicating I was part of a group that secretly gathered to mock them. They asked why I was bullying them, which was done by reblogging specific posts that were secretly about them, in patterns and times designed to trigger them and mock them. For example, reblogging a certain piece of art and a certain queer positivity post in succession was a pattern, and if I thought I was fooling anybody, look how other people did it too (clearly their dash had a lot of mutuals who were online at the same time and reblogged the same thing.)

I had a similar conversation, and they pretty much instantly calmed down and explained that they sometimes had trouble distinguishing reality, and that perhaps I was participating in the pattern in all innocence. I attempted to handle this compassionately. I worried that I shouldn’t block them, because what if that harmed them?

This came back recently, and I searched for their name, and saw they were having some sort of outbreak, and doing this to other people as well. Some of the people they messaged had their own troubles with distinguishing reality, and being told quite firmly that they were a bully, part of a secret bullying ring, who gathered on tumblr to mock nudes - the evidence being the pattern of posts they’d reblogged; look who else reblogged this, they’re in the ring with you, aren’t they, you disgusting bully - was incredibly destabilising for them. This was so awful, and helped me understand how Beyond My Problem this person was.

I think I’m someone who tries to behave fairly sensibly and scrupulously, and with decent manners, online. Unfortunately, that often results in me feeling like I have to manage other people’s reactions for them. Like, if I was a better person, and hit every word perfectly, nobody would get mad at me. That’s certainly the impression the Internet likes to give - that if people get mad at someone, it’s because they were Wrong and Okay to Punish, so if you don’t want people mad at you, you just have to behave perfectly. Simple, right?

But interactions like the OP and the one I had recently really go to show that you can’t manage other people. There is no perfect behavior you could pull off that would have stopped this happening. They are just having a separate experience that’s nothing to do with you as a person. They are mad at you not because of you as a person, or anything you did, or even on purpose (they might be genuinely distressed by feeling this way.) sometimes people are just mad and you can’t fix it and it’s not about you.

Are they trying to be funny? Are they trying to set up some false accusation blackmail thing? Are they having trouble distinguishing reality? Did they mistake you for someone else? Is it a bot? Are they genuinely in need of help? Are they doing a bit to screencap you? Do they think that you deliberately reblog posts in significant targeted patterns?

None of them are within your gift to solve over internet messages. Sometimes people are just mad, and you happened to be there. Sometimes it’s just something that happens, like weather.

I’m sorry it happened, OP. You were really funny about it but it’s not pleasant.

what the hell is going on

[marvelstoriesepic]

Tattoo Me in Flowers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: Bucky gave you a flower tattoo weeks ago. Since then, he keeps coming to your shop for the real ones - or just you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: flirty Bucky; Bucky is smitten; tattoos; mentions of tattooing

Author’s Note: This was such a sweet request, thank you so much, my dear!! I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The bell above the door sings your name again.

It’s late morning and the sun is inviting itself in and spilling all over the petals of your daffodils. The shop smells like spring came home and took off its shoes.

You’re wrist-deep in a bucket of eucalyptus, sorting stems by instinct, not logic, when you hear him.

The creak of boot soles against your old wooden floor.

The soft clear of his throat.

You don’t have to look up. You know it’s him.

Bucky Barnes, with arms like poetry carved into muscle and a stare that should be illegal in daylight. But seriously, the sun lights him up as if it doesn’t know how to behave around him.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greets you, as if you’re the bright thing in this room.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say lightly, brushing your hands on the hem of your apron, trying not to let your heartbeat spill out of your mouth.

With that charmingly crooked smile, he leans his forearm against the counter, careful not to touch the bouquet you made earlier, but close enough to smell the freesia.

In his other hand, he’s holding a small pot. Something purple and dramatic with curling petals. Clematis. A climbing thing. The kind of flower that grows fast and reaches high and needs something to hold onto.

“Someone’s got a green thumb now?” you tease, nodding to the flower.

His grin grows shameless. “Thought it looked lonely. Figured it might like some company.”

You laugh. Feather-light and blooming. And Bucky’s eyes sparkle. His grin widens.

He’s been coming into your shop more times than not since he spent those three hours giving you the most breathtaking tattoo on your shoulder a few weeks ago.

And every time he had a new excuse as to why he was here.

And every time he pretended as if he was only here for the flowers.

I think I need something for… a neighbor. She’s got a cat. Or a baby. I don’t really know.

My friend just moved into a new apartment. Thought he could use some decorative plant, what’d you think, sunshine?

Bucky doesn’t move, just watches you take the pot from his hands, fingers grazing his for one too-long second. Your skin remembers him, remembers the heat of his palms steadying your arm, the buzz of the tattoo machine, his voice like river stones rolling smooth and easy while he asked if the pressure was okay and wanted to hear you talk about your shop. How you fell in love with petals instead of people.

It was roses and marigolds and wild things inked across your shoulder blade, and he listened as if he was genuinely interested.

He was. He still is. That’s why he’s coming by so often.

“So,” he starts, leaning against the counter with a casual elegance that is anything but. “How’s it healing?”

And there’s the question you’ve been waiting for. Because he’s been asking every time he came into your shop.

You try to hide the smile, but your face doesn’t cooperate.

“It’s healing nicely,” you answer with a warmth in your voice. “It’s looks really beautiful, Bucky.”

He nods, pleased. There is a gleam in his eyes, in his smile.

“You took it like a champ,” he states earnestly. “Didn’t even flinch.”

“I did flinch,” you remind him, smiling a little shyly, taping down the wrapping paper and tying it with a silk ribbon.

But Bucky shakes his head, dipping it just slightly, maybe in shame, maybe in guilt, maybe in embarrassment. “Nah, that was my fault. Shouldn’t have flirted with you while tattooing your back.”

You could flirt with me now, is laying on the tip of your tongue but then you meet his gaze again. Mistake. Or maybe not. His eyes are the chaos that stirs the sky, steel and soft thunder, and he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing in the room that’s blooming.

A breathless laugh escapes you and you turn back to the pot that is already nicely packed up. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind the flirting.”

You feel Bucky’s gaze. The way he studies you, as if you’re one of his sketches, and he hasn’t figured where to draw the next line yet.

There’s a pause, but it’s not awkward or rushed. It’s just filled with things. The way he keeps finding reasons to stop by. The way you keep letting him. The way your shop smells of eucalyptus and fresh-cut roses and something more now - something electric that carries his name in the air even after he leaves.

“You’ve been taking care of it,” he says, something underlying his tone. Something soft. But he means the tattoo. You know he means the tattoo. It tingles at your back.

“Of course I have.” Your fingers adjust the bow, but your thoughts are tangled somewhere else entirely. “I’m not going to ruin your art.”

“Wasn’t just the tattoo I was worried about.”

And it’s soft, the way he says it. Not casual, not flirty. Just soft.

Something inside you blossoms wild and sudden and a little bit dangerous.

Clearing his throat, he picks up a single stem - a pale pink dahlia.

“This one. What’s it mean?” he asks curiously.

You swallow, letting yourself speak in the language that’s easiest for you. “Dahlia means strength. Grace under pressure. Inner dignity.”

He nods once. Slowly. Considers it. Places the information in a box inside his head.

Then he sets it down and picks another.

“And this?”

“Ranunculus. Charm. Attraction. Like…” You refrain from clearing your throat, but your breath is lodged somewhere and won’t come up that easily. “I find you captivating, but I don’t want to say it out loud”

He holds your eyes, something swirling in those too-blue eyes. “Good to know,” he hums. “Why don’t you wrap me up eight of those, sunshine, and three of the others?”

He says it casually. But you wrap the flowers deliberately, knowing this is a game he’s playing. A slow, drawn-out thing. He’s patient. You’ve learned that about him.

While you care for his flowers, he walks a slow, wandering circle around the shop, fingers ghosting over petals, letting them breathe around him. He’s gentle, always. Even with all that strength curled in his arms.

Brushing his fingers over a petal, he speaks up again. “You know,” he says, and it’s too nonchalant again. “I’ve been meaning to ask… You ever do custom arrangements? Like, if a guy wanted something special. For, uh, a friend?”

You raise a brow. “What kind of special?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs. Shrugs as if it costs him nothing. “Something that says, I hope your day is as pretty as you are, and maybe we should get coffee sometime, no pressure, just casual, unless you want pressure, then-”

You laugh, breaking it before he can go on and his voice can drift too much toward nervousness. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you now, but his eyes are shifty, his hands are flexing, his stance is wavering.

“You don’t need to buy flowers to ask me out.”

He stills. Then his smile grows slow and real and brilliant, blooming like the tattoo on your shoulder, like the petals he’s been coming back for again and again.

You breathe. You bloom.

“Okay,” he says, and he’s beaming. “But I still want the flowers.”

“You really don’t need to-”

“But I wanna, sunshine,” Bucky interrupts, returning to the counter and grinning at you with bright eyes. “They’re for you, after all.”

Your cheeks warm up.

And when you try to hand him the bouquet, he only closes his fingers around yours, squeezes softly, and guides your grip to a vase on the counter.

You feel his touch all the way to where your skin still holds the memory of his ink.

Bucky takes his time with placing the flowers in the vase between you two, large and calloused fingers staying on yours, thumbs brushing your skin. With another slow squeeze, he pulls back again.

Your cheeks are on fire at this point.

And with a smirk on his lips and a fond adoration in his eyes, he leaves with the promise that next time when he comes in - and you know he will - you’ll let him stay longer.

Long enough for coffee.

[fanficgirl429]

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Y/N admits to Bucky that she has feelings for him

---

Bucky Barnes sat on the worn porch steps of a little house nestled near the bayou, sipping a cup of coffee that was made by Y/N. She had made it a little hot and a little too strong but he didn’t complain. He never did when Y/N made it.

Y/N was Sam’s friend—someone who used to help at the dock with her sleeves rolled up and her mouth full of sharp-witted jokes. She'd seen Bucky at his worst during those early days, still haunted and quiet, carrying the weight of names in a little notebook. But she never looked at him with pity. A few times he had caught her staring at him, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red, when his eyes locked with hers. 

It had been a long time since he had started to get feelings for someone. In fact, he thought that it would never happen again, but he found himself falling fast for Y/N the more he got to know her. 

Now, weeks after the fighting had stopped, he was still here. Not because he had nowhere else to go. Because this place was… comfortable. Everyone was warm, welcoming, and friendly. He liked that most people here didn’t seem afraid of him. 

“You’re brooding again,” Y/N said from behind the screen door. She stepped out barefoot, balancing two plates of food.

Bucky looked up and gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not brooding. I’m contemplating.”

“Contemplating your brooding,” she teased, handing him a plate. “Eat. You didn’t eat anything during dinner.” 

He shifted, accepting the food. “Didn’t feel hungry.”

“You never feel hungry. You just wait until I shove something in front of you.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her hair was messed up from spending the day in the sun,  a hint of sunburn beginning to appear on her shoulder. 

“You take care of me too much,” he said softly.

Y/N sat beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “Maybe I like taking care of you.”

He swallowed, the words catching him off guard. “You shouldn’t. I’ve got… a past. A heavy one.”

She placed her hand in his and squeezed it. “We all do. But you’ve got a future too.”

Bucky glanced down at their hands and laced his fingers through hers, his throat tight. No one ever said that to him without a hint of fear or hesitation. But Y/N? She said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, he believed it.

----

The next day Bucky stood at the edge of the dock, hands in his pockets, watching the water ripple beneath the soft wind. There had been a small dinner together at the Wilsons house and although Bucky enjoyed everyone’s company, he had needed a few minutes alone. He liked the silence, in fact he preferred it. 

Behind him, the sound of Y/N’s laughter echoed from the open windows of her house. He let out a small smile, happy to hear the sound. It was a comfortable sound.  

A few minutes later he heard the sound of soft footprints approaching behind him. “You’re doing it again,” Y/N called, walking down the dock barefoot with two beers in hand. “Contemplating.”

He smirked. “I thought I was brooding.”

“Depends on your posture,” she teased, handing him a bottle. “Tonight you’re contemplative. Less shadows in your eyes.”

He twisted the cap off and took a sip. “Think I’m getting soft.”

“You deserve soft,” she said, leaning against the post beside him. “After everything, you deserve more than just survival.”

Bucky glanced at her. She didn’t flinch when he looked. She never did. That was the thing about Y/N—she didn’t try to fix him, she just saw him. Not as the Winter Soldier, or the White Wolf, or even just Steve’s friend. She saw him.

“Is that what this is?” he asked. “Something 'more'?”

Y/N looked up at him, the last of the light catching in her eyes. “Could be. If you want it to be.”

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want it. But because wanting felt dangerous. Because the last time he let someone in, they either died or were left behind. But here she was—still standing next to him. Still waiting, quietly.

“I want it,” he said, the words coming out rough but honest. “I want more. With you.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just set her beer down, stepped closer, and laid her hand gently on his chest—over the place that still ached sometimes, even when it shouldn’t.

“Then take it,” she whispered.

And so he did.

He leaned in, slowly, giving her every second to pull away. But she didn’t. Her hand slid up, fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw as he kissed her—soft, sure, real. The world didn’t stop, but it got quieter. More focused. Just them. Just now.

When they pulled apart, her smile tugged at the corners of her lips like she’d known this was coming for a long time.

“Told you,” she murmured. “You’re not broken.”

---

The next morning, the rain was pouring down. It was the kind of storm that made you stay in bed longer, wrapped in silence and someone else’s warmth.

Bucky woke first.

Y/N was curled into his side, one arm slung across his chest like she belonged there. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. There was something sacred about the stillness—the way her fingers twitched slightly in sleep, the way her cheek rested against the scarred line of his shoulder like she trusted it not to hurt her.

He stared at the ceiling, heart tight in his chest, as if something fragile inside him might break open if he let it. Not because he was scared of her—but because he was scared of how much this meant.

She stirred eventually, eyelids fluttering open. “You’re thinking again.”

“I think a lot.”

“You also stare like the world might fall apart if you blink.”

He gave a soft laugh. “That obvious?”

“Mmhmm.” She propped herself up on an elbow and studied him, her voice quieter now. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bucky hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I used to wake up like this… in Wakanda. Peaceful. But it was always temporary. Always waiting for something to go wrong.”

“And now?” she asked.

“Now it feels real. And that scares the hell out of me.” He turned to face her fully. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to come knocking. For me to hurt someone without meaning to. For you to leave.”

Her hand found his. “I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t know what being with me really means, Y/N. I have nightmares. I disappear into myself some days. There’s parts of me I’m still trying to forgive.”

She nodded. “And I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I’m here, Bucky. Not just when you’re smiling on the porch, but when it’s 3 a.m. and you’re shaking in the dark. I want all of it, not just the pieces that are easy.”

He closed his eyes, her words wrapping around old wounds like gentle hands. She wasn’t afraid of his shadows. She walked right into them, lit a fire, and sat beside him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “A real relationship. I’ve never had one that wasn’t… wartime or chaos.”

“Then we learn together,” she whispered. “We take the hard days. We hold steady. And we make a home, right here. Even if the world doesn’t stop spinning.”

Bucky nodded slowly, and this time, he didn’t try to hide the emotion in his eyes.

“I’m falling for you, Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “And that terrifies me.”

She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Then be terrified. But fall anyway.”

[kizusof]

hello, i really like how you characterize anaxa in your posts about him! as a request, may i ask for anaxa being protective or fussy about the reader's health and safety? thank you!

3 new rules

— Anaxagoras x reader

You were working on your lab, researching about chimeras because while you were out with Anaxagoras, you had found a chimera that looks exactly like him. You thought it was adorable, but it gave you an idea. You wanted to find a chimera that looked exactly like you, but it never happened.

So now you’re in a laboratory, staring at a poor chimera as it looks at you with big eyes. Your stomach growls, you’ve forgotten about lunch. Usually, you have lunch with your boyfriend, Anaxagoras, but you seemed to have forgotten to reply to his message that was asking you about lunch, you messaged him back, despite being 3 hours late.

“Im sorry for the late reply, I got busy with the chimera research I told you about. We can have lunch together tomorrow.”

You set the phone down to look at the chimera once again, your phone dings.

“Have you eaten?” You can hear his stern voice as you read his message.

“Not yet. I will in a bit.”

He liked your reply. You turned your phone off again as you went back to your research on how to create a chimera that looks exactly like you.

But hours went by, You didn’t mean to stay for more than 30 minutes but now another 3 hours passed by and you hear your doorbell ring. It took you by surprise and as you were playing around with the potions, you accidentally dropped one on the floor, glass shards stabbing your foot. You wince in pain as you sat on the floor to observe your foot.

Anaxagoras invited himself inside out of worry from hearing you in pain, He looked at you sitting on the floor with glass shards all over before looking at the set up infront of him, a sleeping chimera and papers everywhere filled with pictures of chimeras. He sighed as he picked you up, helping you sit on the couch as he looked at your foot.

“I wonder what happened.” he said in a tone recognizable to you, he didn’t exactly sound genuine, sarcasm written all over it.

You try to laugh it off but it ended in awkward silence.

.

.

.

Your stomach growls.

You looked at him, embarrassed. He paused from saving your foot to look at you.

“I must have forgotten to eat…”

“nn.. accident.. happens…. you know?”

You didn’t even try to laugh it off this time after you saw him stand up and look at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Be glad I got us dinner then.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

You watched him as he walked to grab a bag with food, handing it to you.

“I haven’t, I’ll eat later. Start eating.” He says as he finishes up your foot. His voice was stern and strict, it was scary in a way. You obeyed and started eating, you were extremely hungry anyway.

Once you finished your food, you walked up to him as you watched him clean your lab. You call out to him and he glanced at you.

“Why are you up? does your foot not hurt? Sit back down.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much…“ you mumbled, but he could still hear you.

“Did you finish the food?”

“I did. It was delicious, thank you.”

The couple was met with silence again until you heard him sigh loudly

“Is this really worth starving for?” He faces the pieces of paper on your table.

“Yes! I want to own a chimera that looks exactly like me.”

You heard him sigh again.

“Let’s create new rules for you to follow.” You look at him in confusion. “Rule number 1, don’t forget to eat. Rule number 2, be more cautious. Don’t drop anything that can harm you, and Rule number 3, don’t overwork yourself. Understood?”

As you listened to the rules, you stare at him in disbelief. “Shouldn’t you be following your own rules? Especially the last one.”

“I created these rules for you. Don’t bring me into this.”

You continued to stare at him, blinking a few times before jumping on him giving him a warm embrace.

“What a caring boyfriend I have! so demanding and fussy.”

“A good partner would care for their significant other. This is only natural.”

“I’ll follow your rules if you follow it too. I won’t skip meals, I won’t accidentally harm myself, and I won’t overwork myself.”

He gives you a hum, as a sign of agreement. but you weren’t quite sure if he really promised to it.

You two eventually got to bed as you occasionally looked at your foot. You sigh as you sleep through the pain, having him take care of your foot for a few days.

a/n : sorry if this doesn’t reach your expectations . . .. I wasn’t quite sure how to approach this but i got something done! he worries but we worry for him too! he’s a concerning man after all. also did not proofread .. yet….. haha.. i will … soon.. ALSO! might be ooc like i said before.. ive been avoiding the quests like theres no tomorrow so i dont exactly have the full image of what hes really like.. im basing his character off of what i know and all the spoilers ive read. + my personal hcs !!!!!

[hencheri]

— true love never dies

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. husband!hendery x fem!reader

| warnings. noncon, infidelity, mean!hendery </3 (he's really not how i'm used to write him), toxic relationship, breeding kink.

| wc. 4k

a.n.: i've been thinking about this for soo long pls i'm only finishing it now :c i love him oops.

the stain on the stove doesn’t seem to want to go away no matter how fast and hard you scrub. you do it over and over again, hoping each time you pull the cloth away, it’ll be gone, but it isn’t. it’s there, taunting you, frustrating you. 

but you keep going, determined to clean it, to make it disappear. it doesn’t help that hendery’s phone keeps buzzing on the counter behind you, making you go mad at every notification he receives. who the fuck is sending him so many messages? 

as you scrub harder, the stain still there, his phone buzzing, your grip tightens on the rug and you swear you see red. 

you throw the soiled cloth away and groan out, clenching your fingers around the edge of the stove. why do you have to do all the cleaning anyway? it’s not because he works all day that he shouldn’t lift a finger once home. you sigh and turn around, your eyes falling on his phone. it’s facing down, hiding the flashing screen. 

it’s tempting to look, just see who’s bugging him so much. what if it’s important? hendery would like to know. 

but it’s wrong. if he left it in the kitchen it’s because he had nothing important. 

you shake your head lightly and go back to your chore, but another ring startles you. your heartbeat quickens and you feel your nerves picking up, that familiar knot forming in your stomach. the same one you feel with your husband as of lately. anytime he enters a room, your pulse accelerates, as if you did something wrong, like you’re about to argue with him once more. 

it’s been like this for a while, maybe for a couple of months—or probably more. it’s going downhill and the two of you know it. harsh glances from across the room, curt and snarled answers, tension in the air whenever he’s close to you. 

your doubts and curiosity take over and you reach for his phone, looking down at the screen. it’s locked, of course, but you can see the notifications are all messages, but from different numbers. you frown, sliding your thumb up and checking how many times each number sent a text to your husband. at least 5 times each… in the span of one hour. 

you exhale through your nose, closing your eyes for a long second. it’s weird, but this can be explained easily. it’s just your brain making you believe things that are obviously not true. 3 numbers texted him, it can’t be all from different mistresses. it’s stupid.

after taking a shower and brushing your teeth, you head to the bedroom. hendery’s already in bed, a book in his lap. the bedside lamp casts shadows over his face, his glasses hanging on his nose, black bangs framing his head. 

he doesn’t look your way when you enter and you act like you don’t know each other, not uttering a word. when you see him like this, it hurts. you just want to cuddle up beside him like you used to, but you hold back, as if touching your own husband is inappropriate now. 

you turn to your dresser and drop your bathrobe, letting it fall on the chair near the furniture. you take your pyjamas set and slip it on. contrary to your belief, hendery does look. his eyes linger on your naked back and then the curve of your ass. he appreciates how your panties hug it perfectly, accentuating the roundness of your butt. but when you’re done, he’s focused on the page of his book.

you join him and slip under the covers, silence heavy between you. you stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before deciding to speak up. 

“who… who was texting you?” you ask and his eyes leave his book, landing on you. “it kept distracting me,” you lightly chuckle, but it sounds unsure, unnatural—like you’re trying to avoid any fight.

“sorry,” he apologizes curtly, “it was dejun. he wants to work out this week-end,” he explains and you feel a little shameful for thinking hendery was being unfaithful. he’s just planning to hang out with his best friend.

“and… the other two?” you gulp, looking at him then back at the ceiling. 

it’s your husband, you have the right to know. you should be—you are—allowed to ask, but having doubts, isn’t it wrong? with everything that’s happening though, who can blame you? it’s like you’re living with a stranger sometimes. a stranger you love to death. 

“work buddies,” he answers quickly, no hesitation. “you know we follow the scores together.”

“there was a game tonight?”

“yesterday.”

you hum lightly in response. right, you’re just the worst wife, doubting your husband’s fidelity. you feel so dumb. tears appear in your eyes, but you wipe them away before hendery can notice anything and turn the other side. not long after, you hear him closing his book, putting his glasses on top of it, and turning off the lamp, finally burying the room in darkness. 

the silence weighs down on your chest and you feel like suffocating. it hurts. it hurts so badly. you can’t help it, you just really can’t.

“...dery?” you call and you think he’s already asleep, but the rustling of bed sheets proves he’s not. 

“yeah?” his voice is raspy, soft like a hush. 

you turn around toward him. “i’m sorry. i’m…” broken, hurt, sad… you don’t know what to say, but you want to say something, anything. “sorry,” you tear up, looking at his face in the dark, his eyes meeting yours. 

he says nothing, but you hear him swallowing, his breath quickening. no words come out of his mouth as you fit yourself closer to him either, placing your hand on his cheek, feeling his skin under your palm before bringing his lips to yours. his arms come around your waist like it’s a habit—and it is, really, with how many times he encircled your body with his arms before—pulling you flush to his chest. you burn in desire, burn for your husband, burn for his touch. you love him so much.

the kiss is slow, passionate, almost desperate. he’s pressed so close to you, and you cry into his mouth. it feels good, the knot in your stomach going away. 

his hands subtly sneak under your shirt, his groping disguised into gentle strokes, and you grow needy, pushing yourself on top of him, knees dipping into the mattress on each side of him. you want him as much as he wants you. 

his cock in you is familiar and a relief. you grind on him as moans slip past your lips, his hands guiding your hips over his. your soaked cunt squeezes him like a vice and his eyes glint with lust, watching you—his wife—taking his cock so sweetly and lewdly at the same time. his lips are parted, groaning when you lift your hips up until only his tip is inside, dropping back down to take all of him. 

you lean down on him, his chest sticky with sweat, lazily rolling your hips, tears of pleasure falling from your eyes. your nails rake down his shoulders, leaving red trails on his skin. your mouth moves to his neck, kisses and bites eager to mark him, to see deep purple plotches bloom on his pale skin. he moans at the feeling of your teeth, tilting his head and exposing more of his neck to you. 

what could have been called romantic sex turns into violent fucking when hendery rolls you off and underneath him. his hand finds your throat, and as he looks into your eyes, you think for a moment he’s mad, but he quickly dives down to capture your lips, making you moan into his mouth. 

when he pulls back, you let out a high-pitched gasp as you get thrown on your tummy, hendery bringing your ass up to his crotch. he aligns his cock with your entrance and thrusts all the way in at once. he can feel your pussy flutter around him, your slicks coating his length, more sticking to his pelvis and the inner of your thighs.

“you get so fucking wet every time,” he says, gripping your hips, admiring your body, how you present yourself so well to him. “you’ve been thinking about me all day, weren’t you?”

if only he knew how much time you spend thinking about him—he wouldn’t need to ask. 

“missed you-” you moan, interrupted by a particularly deep thrust, “so much.”

he grunts, “i know you did.”

his right hand reaches out to take a handful of your hair, pulling harshly, the left one holding your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh. he pounds into you relentlessly like he’s getting some pent-up frustration out, fucking you like he actually means it—showing you his emotions, opening up to you and proving his raw, truthful love for you. 

he loves having you under him helpless and dumb, no desire whatsoever to have any control, letting hendery handle you how he wants—throwing you across the bed to pick you up and put you in the position he wants to see you in, always all teary-eyed and panting, drool escaping from the corner of your mouth once he’s forced his cock all the way inside of you. you give up so easily, no resistance, no thought, just desperation for the man that you love so numbly. 

his hips snap against your ass, sounds of skin slapping skin echoing in the room joined in with the squelching of your pussy, gushing around his cock, making a mess of your thighs. you’re desperate, really desperate. 

then, he feels the urge to see your face, stare at it—having sex the only time it feels appropriate to look at you like he wants you all to himself, body and soul. he pulls out of you briefly, and he doesn’t miss on the disapproving whine that leaves your mouth, but you’re rapidly satisfied when he flips you on your back, pushing his cock back into you in one thrust. 

he picks up his pace, no time to catch your breath, whimpering loudly as he rams his cock between your tight walls. he looks down, worrying he might have hurt you, but he’s amazed to see the subtle bulge in your stomach, moving at the same pace of his hips. you squirm underneath him which brings back his attention to you. 

he leans down over you, his head just beside yours as he takes a hold of your hand, placing it over your tummy. “do you feel me, baby?” he whispers into your ear and you nod, moaning, crossing your legs behind his back. “i feel you, too,” he says in a low voice, “so tight around me. so fucking wet and warm.”

you feel the knot in your stomach clenching, both from your near orgasm and the overwhelming rush of emotions. hendery feels that you’re close and puts his thumb over your clit, circling it until your legs shake and your hips buck into his. 

“fuck,” he slurs out, licking his dry lips, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, “gonna cum,” he breathes out, panting. 

he glances down and sticks his forehead to yours, his bangs hanging in front of his eyes. he watches as he fucks you till orgasm, your cunt tightening around his cock and making him groan. you moan when you feel him filling you up, a sensation you’ve terribly missed. 

you bring his lips to yours, hands behind his neck, pulling on his hair desperately. he stays in you until morning, only losing his warmth when he has to leave for work. 

—-

the space in the car is cramped and you struggle to move, the steering wheel hitting you in the back as you grind your hips over hendery’s, messily kissing him, his teeth biting your bottom lip. your dress has ridden up over your thighs, little to no fabric covering your ass except for your panties that has been pushed to the side to welcome his cock inside of you. you’re parked just outside of your house, but the desire to jump in his lap was stronger than you. he’s been looking too good all evening. 

his hands trail over your thighs, fingers fitting under the hem of your dress, touching you in the way he knows it makes you needy and desperate. he grips your hips and guides you over his lap, taking his cock so well, filling you up just right. 

you moan into his mouth, pulling back ever so sligthly, his half-lidded eyes staring at you drunkenly, as if completely enamoured of you. your stomach twists into knots and it’s like living your teenage crush all over again. 

but the illusion gets interrupted by hendery’s ringtone, phone vibrating in the front pocket of his pants. you smile at him and he seems a little confused until you reach into his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

you read ‘qian kun’ as the contact number and you frown, but you don’t lose your smile. “kun? i thought you told him we were dining out,” you say, looking at the phone in your hand.

“i did…” he responds, extending his arm to try and take his phone out of your hand, but you pull back.

“what? don’t you want to pick it up?” you grin, feeling playful. he smiles, letting out a small laugh, but for some reason he doesn’t seem to be keen on the idea. he attempts to take the device out of your grip once again, but you don’t let him. “come on, maybe it’s important…”

he doesn’t have time to say anything back as you pick up the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “hey, kun?” your voice is light, holding back your laugh. you look at hendery whose face is expresionless and this makes you lose your smile, feeling your heart tightens. why does he seem so tense?

as soon as you speak, the call ends. your husband is now avoiding your eyes and you see his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps down. you glance at the screen of his phone, utterly confused and worried—your doubts coming back, but you don’t want them confirmed, anything but that. 

“he just hung up,” you chuckle, but there’s no humour behind it. hendery remains silent, looking outside the window. “unlock your phone,” you order, but he doesn’t even blink, so you insist. “open it!” you say louder, hitting his shoulder with your palm. 

your eyes fill up in water and your vision starts to blur, feeling so powerless, betrayed. you decide to do it yourself and clasp your hand around his jaw, pulling his head forward and placing his phone right in front of his face, finally unlocking it. 

with trembling hands you go through the last people he called. 

‘qian kun’, ‘kun’, ‘kun-ge’... 

why would there be 3 of them?

“why… why are there 3 numbers named after kun?” you ask, teary-eyed, throat tightening. 

he looks at you and it’s almost like his gaze is full of pity. pity for you. before he can take his phone you raise your arm up out of his reach, pushing his back against the seat, keeping him in place. 

“answer me.” 

as he keeps his mouth shut once again, you feel your hand itching, and without thinking twice, you slap your husband across the face. he scrunches his eyes shut, his head tilting to the side at the impact. his cheek slightly reddens, burning from the sharp hit. 

“it wasn’t kun who called, was it?” you question and he lightly shakes his head. you scoff and you instinctively recoil, your arm falling back to your side.

you tap on his messaging app and as expected, his most recent conversation is with ‘qian kun’. you quickly go through it, scrolling up and catching words he promised to only use with you. words that have meanings he should solely share with you, his wife. 

hendery does nothing, accepting to let you know the truth. giving up on the secrecy of his unfaithful relationship. 

you swallow and feel your tears rolling down your cheeks when you come across explicit pictures of himself and of the number he’s exchanging with. a woman your age, someone you don’t know that he probably met at work. 

the reality of the situation hits you hard, realizing what it means. 

your husband is cheating on you. 

you open the door to the passenger seat and get off of hendery hurriedly, his cock slipping out of you. when you feet land on the curb, you tug down on your dress, your cheeks hot and wet, feeling so, so shameful and hurt. 

“baby-” he calls after you as he tucks himself back into his pants, buckling up his belt. 

you storm off to the front door, throwing his phone away, not caring one bit if it shatters to the ground. hendery struggles to follow after you, but he manages to, entering the house behind you. you’re already heading to your bedroom when he closes the door, hearing your heels walking on the wooden floor. 

you take your suitcase out of the closet and set it open on the bed, scrambling to collect your things, throwing in clothes and random beauty products. you don’t even notice when he stands by the door, watching you put your stuff away in your suitcase in tears, looking so pathetic and totally destroyed—for real this time. 

your legs are wobbly in your heels and you trip over your feet, falling to your knees, failing to catch yourself up on the bed, but hendery is there to make sure you’re okay, reaching out to your sobbing form. 

“don’t touch me!” you burst out, your elbows knocking into his body and turning around to face him, putting distance between the two of you. “you- you cheated on me!” you accuse him, and you’re right this time. you weren’t crazy or a bad wife. your doubts were real. “you brought me to dinner, smiled at me, complimented me… and you- you touched me,” you say, looking up at him with glossy eyes, lips shining in your spit and tears. “all while knowing you were fucking some random bitch behind my back.”

you hate how he looks at you now, stoic and stern, his expression unreadable, always so unbreakable. he’s standing up while you’re crying on the floor, clutching to your chest that hurts badly, heart beating so fast it pounds in your skull. you almost wish he was trying to explain his actions with stupid excuses, or begging you to forgive his mistake, but he isn’t.

“i really thought things were going well again between us,” you admit. “i purposefully ignored all the signs because i was so desperate to have your attention…” you sniffle, looking down at the floor where a pillow lies. “but guess what, i was a dumbass thinking my husband would never be a fucking cheating piece of shit!” you grab the pillow and throw it at him before it falls pathetically to his feet, a lame attempt at getting out your anger. “how stupid am i to believe my husband loves me, right?” you say ironically, the first time he shows emotion on his face, his brows furrowing.

you get up to your feet with difficulty, taking you a second to balance yourself. “i do love you, baby.” his voice is soft and genuine, but you know better than to believe him after all those lies he told to your face without even flinching.

“cut the bullshit, dery.” you pass by him with the clothes in your hands you wanted to take, but you gasp out of surprise when he grabs you, bringing your back to his chest. you accidentally drop your clothes, his head finding a spot just beside yours. “i told you to not touch me!” you hiss, wriggling in his arms. “let go of me!”

but his hold only tightens, ignoring your nails scratching at his arms. “and i told you i love you,” he repeats, but his voice is not soft anymore. it’s a growl, an affirmation you can’t question. 

he walks you to the bed, then kicks your feet off the floor, planting you on the mattress under him. fear settles in you, feeling caged and helpless. what is he doing?

“dery, stop,” you say, trying to sound firm, but he doesn’t leave you any space, his body weighing down heavily on you. 

“don’t tell me what to do,” he warns, gritting his teeth as he speaks. he locks your arms behind your back, holding your wrists in one hand as the other fumbles with the buckle of his belt. you try to swallow the lump in your throat, more tears rolling down your cheeks, understanding the intention behind his actions. “i’m your fucking husband,” he states loud and clear, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and making you shiver uncomfortably. “you don’t get to just leave me on a whim.”

you squirm, wanting to escape his grasp, but it’s useless as he holds you down forcefully, his strength easily surpassing yours. his free hand goes under the hem of your dress and he hooks two fingers under your panties, dragging them down without any effort, the band snapping against your thighs. 

“please, stop,” you cry out, “i- i don’t want to!” you try your best to convince him, but he’s determined to finish what you started in the car. “you cheated-”

he grabs your jaw, fingers pressing down painfully on your cheeks, making you stop what you were saying. “i swear to god,” he slurs out, “if you don’t shut your mouth, baby… i’ll have to be rougher than i actually need to be.”

his warning startles you long enough for him to free his cock out, prodding at your entrance, and with your slicks from before, he thrusts in effortlessly. he’s sheathed all the way in and you feel him pulsing in you, your walls clinging to him. you flinch, letting out a piercing sob, when he pushes the suitcase out of the way, colliding with the floor in a loud thud. 

he drives his cock back and forth inside of your pussy, but you don’t like it, you hate it, knowing everything that he did, what he’s doing. as much as the feeling of him is pleasurable, the betrayal is atrocious, your once cold and stoic husband now your abuser, pretending to love you and care for you. 

“feels so good, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, tucking your hair behind it, seeing how red and watery your eyes are. “you’re the only one i want, my love,” he coos, “the only.”

his words don’t make you feel how they should, they make you even sadder than you already are. it’s like a stab in the heart, again and again. but you take it. you keep your lips sealed unless it’s to cry or moan, you don’t fight, let him defile and use your body, let him fill you up with the promise of making you a mother. 

—-

a.n.: i realized i didn't specify it lol but the 3 numbers are all the same person, not multiple. not that it makes him less of a jerk lmfao but still...

[tedwardremus]

Party Outfit

Written for @ginnystrophyhusband May microfics Prompt: Coat Word Count: 437

The clock above the fireplace let out a sharp shout, scolding the house’s occupants for running inexcusably late.

Harry rolled his eyes and trudged upstairs to the primary bedroom.

Sunlight streamed through the standing mirror where Ginny stood, scattering faint rainbows across the walls.

“You’re not even dressed yet?” Harry asked, eyeing his wife, who was frowning at her reflection. “You got out of the bath ages ago.”

“I don’t think I can go,” Ginny said quietly.

Harry sank onto the bed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed before collecting himself. “Gin, I can’t exactly skip my own birthday party.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t go.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not going without you. This whole thing was your idea.”

“Well, it was a stupid idea,” she muttered. “You never should’ve let me plan it.”

“I don’t remember doing much agreeing. You sort of steamrolled ahead and organized the whole thing. You were really excited about it. What’s going on?”

Ginny turned to face him, exasperated. “This!” she said, gesturing dramatically at her rounded stomach. “There’s nothing I can wear that hides the fact that I’m basically smuggling a watermelon under my ribs. The moment we step out the door, it’ll be all over the papers. It’ll become a thing. You said you didn’t want attention, and we agreed to keep it private, but I think we’ve officially passed the point of no return. Our baby’s going to be front-page news before it’s even born and—”

“Hey.” Harry stood and gently took her hand, pulling her close. “It’s okay. We knew this was going to happen eventually. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with the press talking about our family, but we’ll manage. Alright?”

Ginny sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just wanted it to stay ours for a little longer.”

“I know.” He glanced down at her hands resting protectively over her stomach and smiled. “No use fighting it now. Or…” he added, trying to lighten the mood, “you could always wear one of my coats.”

“In July?” she scoffed.

“Maybe you’ll start a new trend—summer coats.”

“Right. Because if there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s modesty.”

Harry laughed and wrapped her in a proper hug. “For what it’s worth, I think you look absolutely beautiful.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know.”

Downstairs, the clock shrieked again, positively outraged now at how late they were.

“I suppose we should go,” Harry murmured, gently squeezing her arms before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’m still naked,” Ginny deadpanned.

“I told you to wear my coat.”

“I’ll wear my blue dress.”

“Even better.”

[calebscrybaby]

the things I love about you in my mind

♡ ship: rafayel x reader

♡ about: professor rafayel helps sober up a drunk college mc after one too many drinks.

♡ warnings: possessive behavior, intoxication, implied stalker rafayel, kissing under the influence.

based on this cute fanart by kori

Rafayel is hardly paying attention.

Not to the Turkish coffee that’s going cold on his desk, nor to the texts his agent has been sending him and definitely not to the work he’s supposed to be grading.

Despite that, he doesn’t need to pay much attention to write down the critiques of what he’s seeing. It’s second nature at this point, for his eyes to see flaws. Shadow placement is illogical. He writes down halfheartedly, a hand on his cheek as his free one writes clipped sentence after sentence. Anatomy needs more work. Pose is too stiff. The lighting is all over the place.

He doesn’t mean to sound so dry and severe. The students this year are actually promising, for once. Bright and imaginative as they clumsily try and paint their way to the visions that exists in their young minds.

He sighed as he put the pen down, leaning back over the leather chair and rubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses. Rafayel assumed he’d be fine enough to work on grading to get his mind off of what’s bothering him, but apparently not.

It was a simple comment that managed to ruin his mood for the long awaited break from classes.

“Any plans for the weekend?” He had asked you when you ‘accidentally’ ran into him after your last lecture. 

“Uh-huh. I was invited to an after school party today!” You said with an excited smile plastered on your face.

Oblivious to how the corners of his mouth froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. College students go to drinking parties all the time, some spend more time in them than their actual classes. He just—somehow wished his bride would be exempt. You were hardworking and tended to be extroverted, preferring to spend your free time away from rowdy places. The friends you had (decent people, or else they wouldn’t have been near you) did arrange a lot of activities together between classes, but hardly any that involved partying. Something that he was thankful for.

Until now.

Were you pressured? You didn’t seem to be, by the excited smile on your face. But you did seem nervous. Was it your first drinking party? He’s a bit pissed he never found out the type of drunk you are. He wouldn’t be as worried if he was sure you knew how to stay safe in those kinds of parties—

Rafayel huffed through his nose, reaching out to grab his phone. Ignoring the multiple pleading notifications from his agent.

No text. No call.

“Have fun. I’m going to be in my office grading and working on my next project. Once you’re done, call me and I’ll get you back home safe.”

“Oh! I don’t want to trouble you, Professor…”

“Cutie,” he gave her a hard smile as he leaned down in that way he knew made her flustered. The wall next to them shielding the scene from other students. “It’s no trouble. Call me, okay?”

He was debating doing something about it when his phone vibrated in his hand, getting him out of his reverie.

cutie ♥️: sjxjdbajskdnanws

…?

cutie ♥️: audybqnsdn?!?? 1622

🐟: hey, what’s wrong?

♥️: didi here here

(lhttps://tinyurl.com/dz8xhjj7)

🐟: …cutie are you trying to order a car?

♥️: i am?

🐟: You are

♥️:oh

♥️: don tell professor

His mouth twitched, finger moving through the screen to call. It was a few too long seconds before you picked up.

“H-hello?”

She was slurring so hard he was surprised he couldn’t smell the alcohol from the screen.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?” He asked calmly (or so he hoped).

He heard some rustling before you continued sheepishly, “I didn’ wanna bother you…”

He sighed, knowing you’d feel reprimanded even if he didn’t say anything. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Y-you don’ have to—“

“Honey,” he interrupted in an overly sweet tone. “Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

He could hear her choke on the other side of the line before you meekly complied.

The drive to and fro was quiet. You seemed to be alright, thankfully, only stumbling a bit and not as drunk as he thought you’d be. He assumed you’d protest more or insist on calling a car again, but you were quiet as a mouse. Which was good.

Rafayel took you back to his office, much closer from the bar that was conveniently close to the campus. While he would have loved taking you back to his home, he was still mindful of your reputation. Keeping your relationship under wraps was the best way to continue the normalcy you seemed to enjoy. So instead, he took you to his office to rest before going to your dorm room.

You stumbled your way inside his office as he held you by the waist. Gently, he took off your jacket and sat you down on the leather couch.

Thankfully, his worries were somewhat allayed as he asked about the party in the car. You had fun, you didn’t get bothered by anyone nor drink enough to make yourself get sick. He nodded to himself proudly as he put your jacket on the hanger. His bride was a smart, competent woman. He didn’t need to be worried at all.

…it did concern him how quiet and flushed you were, but he would take care of that in a second.

Rafayel got a cool water bottle from the mini fridge and made his way back to the couch, when he sat next to you, he tugged your hand, pulling you closer until you were forced to move with a surprised yelp. With his other hand, he wrapped an arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, settling your soft curves against his thighs. 

Your face flushed harder, as if that was possible. He tried not to stare at the beautiful sight in front of him, your face a beautiful red up to the tips of your ears, mouth slightly open as your breathing got heavier. 

His hand unconsciously moved to touch your lower lip, unable to resist. “Drink some water, it’ll sober you up.” He murmured, acting like that was the only reason. You nodded in a haze, your hand shakily moving to grab the glass bottle from his hand, your fingers pausing as they touched his before you hastily pushed it to take a big swing.

“Careful,” he instructed as he started tugging his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. He only did it because with you so close, your close, heated body made him warmer. But it only caused you to choke on the water. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he rubbed your back. “Better?”

You nodded with your head bowed. You clearly had something on your mind, the alcohol making your emotions much clearer than usual. “Professor, I didn’t drink too much, even when they kept pouring. I was careful and safe. A-and I called you when you said you’d pick me up…”

You didn’t do the last part, actually. He tilted his head as he wiped your mouth and chin from the water you coughed. There seemed to be a point with the pause at the end. “Yes?”

You had a hard time making your brain work, apparently. He slyly noted. “S-so I must be a good girl, right?”

“Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

Oh. You must have been waiting to be praised since he called you. And I’m supposed to be the sober one here.

He smirked, normally he wouldn’t mind lavishing his cute bride in praise until you were a blushing mess, but he wanted to get himself a little payback for the worry you caused him.

He hummed nonchalantly as he nuzzled into your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair, now slightly mussed from the party. “Well, that depends on your performance today, cutie.”

Rafayel only meant it as a slight tease, he held a chuckle back as he saw the gears rapidly turn in your pretty little head.

He immediately regretted it as soon as tears sprang in your eyes. Making his eyes widen.

“I’m n-not a good girl? I’m not?” You cried out as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “Y-you don’t like me? You don’t l-like me!”

….How did your drunk mind reach that conclusion?

His hands were hovering helplessly, unsure of where to start comforting you. He must’ve underestimated how drunk you are. Rafayel finally settled on holding your cheeks and wiping them with his thumbs. “No no. I'm sorry,” he apologizes easily as you continued sobbing into the crook of his neck, his hand started petting her head gently, “you are my good girl, my best girl ever. I love you, really!”

When you kept hiccuping, Rafayel frowned. No matter how much he liked teasing his bride, a light punishment all things considered, he never wanted to upset her. His hand reached for her cheek and maneuvered her face, peppering it with soft kisses as her crying calmed to sniffles. “I even waited for 800 years for you. I love you. I'm sorry, baby…”

His tone turned from placating to vulnerable. None of what he’s saying is untrue, it’s the same mantra that repeats with every beat of his heart. Over and over across lifetimes.

“No. My bride, my only bride.”

You won’t remember it, like you don’t remember so many things. But still, he gives himself this.

Once you were calm enough, he smiled gently. Wiping the remnants of your tears from your reddened cheeks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He offered with an apologetic smile as he lifted your face to meet his.

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “…I wanna—want a kiss!” You whined your demand out loud, too buzzed and upset to feel self conscious.

“But I already gave you plenty,” he said with feigned confusion, unable to help himself.

You groaned petulantly, “not like that!”

He smiled, impossibly fond. “Well, I can’t kiss you with my glasses on, honey.”

“T-take—“ you slurred as you tried to do it yourself, growing more frustrated as your uncoordinated hands couldn’t get them off his ears. “Off!”

Rafayel tutted, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when you couldn’t focus on anything to recognize it. He couldn’t resist continuing to tease you. “Can’t? Maybe you just don’t want to. Maybe you actually don’t want your dear Professor’s kiss…”

His poor bride whined, trying harder. Even when you managed to get it off, it fell back on, askew on his grinning face. His hair was now mussed from his failed attempts, the tidy slick back he had since this morning gone with every try of your warm hands.

“See?” He tutted, the old familiar Disappointed Teacher Tone™️ slinked back into his voice. “You don’t really want one or you would have managed to get them off.”

“No—no no no.” You shook her head, immediately stopping when you clearly made yourself dizzy. God, you were adorable. “I want to!”

Rafayel laughed, light and easy as you huffed at him. His hand went up to grab his glasses and casually threw it on the other end of the couch. Your hazy mind registered it and brightened, leaning in and clumsily trying to kiss him before he laughed against your mouth, his hands reaching to cup your cheek as he took over and gave you one decent kiss. Your warm breaths mingled together as he broke it, the soft gaze of his ocean blues mixed with lemurian fire making your heart thump in your chest.

“Now, how about a nap to sober you up?”

[remtrack]

loser (i don't want to lose her) ★ mark lee.

tags. mark lee x reader. hurt comfort. 1k words.

requested! i don't really like this one but i hope u like it nonnie <3

You were really looking forward to this dinner. It wasn’t anything special — just a homemade dinner for two — but you cooked Mark’s favourites, set up a nice ambience, and even dressed up nicely. It had been far too long since you two last went on a date — he was in the middle of a new comeback, so even to meet had become a near impossible task. On a rare day that you did, you decided to do something nice.

But Mark wasn’t getting the memo. 

Two hours since you last knocked on his office door, telling him to eat dinner. He hadn’t moved an inch, leaving you with no choice but to ask again. Once you pushed the door open, you were greeted by the sight of him sitting on his chair, pieces of crumpled paper scattered around the table as he gripped a pencil. Too absorbed in his lyric writing to acknowledge your presence. 

“Babe,” you said, tapping on his shoulder. He turned towards you, raising an eyebrow and offering a small smile. “You said you’d come eat two hours ago, the food’s getting cold.”

“Just a little more,” he said, smile stretching into a wider one. He tapped on your nose with his pointer, a small attempt to cheer you up. “The ideas will disappear if I don’t write them down now. I’ll be out in a bit, baby. Promise.”

You don’t remember much of what happened after. You only remember storming out of the house and to Jisung’s, leaving a note out of anger. 

★★★

“Just don’t get why he can’t just spare a fucking hour to eat.”

Between huffs and puffs, you rambled. You were slumped on the couch between Chenle and Jisung, who were laser-focused on the TV. The clicks of their consoles could be heard amidst your angry babbles. Haechan stood on a beanbag, arms crossed behind his head. 

“Hey, if you break up with Mark, I’ll date you instead,” Haechan joked, earning a smack on his head from Chenle. “I’m just joking, damn.”

“Not a good time."

You truly didn’t get it. You frequently had to bring your work home, spending hours on your laptop to chase a deadline but you’d never neglect Mark the way that he did. Plus, he wasn’t rushing against the clock — so was it really justifiable that he had left you hanging? It felt unfair. Huffing, you pulled your knees towards your chest and slumped your chin against your knees.

“Or am I being unreasonable?” you muttered, “Maybe it’d be better if he had someone in your industry, maybe we just don’t match.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jisung answered. 

In the blur of your despair, you failed to realize that Jisung’s words were half-hearted, impassive — that he hadn’t really been listening after all. You merely nodded, before excusing yourself to go home. 

“You shouldn’t have said that, dickhead,” Chenle said, slapping Jisung across his nape.

Jisung looked back at him, blinking his eyes confusedly.

“What’d I say again?”

★★★

“Mark, we need to talk.”

After days of pondering, you had come to a conclusion — that perhaps, letting go of Mark would be the best act of love that you could do. Upon seeing him lounging on the living room couch, you had finally mustered enough courage to speak. 

Mark placed his phone down, looking up at you. His gaze followed your figure as you sat beside him. Behind the placid look he tried to maintain, he panicked internally. He straightened up. 

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I don’t think that this is working out.” 

“What?”

Mark stared at you, trying to decipher your words — or rather, trying to accept your words. You could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the thick saliva pooling at the back of his throat, though you couldn’t see the anxiety pumping through his veins.

“What do you mean, YN? What do you mean by this?”

“This,” you muttered. “Us.”

“But we were fine a few days ago,” the raven retorted. He racked his brain for anything that could’ve upset you, all the memories rushing back to his head and it made him dizzy. 

“YN, please.” 

“I just,” the words slipped past your lips. There were an abundance of thoughts filling your brain — too much — and your tongue couldn’t quite catch up. “Just. Feel like you deserve better, Mark. Someone who gets you.”

“But you’re perfect,” he whimpered. Without him realizing, his lips were quivering. “You get me.”

“I don’t,” you shook your head. “I’m not… someone who does music, like you. There are things you talk about that I don’t get. You should find someone who matches you better. I’m sorry, Mark.”

You extended your hand on the sofa, grazing his knee. It takes a little more courage for you to give it a little squeeze. He gave you a pained look, shaking his head — and the look had done more than tug on your heartstrings — it wrung them. You never wanted to hurt him this much.

“But I don’t get all your stuff either,” he whispered. “When you talk about your work stuff, I don’t always get it. But I listen because I like listening to you… don’t you like listening to me too?”

The question rendered you silent. You bit the inside of your cheeks, thinking back to all the times when he’d tell you all about his music production, how he’d seat you on his lap and play with your hair as you listened to his songs. How your lips would be puckered out of focus and he’d kiss it. 

“I do.”

The words breathed relief onto Mark’s face. He grabs your hand, gently tracing along the veins on your palm.

“We don’t always have to understand each other,” he mumbled, “Sometimes, listening and acknowledging is enough.” 

Slowly, you nodded. Finally, the heavy beating of your heartbeat calmed down. 

“Can you please stay?” his voice was soft. He spoke as though you could break from the sheer sound of his voice.

“Yes,” you whispered back, “I’m sorry, I just got scared. I love you so much, I want the best for you.”

“It’s okay,” Mark answered. He pulled you into a hug, tucking you under his chin. “I love you, too.”

"Okay, but you really have to make more time for me."

"I'm sorry. Okay. I love you, I really do."

taglist: @ch3rryd0ll @jenohyun @untilthesunrises @raevyng @peachysoso @peartreegarden @iliveforsmut3000 @chenlezip

[prettydaisygirl]

Hi! i was wondering if you would ever write about zombie au rafe and reader’s first time? or if they even have time for that in the middle of a zombie apocalypse 😭😭

nonnie, I am so glad you asked this because I have actually been thinking about this recently! I think they probably wouldn't be able to have sex frequently, but they definitely get worked up and need to let it out sometimes. Hope you enjoy, my love!

zombie au with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader & their first time ✿ 2.6k words

cw: NSFW 18+, zombie apocalypse, fem reader, reader is horny, fingering, jerking off, masturbating, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, these two were both pent up

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Rafe won’t touch you, and it’s driving you fucking crazy.

Okay, that’s kind of a lie. Once, a few weeks ago now, in the cover of darkness when your body wouldn’t stop trembling from the cold, Rafe slid his fingers down the front of your pants and worked you until you fell apart. He said it was under the guise of keeping you warm, and he hasn’t done it again. 

But it’s all you can think about.

You really try not to. You know it’s not the ideal time to be horny, what with the dead rising and the groups of survivors that seem to keep trying to hunt you and Rafe down. You know any kind of distraction is too much distraction, and Rafe is strict about keeping you focused. Especially now that the two of you are… whatever you are. 

But God, Rafe has this stubble over his jaw that drives you crazy and every time he kills a zombie with his crowbar all you can do is stare at his hands. When he kisses you to wake you up for your shift, you whine when he pulls away. His touches linger, but not long enough. Your skin vibrates when he’s around and it’s already starting to become distracting.

And that’s exactly why Rafe won’t touch you.

Well that, and the fact that a pregnancy would likely be a death sentence.

You sit on your chair, book in hand. You’ve been pretending to read since you took watch, your eyes lingering on your boyfriend’s figure instead of the words on the page. He shifts in his sleep, the fourth time in as many minutes. Since Rafe’s started having nightmares, you’ve been keeping a close eye on him when he sleeps, wanting to comfort him if his dreams take a turn for the disturbing. The waking world is grotesque enough, he shouldn’t have to suffer when he sleeps too, you think.

Tonight is different, though. You know what Rafe is like when he has a nightmare, and this is definitely not that. Tonight, his sounds are deeper, his movements less jerky and more gentle. He groans lowly, shifting again and you have to close your eyes for a moment to contain yourself. When you open them, Rafe is sprawled on his back, the blanket half thrown off of him, hardness evident in his boxers.

You stare at it.

Last week, after the two of you had taken advantage of a warm, sunny day to clean up at a nearby pond, you’d come downstairs after untangling your hair to find Rafe in the living room with his hand around his cock. You couldn’t see it, just the way his arm moved and his head lolled back against the couch. He’d groaned your name, and you watched from the top of the stairs with your cheeks aflame until he finished. Then you walked downstairs like you hadn’t seen a thing. 

That same deep groaning spills from his softly parted lips now, though they don’t form your name in his sleep. You feel your core burn, and when he groans again, his legs shifting and his hand unconsciously reaching for his bulge in his sleep, you break. 

You set your book down, standing from the chair and gently padding your way over to where Rafe sleeps on the mattress. You kneel by his side, eyes still locked on the shape of him through his boxers. He’s big, bigger than you expected and even the outline of his cock is enough to have your mouth watering. You let out a pathetic whimper when he groans again and your hands reach for him.

“Rafe,” You whisper, shaking his shoulder. Part of you doesn’t want to wake him, knowing how little sleep the two of you manage to get. But the bigger part of you, the desperate part, doesn’t care. When he doesn’t stir, you shake him a bit harder. “Rafe.”

His eyes shoot open and he inhales sharply, looking around immediately for any signs of danger.

“‘s going on?” Rafe asks, his voice thick and raspy with sleep and the sound of it makes your thighs clench.

“Everything’s okay,” you whisper quickly, and you watch Rafe’s face contort in confusion as he glances toward the window.

“‘s not even mornin’ yet, and you’re wakin’ me up for nothin’?” He sits up a bit and you swallow thickly, gaze looking over the bulge in his underwear again.

“It’s not nothing…” You insist in a soft voice, barely a whisper. Rafe’s gaze meets yours, brows furrowed, and you speak again. “I’m not okay.”

Rafe’s eyes widen a bit and he fully sits up, alert and awake now as his body stiffens and he reaches for you. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I need you,” You whisper, and there’s a long moment of silence. 

“‘m right here,” Rafe lowers his voice, tone gentle as his hand slides down your arm comfortingly. It’s supposed to be soothing, but it feels like torture. You realize he probably thinks you’re scared.

Your eyes meet his again. Rafe opens his mouth to say something, probably words to comfort you but he doesn’t get the chance. 

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as you kneel beside him. He makes a sound of surprise but reaches a hand up to the back of your head, cradling the base of your skull. You moan softly into the kiss, the taste of his lips sending fire coursing through your veins. 

Your kisses become more desperate and you lean further into him, climbing onto the mattress. 

“Hey,” Rafe says, but it’s muffled by your lips, your tongue brushing through his mouth with need. He grips at your hair and pulls, separating his mouth from yours. The sound you make would normally embarrass you, but right now you don’t care. 

“Rafe, please,” You whisper, practically a whine, climbing over the top of his lap to straddle his hips, lowering your mouth back to his. You tangle one hand in his hair, the other gripping the back of his shirt. Rafe pulls back again and you want to cry.

“You woke me up to get you off?” Rafe asks, raising an eyebrow at you and your frantic expression. 

“Please,” You stress, practically begging at this point, “It’s not the same when I do it by myself.”

Your words have his body tensing, and you can feel his muscles stiffening beneath you. You lower your lips to his neck, kissing at his skin and relishing in the way his stubble lightly scratches at your face. 

“Fuck, babe…” Rafe hisses when you lower a hand to palm at his bulge. His hips buck up a bit into your hand. 

“You were moaning in your sleep,” You tell him, pulling back from his neck to look into his eyes. They’ve darkened, his hands sliding up your back to pull you closer. “I can’t help it.” 

He presses his mouth to yours again, one hand sliding between the two of you and beneath the fabric of your panties. Your grip on his hair tightens and you find your own hips bucking against his fingers. His name escapes you as a moan, and Rafe pulls back just enough to brush his nose against yours.

“Shit, baby, you are worked up, huh?” His calloused fingers tease your folds, feeling how slick you are between your thighs. You bury your face in his neck, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in a tight fist. You can feel your toes curl when Rafe brushes a finger over your wet hole.

“Rafe,” You moan, reaching down with your free hand to palm at him again. He slides a finger inside you and you can feel your walls clench around him. It feels good enough to have your eyes fluttering and you lean your body against his. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”

Rafe turns his head a bit to see as much of your face as he can. His lips brush your cheek as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, his thumb still teasing your clit. 

“This why you been so distracted recently?” He asks, a bit of a teasing smirk on his lips, illuminated by the pale moonlight streaming in from the window. He adds a second finger, the slight stretch causing you to tense for just a moment. His fingers are thicker than your own. 

“I can’t stop- shit-” His fingers curl just right and you see stars, “I can’t stop looking at you.” 

You half-palm at his bulge, distracted and overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers inside of you, your clit growing more sensitive as his thumb circles it. Rafe practically guffaws at your words, clearly flattered, speeding up the pace of his fingers until you’re panting and grinding your hips against his hand. 

“You’re good at this,” You moan into his ear as you feel the pressure building in your lower abdomen. You chase it, and Rafe can tell as he works in a third finger.

“I used to get around,” Rafe says the words casually, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or unsettled. You decide not to think about it at all, instead focusing on chasing your high until you reach it, Rafe’s fingers continuing to work you until you’ve stopped trembling.

You return back to Earth, back to your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths that are gradually slowing. You reach down again, palming Rafe through his boxers. He grunts and reaches for your wrist.

“You really don’t have to-” Rafe tries to speak but you cut him off.

“Please,” You urge him again, moving to tug his boxers down. He doesn’t stop you, and you spit on your hand before wrapping it around him, gripping him tightly as you begin to move your wrist. Rafe hisses and grunts, his hands grasping at your back, your hips, your waist, pretty much anywhere he can reach. 

He leans forward to connect his lips to yours again and you both moan. You speed up your pace, brushing your thumb over the head of him before returning to jerking him off. 

He sucks on your bottom lip, practically devouring your mouth until he’s panting too much to do anything but lap at your tongue with his own. You squeeze him again and he cums in thick, white ropes over your hand. You lick it off your fingers with your tongue and something in Rafe’s gaze changes. 

“Lay down,” He demands, and your heart skips a beat. You don’t question him, you don’t even hesitate. You move off of his lap and flip onto your back flat on the mattress. Rafe sits up, moving so he is off the mattress, facing you. You sit up a bit to look at him and he grips your legs, yanking you closer. You gasp with surprise and he tugs off your panties, tossing them aside before lowering his face to your pussy. 

He doesn’t waste any time, lapping up your juices and teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue. He has your back arching and your hands tangle in his hair again. He lifts your legs to place them over his shoulders, eating you out like a starving man. It seems both of you were pent up. 

He presses his tongue flat against your folds before delving into your hole. It’s wonderful and amazing and you find yourself panting and trembling for him, but you need more.

“Rafe,” His name comes out half as a moan. You feel him smile against you and the feeling has your head spinning for a long moment before you tug on his hair. “Hey.” 

He comes up, chin glistening with your juices and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, and the energy shifts. Rafe’s gaze is intense on yours, his jaw clenched and you can see the way his fist keeps tensing. 

“I don’t have a condom.” Rafe’s voice comes out deeper than you’ve ever heard it and your lust-addled brain couldn’t give two shits about a condom.

“Just pull out.” And that’s that.

Rafe climbs over you, his elbows next to your head and your legs wrap around his hips. One of his hands reaches down to hold himself, aligning himself with your entrance. His eyes meet yours as he slowly pushes in. 

He can feel the moment you start to tense and he shushes you, cooing into your ear as he reaches down to fondle your clit again. You hiss as he pushes further to bottom out inside you, and a guttural, deep groan leaves Rafe’s throat.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good, baby,” He rocks his hips just a bit and you grasp at his arm.

“Hang on, just… give me a minute,” You whisper, nails digging into his skin, and Rafe presses sloppy kisses over your cheeks and jaw. You feel his hips twitch again, eager to move and you take a heavy breath in. 

The pain of the stretch begins to subside and you let your breath out. “Okay,” you say, “You can move now.”

Rafe pulls back his hips just a few inches before sliding forward again. “Shit.”

He pulls out once more and then begins to set his pace. Slow, at first. He whispers sweet words in your ear and presses gentle kisses to your lips.

“Y’good, babe?” He asks quietly, and you nod. 

“You can go faster,” You whisper, and Rafe doesn’t need to be told twice.

He speeds up his thrusts, reaching a hand down to grip the back of your thigh and stretch it back more. You feel your walls flutter around his cock as it reaches a spot deep inside you that’s never been touched before. The sound of your moans and grunts fills the room, a symphony of sex accompanied by the sound of skin on skin. 

“You’re so fucking tight. Shit, you take me so well.” Rafe is completely lost in you, his eyes fully dark with lust when he looks down at you. You reach down to play with your clit and he knocks your hand out of the way, taking over with his free hand.

“Thought you said it wasn’t the same when you do it?” He asks with a smirk, and you cry out, head spinning as he pinches it. His thrusts speed up, your nails digging into his back. You can feel the flame building higher and higher again and you cum on his dick, walls clenching around him, back arching off the mattress. He makes a strained, choked sound and pulls out, reaching down to stroke himself with his hand a few times before he finishes again, cumming over your stomach. 

He collapses next to you, the both of you trying to collect your breath and your thoughts. Rafe reaches down to hold your hand and it’s silent in the dark bedroom for a long time.

“Rafe?” You finally speak up, the last remnants of your pleasure fizzled out.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he is half asleep. You smile.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” You tell him, running your free hand through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh before he settles again.

“‘m going back to sleep now.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[novlr]

Do you have any posts on turning a book into a series, and/or deciding how many books the series should be? I searched but couldn't really find anything. Im plotting my story and not sure how to split it up into how many books if I decide it's too much for a stand alone. Do I just go with trilogy? Thought there are many authors who have like 5-10 books. How do I know?

The choice between writing a standalone novel or committing to develop a series isn’t always straightforward. While some stories naturally lend themselves to multiple books, others work best as self-contained narratives. So what do you have to think about to actually make these decisions?

Signs your story might work better as a series

Complex worldbuilding

If you’ve built an intricate fictional world with multiple cultures, magic systems, or technological innovations that you can’t fully explore in a single book without overwhelming readers, you might have series potential.

Multiple major story arcs

When you have several significant plotlines that feel rushed or cramped into one book, or story threads that naturally extend beyond your story’s major conflict, this could show series potential.

Character development opportunities

If your characters have growth trajectories that would feel unrealistic or rushed within a single book, or if you have multiple interesting characters whose stories deserve more content, a series might be best.

Scope of conflict

Stories with conflicts that escalate naturally or reveal larger implications beyond the initial problem often work well as series.

Signs your story might work better as a standalone

Single central conflict

If your story revolves around one main conflict that can be satisfyingly resolved in a single book, it might be better as a standalone.

Focused character arc

When your protagonist’s journey has a clear beginning, middle, and end that rarely spawns new questions or conflicts, consider keeping it standalone.

Contained story world

If your world-building serves the immediate story without requiring extensive exploration of other aspects, it might not need expansion into a series.

Thematic resolution

When your theme can be fully explored and resolved in one book, forcing it into a series might dilute its impact and spread the story too thin to remain interesting.

How to decide the number of books

If you’ve decided your story would work better as a series, consider these factors when deciding length:

Natural breaking points: Look for places where your story has significant shifts in conflict, setting, or character development.

Story complexity: More complex narratives might need more books to do justice to all the elements.

Market considerations: While you shouldn’t write for marketing alone, if you plan to publishing, be aware that publishers and audiences often prefer certain series lengths for different genres.

Story structure: Some narratives naturally fall into traditional structures:

Trilogy (three acts)

Duology (two-part story)

Quartet (four interconnected arcs)

Longer series (episodic adventures or expanding scope)

Questions to ask yourself

Can your story be told effectively in one book without sacrificing depth or rushing important elements?

Do you have enough material for multiple books without resorting to filler?

Are your subplots and secondary characters strong enough to sustain reader interest across multiple books?

Does each potential book have its own complete arc while contributing to the larger story?

Are you personally invested enough in the world and characters to spend years developing multiple books?

Remember that there’s no universally “right” answer. Some stories that started as standalone books often grow into series (think crime series that tell self-contained stories but use the same protagonist throughout), while others that originally released as series are often condensed into a single volume for a better reader experience (like Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Quartet, or Susan Cooper’s The Dark Is Rising series).

Let your story guide you. Don’t force a standalone into a series just because series are popular, and don’t compress a story that needs room to breathe just to fit it into one book. Focus on telling your story in the most effective way possible, and the right format will often become clear during the writing process.

Whether you choose to write a standalone book or a series, make sure each book can stand on its own merits while serving the larger story you want to tell.

[notiddygothgf]

xiii

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ This can’t be anything.❞

★ c.w.: public foreplay, vibrator, smut, confusion again (thank you aki, we all say in unison), lovemaking ( uh ohhhh ), an epiphany.

★ a/n: SHES BACCKKKKKK!!!!!! IM BACK FROM THE DEADDDDDD!!! oh my fucking god finals whooped my ass so gd bad. this chapter has been in the works for so so so so so long. i missed you all dearly. thank you -- not only for being patient, but for being so loving during my absence! You guys gave me motivation to keep posting. I have so much planned for this story and i cannot wait to take you all there. Stay tuned and, as always, keep those comments coming! Oh how I've missed your spam <3

★ w.c: 10k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU STIRRED SLOWLY, twitching as you came to. You didn’t even remember passing out at Aki’s place, but a glance to your left brought everything back – another round, more words of praise, some kisses that definitely didn’t get to your head. And, in the middle of it all, lay Aki himself, completely shirtless and sprawled out over the bed on his stomach. His arm was draped across your body like a seatbelt, locking you in place. A little confused (but not at all upset by the view) you watched his back rise. Fall. Rise again.

Sharing a bed with him felt too intimate – too easy. It was too easy to smile when you saw his pretty, relaxed face. It was too easy to map out the shapes and slopes – the way his brows were furrowed just slightly, the way his hair, down and tousled, fell into his face and shrouded his eyes from your gaze. Suddenly, he wasn’t the invincible Captain he pretended to be. 

No, right now, he was just a 21-year-old boy, completely vulnerable beneath your prying gaze. You weren’t sure what to do with the feeling – or feelings, for that matter. Any of them.

God, he’s so pretty it hurts, you thought, mindlessly tucking a tuft of his hair behind his ears so you could get a better look at him. He stirred slightly, probably having been tickled by the movement, but didn’t wake. So, feeling a little bold, you continued to play with his hair – continued to mindlessly twiddle the black strands in between your fingertips even though you knew you shouldn’t.

There was just something about it that gave you a small sense of satisfaction.

Your finger traced a path from his brow to his cheek – faintly enough to make him stir. Then his nose twitched, and a moment later, his tired eyes opened slowly, blinking like he was trying to make sense of the fact that you had stayed.

A slow smile crawled over his lips. “Morning,” He grumbled. His voice was still groggy, a little deeper than usual.

He looked ethereal in the mornings. It was seriously unfair. Here you were – messy, tousled hair and crusty eyes – and he looked like a fucking princess. 

You hadn’t realized your hand was still on his face until he glanced at it. Quickly, like you had been burned, you withdrew your touch. Clearing your throat, you replied. “Good morning.”

His smile didn’t falter, didn’t shift, but his eyes lingered a second too long—like he was trying to memorize something. Like maybe your hand had felt good there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice lower now, more tentative.

You hesitated, searching for the right words as your body reminded you of every ache and throb. “Sore,” you admitted with a small, breathy laugh, “but good.”

Your gaze dropped to the sheets tangled around your waist. “Last night was… really good.”

The night before flashed through your mind like a record on loop – his hands on your back, around your neck, the way his hips rolled so devilishly into yours over and over again. The way he held you after, like you were something more than just a woman to him – like it meant something.

“You were amazing,” He breathed, the words tender and not at all rushed, like he had all the time in the world.

It wasn’t just the soreness or the memory of what you’d done – it was the way your chest ached now, with something tender and blooming. Something terrifying.

His lips were a scorching hot memory on your skin, leaving burns in their wake. His gentle touch burned a little deeper, though – the scars it left were in your mind.

And those words, lingering on the back of your tongue – I’m catching feelings for you.

You gazed into his half-lidded baby blues, pursed lips melting into a smile. Slowly, your heart rate began to climb. You decided then that you would never tell him how you felt. You knew what would happen if you did – none of this would ever happen again. You would never be able to feel him so close to you, buried up to the hilt in your warmth while you dug your fingernails into his strong back. Never again would you be able to hear him laugh the way he only seemed to do with you – hear his compliments, feel his revering touch. Never again would he be yours – even only partially. 

That thought alone was painful enough to make you wince. You knew that your feelings would shatter this illusion – this little thing the two of you had going on. Your feelings would make it too real. In a moment, the two of you would snap back to reality, and probably go back to being coworkers in the process. Aki would undoubtedly do what he did best – putting up those walls to keep you at bay because he didn’t know how to do anything else – and you… well, you weren’t sure what you would do without him now that you’d gotten a taste. 

So, deciding to save yourself the heartache, you snapped yourself out of it. “I should get going.”

Great, now he’s gonna think I’m ghosting him, You thought to yourself. All things considered, it probably would have been best for you to ghost him. It sure as hell would have saved you the heartache.

No, you could never. You were in far too deep to back out now.

“Not gonna stay for breakfast?” He replied, tilting his head at you. He shifted, tossing an arm behind his head to stretch, and you would have been lying if you said you didn’t ogle his biceps. 

I hate you, you thought. How could you offer me everything and then nothing at the same time?

No, you corrected. It’s my fault. He doesn’t want anything more. I’m the one who was stupid enough to agree.

“I shouldn’t,” You sighed. It would be bad – really, really bad. If you got up now and got ready with him, then you would have to go to the kitchen with him. Then, if you went to the kitchen with him, you would admire him while he made breakfast. Then, to top it all off, you would love his cooking – whatever he decided to make you, because of course you would – and realize that maybe, just maybe, the cooking wasn’t the only thing you loved about him. 

I mean, what?

You continued, “I really have to grab some groceries today.”

Only a partial lie. Today was your designated grocery day. Before he could clock your lie, you were already shifting towards the edge of his mattress, swinging your feet over the side until they touched the ground. You looked back at him, only to find him laying on his side with his head perched on his hand, shamelessly watching you…. wearing his shirt. 

Just his shirt.

It was all too intimate. It was just enough to drive you wild, but not enough to warrant a conversation so early in the morning, so you looked away for a moment and rose to your feet. “Can I borrow some pants?” You asked, already dreading the prospect of wearing your dress from the night before home.

You glanced over to the bed once more. Aki stretched – a big stretch – and the covers slipped a little lower. His sweatpants did, too, revealing just enough skin to give you a glimpse of his navel, his abs. Then, without a word, he slipped out of bed and walked over to the dresser, where he pulled a pair of sweatpants out and tossed them onto the bed. 

“Thanks,” You muttered, grabbing them and slipping your feet into them. You were thicker than Aki was, for lack of a better word, so the waistband wasn’t an issue. The length, however… well, that was an issue. The pants were so long, in fact, that they bunched up ridiculously around your feet.

You looked up, and he was still watching you. It was strange, though. He wasn’t just staring at you. No, he was looking at you like he had never bothered letting someone stay until the morning, like he had never seen a woman get changed the morning after a night spent tangled in his sheets. Like you were a rare sight.

Like you were beautiful.

“Are you staring?” You asked him, even though you already knew the answer.

“Am I… not allowed to?” He replied. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

With a roll of your eyes that lacked any real resentment, you bent over and reached for your dress at the foot of the bed, balling it up and chucking it at him.

“You’re driving me home, asshole,” You snapped at him. “I’m not gonna limp to the bus stop.”

When you looked back, he had his car keys pinched between his fingers, jingling them around. “Was already planning on it. What kind of man do you think I am?”

The kind who breaks girls’ hearts,you thought, but decided not to voice that opinion.

There was nothing casual about this. You knew it was a bad idea. You were already getting attached, but this?

This was bad.

No, it’s not, you told yourself. He’s just being a decent guy.

Aki tugged his shirt on with one hand, the motion slow and thoughtless, like he had all the time in the world. The hem fell crooked across his hips, but he didn’t fix it. Didn’t need to. He looked good like that—half-dressed, hair only a little disheveled, eyes still heavy with sleep. The kind of good that made your chest hurt.

You kept your back to him as you crouched by the edge of the bed, fingers curling around the soft fabric of your dress. It was wrinkled and still warm from where you’d tossed it last night. Your phone was buried in the blankets, screen dim, battery nearly dead. You grabbed it, too, along with your heels—one tucked near the corner of the bed frame, the other abandoned halfway to the door.

Your body ached in ways that weren’t entirely physical. 

You grabbed your heels from beside the bed, not bothering to sit down before shoving them on. Being near him like this made it worse.

You caught a glimpse of his face the moment you turned – quiet, unreadable, eyes softer than they had any right to be. 

You looked away first.

You rolled the cart right on along the aisles at the grocery store. It was somewhere around halfway full. You brushed past the medicinal aisle and the snack aisle (though the latter was not exactly easy).

You rolled the cart along the aisles, letting the wheels bump gently over the smooth linoleum, one of them squeaking just enough to be annoying. It was somewhere around halfway full—staples mostly. Milk. Rice. A few boxed dinners for the nights when you didn’t feel like trying. You were running low on effort this week, and honestly, this grocery trip was more necessity than anything. A quiet kind of obligation. Something to do when you didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts for too long.

You passed the medicinal aisle, resisting the urge to stop and read labels you didn’t need. Then came the snack aisle, which was a harder temptation. You slowed, caught sight of a bag of honey butter chips—your favorite—and hovered for a second. But you shook it off. If you bought them, you’d eat the whole bag by tomorrow night. Probably in one sitting. You weren’t proud of how well you knew that.

Turning the corner into produce, you took a breath, letting the sharp scent of citrus and green leaves fill your lungs. You grabbed a bag of apples, feeling their smooth skin under your fingers, and then some bell peppers. The green ones were cheaper, but you always liked the red ones more, so you reached for those without bothering to rationalize it. A few bananas. A bundle of kale. You weren’t really thinking about the food, not really—it was more muscle memory, just something to keep your hands moving.

Then your phone buzzed in the pocket of your hoodie.

You fished it out, glanced down without thinking—and stopped in your tracks.

Aki.

Your heart did that thing again. The thing it had started doing lately, whenever you saw his name. Not a full skip, not yet, but just a pause. A flutter. A small, stupid stutter.

He didn’t call often. Usually it was texts. Quick check-ins, questions, things you could answer without having to hear his voice. So the fact that he was calling now—while you were elbow-deep in grocery shopping and quietly trying to keep your mind from wandering back to him—felt like the universe was playing games.

You answered, pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder while reaching for a bag of spinach. “Hey, you.”

There was a breath on the other end, then: “Hey. Are you busy right now?”

“Not really,” you said, pushing the cart forward with one hand, “Just picking up some groceries. Why? What’s up?”

A quiet pause.

“Nothing much. Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

You hesitated, your hand hovering over a container of strawberries. That wasn’t like him. Aki wasn’t the type to call just to talk. He was methodical. Intentional. He didn’t check in unless there was a reason.

“Are you sure you’re not just bored?” you asked, aiming for lightness, something casual to cover how your heart had started doing acrobatics in your chest.

“A little of both, maybe.”

You smiled despite yourself, placing the strawberries gently into the cart. “Wow. Never thought that the illustrious Captain Hayakawa would ever run out of things to do.”

“Just because I’m bored doesn’t mean I’m not doing things,” he replied evenly. “I’m cleaning the kitchen right now.”

You could picture him there—hair tied back messily, sleeves pushed up, his hands scrubbing at something with more intensity than necessary. Probably frowning, like the dishes had personally insulted him.

“Lucky for you, then,” you said, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and scanning the shelves for the matching conditioner, “I’m bored at the grocery store. Guess you’re my entertainment for today.”

There was a small sound on the other end of the line. A soft breath—just barely audible. Like a half-laugh held back or maybe him shifting the phone from one ear to the other. But it lingered. Sat in your ear like something warmer than it should have been.

“I’ll try to make it worth your while,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You paused.

Not because you didn’t have something to say—but because you felt something catch in your chest at the sound of his voice like that. Unhurried. Familiar. Like this wasn’t some casual call, but something he wanted to stretch out.

And maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just reading into it because you’d been reading into everything lately when it came to Aki.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

The pause between you wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt intentional. Like you were both sitting with something unspoken.

“What’s up with you, though?” you asked, careful not to sound too curious. “You never call for no reason.”

“Nothing major,” he replied. “Picked up Denji and Power from Himeno’s place today.”

“Oh, god,” you said, already grinning. “I can’t imagine what that was like.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered, and you could hear the tired weight in his voice – the same tone he used after long days, after being stretched far too thin. “They’re a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“First of all, I get there,” he started, and you could already hear the reluctant story spilling out, “and Denji’s in the middle of a shouting argument with Power about… God, I don’t even know. They’re both yelling and Himeno’s just sitting there looking exhausted.”

“Sounds like a good time,” you replied, steering your cart around a display of instant noodles. “Did you pay her?”

“Yeah, real fuckin’ peaceful,” he said dryly. “Himeno gets all curious and starts asking me why I needed the house to myself for the night. I told her I needed some space. She didn’t buy it, of course, but I bought her some beer to make up for it.”

You laughed softly, heart skipping as your hand hovered over the shelf of bath soaps. “What did you tell her?” you asked. “Not that you took the night to wine, dine, and have a good time with your superior, I hope.”

“Poetic,” he said, and you could practically hear the eye roll. “No, I told her I was cleaning. Real convincing, huh?”

“I’m sure she totally believed it,” you said, biting your lip to suppress your smile.

“Probably not,” Aki continued. “But Denji, being Denji, decides that now is a good time to ask me if I’m ‘finally making a move’ on someone. Right in front of her.”

You stopped mid-step, frozen beside a tower of canned tomatoes.

“Oh my god.”

“You don’t even know,” he said. “Himeno just looked between us, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I thought she was gonna crack the code right there.”

Your heart thudded once—loud, sharp.

There it was again. That strange tension pulling taut between the two of you. That same thread that had been building over weeks, months. You never talked about it, never named it, but it was there. In the quiet way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In the way he lingered around you, even when he didn’t have to.

And now he was calling you in the middle of cleaning his kitchen, just to talk. No mission. No briefing. No emergency.

Just… to talk.

Why?

Your throat felt a little dry. You reached into your cart and fidgeted with one of the items, not even really seeing it.

What did this mean?

Aki wasn’t the kind of person to waste time. He didn’t do small talk. And yet here he was, calling you while wiping down counters, recounting Denji’s idiocy and letting you laugh at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You couldn’t stop the thought from blooming:

Was he starting to get attached to me, too?

You swallowed. “Did she figure it out?”

He hesitated. “I don’t think so. I just kept pretending I didn’t hear Denji, but you could tell she was dying to know.”

You laughed, shaking your head as your cart—long since full—creaked beneath your hand. You weren’t even trying to shop anymore. Hadn’t been for a while, if you were honest with yourself. You were halfway through what must’ve been your second lap around the store, aimlessly weaving past the same rows of cereal boxes and boxed rice you’d already passed twice.

“That sounds like a circus,” you said, letting your voice trail with a smile. “But I bet you were relieved when you got them out of there.”

“Oh, for sure,” Aki replied. “I couldn’t get out fast enough.”

You pictured him at Himeno’s, leaning in the doorway with that deadpan look on his face as Denji and Power argued across the room. Himeno, probably drinking, probably amused, watching him suffer in silence like she always did. You let out a breath that almost counted as a laugh, curling your fingers a little tighter around the phone where it pressed to your ear.

It had been like this since he called. No mission. No excuse. Just… Aki. Talking to you like it was natural. Like you were part of the rhythm of his day. And maybe you were. Maybe that was what twisted you up the most.

He should’ve hung up already. You should’ve let him. But neither of you did.

What is this?

“What about you?” he asked, his voice just a touch softer now. “You have any nightmare situations in the past twelve hours I haven’t seen you?”

You stopped walking for a moment, then slowly made your way toward the frozen section for no reason at all. Your hand hovered near a glass door before falling away again.

He’s dragging it out, you realized.

But so were you.

You hadn’t needed to keep walking. You could’ve checked out a few minutes ago. But you hadn’t. You didn’t want to. You kept finding one more aisle, one more shelf to browse, just to stay on the line with him a little longer. 

That wasn’t like you. But then again, nothing about your feelings for Aki had felt normal for a while now.

“None worth mentioning,” you replied, voice light, teasing—like if you could keep it playful, it wouldn’t feel like a confession. “Nearly hit a guy on the road, though.”

Aki laughed – actually laughed. Low and real and too rare. “Of course you’d be a shitty driver.”

You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the way your heart jumped at the sound of him laughing like that. “I’m a great driver, for the record,” you said, pacing now just to have something to do with your body. You turned past the same shampoo shelf you’d picked clean earlier. “But I’m coming up to checkout now, so… let me let you go.”

A lie. You weren’t even close to checkout. You just didn’t trust yourself to keep going.

Because if you did—if you kept this call alive any longer—you weren’t sure what you’d end up saying. Or worse, what you’d end up hoping he’d say.

“Got it,” Aki replied, after a beat. “I’ll spare you the horror stories.”

There was something reluctant in his voice too. It wasn’t just you.

“Maybe save it for later,” you said, and the words were warmer than you meant them to be. Too soft, too honest. You cleared your throat a little. “Sounds like you’ve got more in store.”

“Always,” he sighed. The sound was quiet, but not tired. If anything, it sounded a little like he was smiling.“Always some new bullshit in the Hayakawa household.”

That made your chest ache.

“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Later.”

You hung up before you could talk yourself out of it.

The silence that followed was immediate and jarring. You stood still in the middle of the hair care aisle, phone still clutched in your hand, surrounded by neatly stacked shelves of products you didn’t need anymore. The air conditioning hummed. Someone rolled a cart past behind you. A kid whined in the next aisle over. But none of it felt real—not yet.

You’d dragged out a phone call for a hell of a lot longer than was necessary just to hear his voice. To make him laugh. To let him talk about his day in a way that made it feel like you were his first choice to tell it to. 

And he hadn’t hung up either. He hadn’t even tried.

That… meant something. Didn’t it?

You exhaled slowly, barely aware of the tightness in your chest until now. Your hand went to your cart, gripping it lightly, and finally, finally, you turned and started toward checkout. The line was short, mercifully. Your body went through the motions – items on the belt, card in the reader, bags in hand – but your mind was still back in that aisle, listening to the soft edge of Aki’s voice and the way he said “talk to you later” like he actually meant it.

He could’ve just texted, you thought, and it made something sharp twist in your stomach. But he didn’t.

He wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to stay on the line. And he didn’t make up some excuse to call. He just asked what you were doing… like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You bit your lip as you stepped out into the parking lot. The sun had started to dip low, casting long shadows across the asphalt. You loaded your groceries into the car in silence, heart still tugging toward the sound of his voice, the comfort of that call, and the questions it left you with. What did it mean?

Monday morning – after a weekend spent overthinking about what your coworker thought about you – you strolled into Public Safety HQ with all the reluctance in the world. You went through the same motions you did every workday. You said hi to the man who worked the lobby, then a few familiar faces. You took the stairs up exactly one flight and wandered into the mailroom, where you unlocked your cabinet and checked for letters and notices.

You found neither. What you did find, however, was a single, lone note. Curiously, you turned it over in your palm. It came from inside the building, yes, but that wasn’t what caught your eye.

What caught your eye was the name initialed on the lower left corner of the back side – A.

A. one letter. It wasn’t accompanied by any other distinguishing marks. In fact, if you didn’t recognize the strange swoop in the center of the initial, you would have wondered who it was from.

But you would recognize that handwriting anywhere. So, instead, you popped a finger beneath the seal and tore the envelope open, weaseling a small note out of it. It wasn’t addressed to you specifically, but you knew exactly who it was from and who it was for.

“If you see this, call me. Thinking of you.”

With a tongue-in-cheek smile that could have powered a small village, you pocketed the little note slipping into the back of your slacks. He’s not even trying to be subtle, is he?

You stepped out of the mailroom with that stupid grin still tugging at your mouth, trying to play it off like you hadn't just pocketed what was probably the equivalent of a middle school "do you like me – yes/no/maybe" note from a fully grown man who swore up and down that there were no feelings involved.

The hall was quiet. Almost too quiet. That should’ve tipped you off.

You turned the corner at the end of the corridor, eyes on your phone – already half-tempted to call him just to see how fast he’d pick up – when you walked straight into someone.

“Shit– sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back.

“Oh, look who it is,” came a familiar, teasing voice. Himeno.

You looked up just in time to see her grin spreading wide across her fucking face. She slung an arm over your shoulder like she hadn’t just almost knocked the wind out of you, good eye gleaming with that typical too-knowing sparkle.

And standing just behind her – hands in his pockets, expression neutral save for the subtle raise of one brow – was Aki.

Of course.

"Morning," he said, quiet but direct, like he hadn’t fucked a limp into you only 72 hours earlier.

"Morning," you echoed, trying not to sound breathless.

God, he looked fucking good. Too good for a Monday morning. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and there was a faint crease between his brows like he’d been deep in thought. Or maybe – just maybe – he was thinking about that note he left you. The one that was burning a rectangle-shaped memory into your back pocket.

“You look tired,” Himeno said, poking you in the side. “Wanna grab lunch with us later?”

The casualness of the offer made your heart stumble a little. Just lunch. Friendly. Coworkers. 

You glanced between them, stalling for just a second too long.

“Uh – sure,” you said finally, because what were you gonna do, say no and look like you had something to hide?

“Great!” Himeno said, clearly pleased. “We were thinking of that ramen place near the station. You like that one, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Aki still hadn’t said anything. But when Himeno turned to walk down the hall, he lagged behind for just a beat – long enough for your eyes to meet his.

His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t smile. But there was something else there.

You almost stopped breathing.

And then, just as quickly, he looked away and followed Himeno down the hall.

You stood there for a second longer, pulse high and mind full of too many questions. Was the note meant to be a joke? A game? An invitation? Did he even expect you to find it this early?

You didn’t know, but your fingers twitched towards your phone anyway.

Because even if there were no feelings involved, you were starting to think the two of you were lying to yourselves. Real bad.

You, Denji, Aki, Power, and Himeno were squeezed into the back booth of the ramen shop — a cramped semicircle of too many limbs and clashing personalities. The air was thick with the scent of pork broth, fried gyoza, and something else entirely — something you couldn’t name but felt anyway. Maybe it was the heat rolling off the open kitchen. Or maybe it was the way Aki kept looking at you like that.

You sat directly across from him, your knees nearly brushing beneath the low table, though neither of you had made contact — not yet. He was angled slightly away, his shoulder toward Himeno as she carried on with one of her animated stories, laughing through half of it, chopsticks gesturing. But you knew Aki wasn’t listening.

Not really.

Because he kept looking at you. And you kept looking back.

Not directly — not boldly — but in half-glances, fleeting flickers of your eyes to his, only to find him already watching you through the veil of his lashes, that unreadable expression sitting low on his face. His hand was on the table, idle, fingers tapping the edge of the lacquered wood with a slow, deliberate rhythm. It made you wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were. If he remembered last time. If he wanted to remind you who you belonged to — even here, even now.

You swallowed hard and tried to focus on what Himeno was saying. Something about a devil encounter last week and Denji almost blowing out the windows in the company van. Power was howling with laughter beside her, while Denji insisted he was the hero of the story. Himeno rolled her eyes and waved him off.

You nodded along, forcing a smile, pretending to be present — and then your phone buzzed.

You blinked and glanced down, subtly sliding it out beneath the table. Aki hadn’t moved, but you could feel his gaze sharpen as your thumb flipped the screen open.

AKI: Order the miso ramen.

Four words. Plain. Unassuming.

But you felt them settle into you like a hand at the base of your neck — commanding, heavy, familiar.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and this time, he wasn’t pretending not to look. His stare was fixed, steady, hooded with the kind of intensity that made your stomach flip. Your cheeks burned — a slow, creeping warmth that started behind your ears and spread down to your collarbone. And he knew. You could see it in his face — in the way the corners of his mouth twitched like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Your thighs pressed together under the table, involuntary. You knew you should’ve felt annoyed. Or amused. Or... anything else.

But you liked it.

You liked being told what to do.

Especially by him.

A beat passed — his eyes never leaving yours — and then, finally, you broke the stare and cleared your throat.

“I’ll have the miso ramen,” you told the server when they approached.

He didn’t say a word, but you felt the weight of his approval settle in the space between you. Quiet. Commanding. Deep.

Himeno barely noticed, already diving back into her story once the ordering chaos passed. Something about Kobeni throwing up on a mission. You heard Denji groan, Power laughing louder than she needed to, and Himeno snort as she mimicked Kobeni’s voice.

You tried to listen.

You really did.

But you could feel Aki watching you again, in that maddening, disciplined way of his – the kind that never crossed a line in public, but made it very clear that he could.

Your skin prickled.

Your mouth was dry.

You shifted in your seat, subtly, and stole one more look across the table –  only to find him already looking back.

This time, he didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

The food arrived steaming and fragrant only a few minutes later, the server barely managing to fit all the bowls on the tiny table without knocking over someone’s water. You reached for your chopsticks just as Denji leaned forward, slurping his broth obnoxiously loud before launching into his next brilliant monologue.

“Aki was a total asshole this morning,” Denji announced, already gesturing with his chopsticks like he was pointing out evidence at a crime scene. “We put, like, one tiny bug in his coffee – one! – and he looked at us like he was gonna kill someone.”

You didn’t even look up. “Because you put a bug in his coffee, Denji.”

Denji sputtered. “It was dead!”

“That’s not the defense you think it is,” you replied dryly, only realizing after the words had left your mouth that you were defending Aki without hesitation. Instinctively. Almost... possessively.

You glanced over at him, just to check — and sure enough, his gaze had lifted to you. Barely. Just a flick of his eyes from beneath his lashes, but it was there. Not gratitude exactly. More like... acknowledgment. Heat. A quiet satisfaction that made your pulse skip.

Power, meanwhile, howled with laughter. “It was a huge bug. You should’ve seen it twitching when Aki sipped it!”

“I didn’t sip it,” Aki corrected, voice sharp. “I saw it before it touched my mouth.”

“Wow. Your reflexes are insane,” Denji said sarcastically. “What are you, a ninja?”

“You’re the one who spent the next ten minutes crying when I made you clean the whole floor.”

“That’s because you made me use bleach!”

“And he screamed,” Power added, gleeful.

“I didn’t scream,” Aki muttered, brows low. “I swore. Loudly. That’s different.”

“You dropped the mug,” Denji grinned. “And you jumped, like, this high.” He held his hand up to midair.

God, you could picture it.

“You’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both,” Aki said flatly.

You were mid-laugh when you brought your hand up to your mouth to stifle the giggles. The sudden movement was just enough to knock your elbow into the edge of your bowl — and in an instant, hot broth sloshed forward and spilled over the lip.

Right onto Aki.

Your heart stopped.

“Oh, shit–!” you gasped.

You shot up, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser like a soldier going into battle. You didn’t even stop to consider how it might look – how it might feel – until it was already happening. You were leaning over Aki, dabbing insistently at the front of his shirt, his thighs, his…

Your hand froze.

His blue eyes met yours, sharp and unreadable, and you felt something under your skin seize.

You looked down. Your palm hovered right over his lap. Too low. Too personal.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, snapping upright. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think—”

The entire table was dead silent. Denji had his mouth full of noodles, frozen mid-chew, wide-eyed. Power was grinning like she’d just been gifted front-row seats to the most scandalous performance on Earth.

You blinked hard, heat climbing the sides of your neck.

Oh my fucking God.

I’m on a roll, aren’t I?

“We’re gonna grab some napkins from the bathroom,” Himeno announced suddenly, voice far too casual. Her eyes flicked toward you with that too-knowing sparkle. “Okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Yep. Right behind you.”

You followed her down the narrow hallway, the sound of clinking bowls and low conversation fading behind you. Your face was burning. Your hands felt clammy. You knew what was coming before the bathroom door even clicked shut behind the two of you.

Himeno leaned against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, one hip cocked. Her smirk was the same one she wore every time she caught someone slipping – playful, merciless, and gleaming with interest.

“I knew it,” she said simply.

Your eyes widened. “Knew what?”

She tilted her head, mock-innocent. “You like him.”

Fuck.

You let out a weak, incredulous laugh, trying – failing – to play it off. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, come on.” Himeno rolled her eyes. “You were practically in his lap just now, wiping down his–” she made a vague gesture and laughed, “--his everything like it was no big deal.”

“I panicked,” you muttered. “It was an accident.”

“Sure,” she said, nodding slowly. “Except, you know, most people don’t react to spilling food by reaching straight for the goods.”

I’m gonna die.

I’m gonna crawl into a ball on top of the toilet and rot.

You covered your face with both hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Why? It’s cute,” Himeno teased, stepping closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’ve been making googly eyes at each other for weeks. I just didn’t know it was mutual.”

What the fuck?

You peeked at her between your fingers. “It’s not mutual.”

“Oh, babe.” She grinned. “He looks at you like you hung the moon. He’s just too emotionally constipated to do anything about it.”

She’s delusional.

Your breath hitched a little at that. She was wrong. Wrong about Aki. Wrong about the way he looked at you sometimes when he thought you weren’t paying attention – with that quiet, lingering stare that felt like it saw through skin and bone.

It just… it wasn’t romantic, you know?

“I like him,” you finally admitted. “Okay? I like him.”

“And he’s the mystery guy, isn’t he?” she asked, lifting one brow. “The one you won’t name.”

She doesn’t let up, does she? For a moment, you debated telling her. Hell, she had gotten this far. But, then again, the thought of her knowing that Aki was the elusive mystery man – the one who took you on kinky escapades and pushed you past your limits… 

Your stomach clenched. You forced a breath through your nose and shook your head. “No. That’s someone else.”

Not today.

She looked like she didn’t believe you, not for a second. But to your relief, she didn’t push. She only gave you a long, thoughtful look and then shrugged one shoulder, like she was granting you a little space to keep your secret intact.

Then, slowly, she reached for the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a handful.

“Alright,” she said, smirking again. “But if you ever do decide to tell him about the whole liking-him thing? I want to be there when it happens.”

You laughed softly, the sound a little shaky. “You just want front-row seats to the disaster.”

She’s onto me.

“Obviously.”

You lingered a moment longer, letting the quiet settle. Then you looked up at yourself in the mirror and straightened your shirt, patting down the places where your panic had wrinkled the fabric. Himeno waited for you, patient in her own way, watching without judgment.

And you couldn’t help but think — if only she knew the truth. If only she knew that it wasn’t just a crush. That it wasn’t just looks and longing. That behind all the glances and the jokes and the tension, there was something real. Something unspoken. Something complicated and off-limits and undeniable. Something even you weren’t sure you had the words to explain.

But for now, she didn’t have to know.

And you weren’t ready to tell her.

Not yet.

You stepped out of the bathroom behind Himeno, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. She’d just cornered you, smiling like she knew every secret you’d ever tried to keep. You hadn’t confirmed anything about Aki. Not really. But you didn’t deny it either.

Back at the booth, she’d taken your seat. Now the only spot left was beside him.

Fuck my life. Fuck my entire life.

You slid in without a word, thigh brushing his. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

Himeno launched into a story—something about a mission, a devil, some rookie mistake—but you barely registered it. Your focus was on the heat radiating off Aki’s body, the way his cologne curled around your senses, the quiet tension that always simmered between you. Worse now. Stronger.

God, he’s intoxicating.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt him. Every breath. Every shift. His arm grazed yours and your pulse jumped.

He reached across the table for a napkin – deliberately slow, brushing your fingers. Wiped his hands. Then, without a word, took the pen from the check holder and scribbled something quickly onto its white surface.

You felt it slide into your lap.

Your heart tripped over itself.

Everyone was still listening to Himeno, heads turned. You unfolded the note under the table.

I want to see you tonight.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you folded the napkin and slid it into your pocket. The front one, this time, though his letter from earlier sat like a harsh reminder in your back pocket. You glanced at him, as if to acknowledge that you’d read it, but said nothing more.

No, you didn’t have to.

You knew as much as he did that you would always make time for him.

5:15 PM

YOU: You still wanna see me tn? I just got off of work.

AKI: Of course. Can I come over?

YOU: like, to my apartment?

AKI: Where else?

YOU: asshole.

YOU: okay. sure. When do you get out?

AKI: Around 7. Sound good to you?

YOU: Bring booze?

AKI: Make that 7:30.

Sure enough, at 7:45 on the dot, there was a knock at your door. Naturally, as you had spent the past two hours or so pacing the length of your apartment and fussing over its appearance (as well as your own). Eventually, once you had sufficiently cleaned the place from top to bottom, you left yourself with very little time to figure out a suitable outfit. So little time, in fact, that the moment you tossed the doors of your closet open, you heard it.

Knock, knock.

Your heart leapt at the sound. Smoothing over your uniform – because, yes, you were still in your work clothes, God – you shuffled over to the front door of your apartment and undid the lock. Then, you turned the knob, and…

Fuck, there he was. Looking as pretty as ever, head damn near brushing the top of your door, eyes droopy. In his hand, he had two bags – assumedly filled to the brim with the booze you had asked him to bring. He was breathtaking.

And, most importantly, he looked drained.

“Hey,” He offered.

You offered a smile back, “Hey. You look tired.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, and you watched him tilt his head to the side until his neck cracked audibly. The sound made you wince on instinct, even though you’d seen him do it dozens of times before. Still, something about the motion felt more vulnerable tonight—like his whole body was trying to shake something off.

You stepped aside and pulled the door open wider. “You can drop your stuff on the counter,” you said, voice casual. “I’m gonna shower.”

He slipped past you without another word, his shoulder brushing against yours. It felt hotter than it should have, considering how cold he usually ran. You shut the door behind him, locking it out of habit, and headed down the narrow hallway without looking back.

“Cool,” he said behind you, his voice following. “I’m coming too.”

You stopped, fingers halfway to the bathroom light. You looked over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

He just blinked at you, expression unreadable. 

You gave a long-suffering sigh that wasn’t exactly sincere, but your chest felt a little tighter anyway. You didn’t argue. Of course you didn’t.

God, this is so fucking insane.

The light buzzed overhead when you flicked it on. That familiar yellow cast that made everything look warmer than it was. The vent hummed to life in the ceiling, a little too loud for the small space. You turned the faucet, adjusting the heat until the water came down in steady rivulets, fogging up the corners of the mirror.

Why am I so nervous?

It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before…

You peeled your shirt over your head with a quiet sigh, back still to him. Then your fingers hesitated at the waistband of your pants.

“Turn around,” you said, not looking. “Please.”

A beat passed. You heard the creak of the vinyl floor as he shifted.

Then: “Okay.”

You glanced to the side just enough to catch the angle of his shoulder. He really had turned. The sight made something flutter and catch in your ribs.

You undressed quickly, stepping out of your clothes and into the tub before your thoughts could catch up with your body. The water was hot, almost too hot, and you let it run down your back like a reset.

This is insane. This is insane and so wildly outside of the parameters we set.

You stood still under the spray, forehead tilted toward the tile, eyes shut. You could still feel him in the other room. Just a few feet away. Breathing.

Oh, God.

You were just beginning to relax when you heard it: the soft rustle of the shower curtain sliding open. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Deliberate.

Your eyes opened slowly. But you didn’t turn.

A moment later, you felt him. Felt his warmth behind you. Felt the tender kiss he pressed to the back of your neck, like he felt it belonged there.

And, just like that, any concern you previously had melted right off of your shoulders.

There was no question in the way you kissed him. No lead-up. No pause.

Just the way your hands slid up his bare chest, and the way his fingers came to rest gently at your hips as your mouths met—soft, then not so soft. Like neither of you wanted to admit how much you’d needed this. How much you missed him, even when he was right in front of you.

He pulled back first, just an inch, his forehead nearly brushing yours. You looked at each other like that for a long second, the steam making everything a little hazy. His eyes searched yours—quiet, cautious.

Then he reached behind him.

Grabbed the shampoo.

Poured a bit into his hand. “Can I?” he asked, voice low, almost shy in the echo of the bathroom. He was already stepping closer, one palm hovering just above your scalp, waiting.

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady.

His fingers were careful, threading through your hair slowly, gently—circling at your temples, behind your ears, cradling the back of your head like it was something fragile.

And it confused the fuck out of you.

He was never like this before. Never soft. Never slow. He was controlled. Sharp. Stoic to a fault.

So what the hell was this?

You stood still, eyes closed, trying not to shiver at the way his hands handled you like you mattered. Like this wasn’t just some quiet moment under hot water. Like it meant something.

And the worst part?

You loved it. You fucking loved it.

When he was done, he tilted your chin back gently, easing your head under the stream to rinse the soap from your hair. One hand stayed firm at your neck, steadying you, fingers curled lightly against your skin.

You kept your eyes closed, your hands wrapped loosely around his wrists. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Fuck, this is nice.

But the silence between you wasn’t empty.

It told you that maybe he wasn’t as in control as he let on. Maybe this was his first time being so intimate with a woman, too. Maybe he, too, couldn’t help but go down the rabbit hole with you.

When the last of the bubbles had rinsed away, you reached for the bottle in the corner and mirrored his movements. He didn’t ask. Didn’t have to. He ducked his head slightly as you pumped the shampoo into your palms and ran your hands carefully through his hair.

You worked slowly, mindful of the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw. You could feel it—the way he carried everything in his body. The weight of whatever he didn’t say.

His blue eyes drifted closed as you lathered his scalp up, your fingers soft against him, your body pressed just close enough to feel the shift in his breath. You stood on your toes without thinking, trying to reach, one hand braced against his shoulder for balance. He didn’t move. Just let you touch him. Let you take care of him.

And for once, he let it show—how much he needed that.

He was a human, too.

Still, if you would have told the you from two months ago that this would be going down in your bathroom, she would have told you that you were crazy.

You tilted his head back under the water, careful, rinsing the suds from his hair while the water coursed down his back and over his face. One hand steadied him at his jaw, the other brushed through his hair to guide the last of the shampoo away. His lashes stayed wet and dark, his brows relaxed. Like the weight he'd been carrying had finally slipped off.

You’d never seen him like this before.

So… vulnerable?

Then again, you hadn’t been this open with another person in God knows how long.

You had spun together without thinking. It was instinct, the way your bodies moved around each other—wordless, fluid—until he was standing beneath the stream of water, eyes blinking through the droplets that gathered on his lashes. You watched him for a second too long, breath caught somewhere in your throat, every nerve tuned to the warmth radiating off him and the space he took up so effortlessly.

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Measured. Like he had all the time in the world and planned to waste it here, on you.

His hand settled at the small of your back, and it lingered there – entirely too casual, like he didn’t know what it did to you. Like he didn’t know how you’d been thinking about him since the second he walked through your door. But he did. You knew he did.

The kiss deepened, and the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance (because of course it did).

When he pulled back, his face was a little too close, eyes a little too warm. You swore the steam had nothing on the heat flooding your cheeks.

“You come in here just to bang, or do you actually wanna get clean?” you muttered with a half-smile, trying to will away how breathless you sounded.

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get clean.”

You turned from him, feigning indifference, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re such an ass.”

He didn’t deny it.

You barely made it two steps before his hand curled into your wet hair. Not harsh, just firm enough to stop you mid-motion. A quiet gasp caught in your throat, spine straightening on instinct. You knew that grip too well by now. He wasn’t pulling you to hurt. He was pulling you back. Back to him.

You let him.

Your breath trembled as you turned, gaze flicking up to meet his. And there it was again – want, plain and sharp in the slant of his eyes. Something possessive. 

He kissed you before you could even blink.

It was wetter this time, messier from the water that streamed over both of you. His hand slid around your waist, your back meeting the wall with a soft, echoing thud. You weren’t even pretending anymore – your fingers clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the anchor of his body to keep from floating out of yourself entirely. There was an ache between your legs, a warmth that seemed to come only when he was around.

“Aki,” you breathed between kisses, giggling softly, “let go.”

But you didn’t mean it. No, of course you didn’t.

You didn’t push him away.

Because the truth was, neither of you had any idea how to stop. You were too far gone, too wrapped up in this fucking… thing that wasn’t supposed to happen, wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

You had rules. Boundaries. No strings. No feelings.

And yet – here you were.

Trapped between tile and temptation, letting him kiss you like it was the only honest thing either of you knew how to do. Letting him touch you like you belonged to him. Like this was more than a secret. More than a mistake.

You knew you were both lying to yourselves. But, fuck it.

You melted into him anyway.

It was warm in your apartment. Well, it may have been the four beers in your system. That, or it could have been the very shirtless Captain Hayakawa lounging next to you on your old sofa, donning nothing more than a pair of shorts you leant him. His head was tossed back, draining the last few droplets out of a can of beer. A bead of water slipped off of his hair and rolled down the apex of his neck. You watched it with a strange sort of hunger, eyes trailing the path of the water as it dripped down his bare, chiseled chest.

On the TV, the news was on. You hadn’t decided on a movie, yet. Nor had you paid any real attention to anything that the channel covered in the past few minutes. You watched Aki set the empty can down and reach for another. Strong arms tensed while he popped the thing open, flexed as brought the thing up to his lips, relaxed as he set it down beside him and let his head roll back over the top of the couch.

He was painfully beautiful, you thought, even now – with nothing more than the light of the television to illuminate the sharp slopes of his face, with drops of water clinging to his lashes like dew. His eyes were tired, so tired.

“Tiring day at work?” You finally asked.

He nodded. Didn’t speak. Just nodded, and let his head fall sideways, eventually settling it against your shoulder like it belonged there.

Okay, what the fuck is going on?

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, almost. Just stared at the TV, heart doing laps in your chest, wondering what it meant that he did this so easily—rested on you like he trusted you, like he needed to be close.

Minutes passed. His breath evened out. Your eyes burned from not blinking.

And then he stirred, slowly, and turned his face into your neck.

His fingers brushed your cheek, found a piece of hair and tucked it behind your ear. A gentle, careless kind of intimacy. Familiar. Soft.

It made your stomach twist.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“What is this?”

His fingers paused in your hair.

He didn’t pull back. He didn’t speak, either.

You shifted to look at him, pulling away enough to see his face. “Because you tell me there’s no feelings. You tell me this isn’t a thing. And I’ve tried—I’ve really tried to believe that.”

He blinked, once. Jaw tight. You kept going.

“But then you do all of this nice shit,” you said, voice cracking just a little. “You call me for no reason. You come over even when you’re tired. You–” You laughed, bitterly. “You shower with me and wash my fucking hair. That’s not—”

“That’s not fair, Aki,” You shook your head. “I need to know what this is.”

“I don’t even know anymore,” he said quietly, eyes flicking away from you. 

“Of course you don’t.” You leaned back, putting space between you. “Because it’s easier for you if we don’t talk about it, right? If I don’t ask what this is, if I just keep playing along like none of this is confusing as hell for me.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

“You get to touch me like you care about me,” you went on, hurt bleeding through your voice, “and then pretend none of it meant anything once your head clears.”

Yeah, tell his ass!

“I never said it didn’t mean anything,” he snapped suddenly, sitting up. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then what does it mean?” You met his gaze, your voice too loud now. “What the hell am I supposed to make of this, Aki? Because I’m not just some—convenient body to crash into when you’re tired and lonely.”

He ran a hand down his face, agitated. “You’re not,” he muttered. “You know you’re not. God, you’re so much more than that.”

“Then tell me what I am!” You asked, exasperated, “Tell me what we are? I can’t be tangled in purgatory forever.”

He looked at you like he hated that you were asking. Like the answer scared him as much as it scared you.

“I can’t,” he said finally, voice low. “I don’t know what we are. I can’t… I can’t stay away from you. I don’t know what I feel, but I– I don’t know– Fuck, I don’t know, okay?”

You laughed, hollow and sharp. “Right. Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real. And real things can hurt you.”

“Don’t—” He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t turn this into some therapy session.”

“You’re the one who keeps acting like this matters and then pretending it doesn’t,” you said, standing too. “You want me close, but you won’t let me in. You kiss me like you mean it and then shut down the second I ask why.”

His eyes locked on yours. Angry. Defensive. But beneath all of it—tired.

“You think this is easy for me?” he said, tone just a notch higher. “You think I don’t feel that something’s off here?”

“Then why won’t you just say it?” you whispered.

“Because we agreed,” He replied. “This can’t be anything.”

Silence fell between you like glass shattering across the floor.

Neither of you moved.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at you like he wanted to reach for you, but couldn’t.

“But you keep on coming around. Why? Why can’t you just leave me alone if it’s so fucking hard to make sense of it?” You blinked at him, blinked away the water pooling at the corners of your eyes. “It’s not fair to me that you keep playing this game of push-and-pull with me. You don’t get to want me and keep pretending you don’t.”

Aki took another sip of his beer. “You’re acting like you don’t agree to see me. You could wake up one day and decide you don’t need me making a mess in your life and, to be honest, I wouldn’t blame you,” He sighed. “I’m emotionally unavailable, I’m a confusing mess– I told you that we were bad for each other, and yet here we are.”

“I know,” You cried out, “You think I haven’t gone over every reason why I shouldn’t answer your texts? Why I shouldn’t keep seeing you?”

Aki set the can down on the coffee table with a soft thud. He didn’t look at you. Just stared ahead at the TV, eyes half-lidded, unreadable. He always did that – retreated inward the second things got real.

“But I do,” you went on, bitter now. “I always do. Because I’m weak when it comes to you. Because even when I’m mad, even when I want to scream at you for being so fucking cold, I still want you close.”

He finally turned his head toward you. “I get that feeling. I really do.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you fuck, Aki,” You sighed, tired and fed up, and–

“I’ve never had this before,” Aki swallowed. “Otherwise, I think I’d know how to handle it.”

Oh.

The silence stretched on a moment longer than what was comfortable for you.

“You were right,” you murmured, barely able to look at him. “This was a stupid idea.”

The words scraped your throat on the way out, like you’d swallowed glass just to say them. And maybe you had. It hurt to admit it, even though part of you had known all along. That this wouldn’t work. That it was already unraveling at the seams. That you had handed your heart to someone who had never promised to hold it gently.

You should have walked away. You should have ended it now, before you got hurt.

And yet, even as the words left your mouth, you could feel his presence pressing into the space between you two. The way he was leaning against the couch, a steady breath in the quiet air. His eyes were tired, worn from a day that had clearly drained him, but there was something else in the way his lips tugged upward just barely as he turned to face you, something that made you ache with the softest of yearnings.

You wished you could say that he didn’t care.

But that was the problem. He did care, in his own way, but it was never the way you needed. It was fragments. Patches. Always just enough to keep you from walking away, but never enough to make you feel safe in the storm of your feelings. He’d kiss you like you meant something, press his lips into your neck like it was his silent apology, but then disappear back into himself before you could ask if this meant something more.

God, you hated this.

Because you couldn’t even despise him for it. No, you knew that he was just as confused as you were.

Aki didn’t answer right away, not for a long stretch of time. He just stared at the TV. The empty space between you felt like a weight you couldn’t shake, yet there was something about his silence that seemed… tender. Unfamiliar?

“Yeah, it was stupid,” he finally said, the words thick like he had been chewing them for far too long. His voice was low, calm, and yet it carried an edge. “But we both knew that.”

“I mean, look at us.” You let out a small, humorless laugh, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “We don’t even know what we’re doing. This – whatever this is – it’s horrible. For both of us.”

His gaze flicked toward you, then dropped back to his lap. A beat of silence passed before he nodded, quiet and slow. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moved. Not away from each other. Not toward anything either. You just sat there, paralyzed in the limbo of everything unsaid.

You were supposed to mean those words. You did mean them. You knew the danger of being this close to someone who couldn’t love you back the way you wanted. Who gave you fragments and silence, and yet somehow, it was still enough to keep you hanging on.

“So why not?” His voice broke the stillness, soft but heavy. He wasn’t looking at you. “Why not leave? I wouldn’t hate you for it. I couldn’t. In fact, I think I’d probably do the same thing. Just say the word, and we’ll go back to the way things were.”

Because I miss you when you’re gone, even when I swear I don’t.

Because I replay every touch, every look, every moment where it felt like maybe you cared a little too much. 

Because you looked at me like I meant something – and I believed it, even when I shouldn’t have.

You felt your throat close up.

Because I…

“I don’t know,” you said, voice hoarse with the weight of everything unsaid. “I just... I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

You turned to look at him then, brows furrowing. “Why?”

His jaw flexed, like he was biting something back. He took a breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it would make saying this easier. “Because I don’t either,” he said. “I was hoping you’d tell me to go away. Make the decision for both of us.”

Your chest ached, a dull, familiar pressure. 

God, you were tired. Tired of pretending this was casual. Tired of acting like you didn’t want more. Tired of kissing him like it was the last time, every time.

You breathed out, tried to steady your voice, because you had no intention of putting an end to whatever this was. “We’re screwed, then, aren’t we?”

Aki turned his head to look at you again. And this time, he held your gaze. Really held it.

“Probably,” he said.

And still, neither of you moved. 

No, that night, you and Aki slept on the couch together – slept with your back to his chest and his arm draped around your body like a shield. Like you would disappear if he let go.

a/n: puts on therapy glasses... so... how did that make yall feel? LMFAO! omg i promise there is more coming and this is not the end of this argument, don't you worry. but ugh what did we think my heart burns for them i hate them both so much like just SHUT UP AND KISS. ugh. anyway thank you all again for being sosososo patient, now that i'm home for the summer, i'll stock up on chapters so we dont have an absence like this again.  Also... new aki oneshot coming soon. keep ur pretty eyes peeled bb ;)) yk itll be juicy. x

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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[fawnme1]

THE SOFEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER TWO

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──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

You hadn’t slept properly in two nights.

The final mix had come in late Wednesday. You’d listened to it on repeat until your ears went numb — second-guessing every breath, every layered harmony, every beat. But somewhere in the chaos of self-doubt, something clicked. It was ready.

And now, it was Friday morning. Release Day.

Joe had offered to come over and celebrate, but you’d waved him off. Same with Alfie. You needed a minute to process this one on your own.

“Dangerous” wasn’t just a song. It was a confession you hadn’t meant to write.

You’d meant to draft something catchy, something vibey for the spring — maybe about confidence, reclaiming your power. But instead, the melody had wrapped itself around your ribs and forced out every emotion you’d tried to ignore. It wasn’t about someone specific. Not really. It was about almosts. The danger of wanting someone you know you shouldn’t. The weight of feeling too much, too quietly.

And once it was out, there was no putting it back.

The premiere hit YouTube at noon sharp.

Your Instagram story updated shortly after.

[caption] “this one’s for the ones who almost let themselves feel something. hope it finds whoever needs it x”

You watched the views start to climb. 1.2k in twenty minutes. Comments already pouring in.

“she’s insane for this. this is too raw”

“this song is everything i’ve never been able to say out loud”

“the bridge??? THE BRIDGE”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding. It wasn’t about happening.

That’s when your phone started blowing up. Joe. Alfie. Your manager. A few people from your team group chat. All variations of “DUDE” and “this is your best yet” and “I’ve got chills.”

Joe called fast.

“Are you kidding me?” he said before you could even say hello. “You wrote that? You actually WROTE that?”

You laughed nervously. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Like, in a good way. This is different. It’s…” He paused. “It’s intense. In the best way.”

“Thanks,” you said, and even though your voice was calm, your whole body felt like it was vibrating.

“You good though?” he asked gently, tone shifting. “It sounds… personal.”

You hesitated. “I’m fine. I just… had a lot I needed to get out.”

“You’re gonna break people with this one.”

“I hope not.”

“No, like emotionally. In the way only you can.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled too. “Alright, Shakespeare. Go hype me up in the comments or something.”

“Already did. AB says he’s gonna pretend it’s about him so he can feel something for once.”

You laughed. Loudly.

By that evening, Dangerous was everywhere. TikTok clips. Reaction videos. Fans tweeting lyrics in all caps. You’d even gotten a few DMs from verified artists, complimenting the production and asking if you wrote your own stuff.

And that night, sitting in your room with your laptop and half a cold coffee, you felt something shift. It wasn’t subtle. Not success exactly, but momentum. Like the world had taken a small step closer toward seeing you properly.

You checked your notifications again — more reposts, tags, comments like:

“who HURT her???”

“she’s too single for this level of pain.”

And of course, from Alfie:

“i’m starting a rumour that this song is about a secret ex who’s now married and bald. just letting you know in advance.”

You texted back, “Bold of you to assume he’s bald.”

Joe had left you a voice note earlier that just said, “I know we tease you a lot, but this? This proves you’ve got nothing to prove.”

You listened to it three times.

And still… even with all the noise, all the support, all the validation — you felt that same tug in your chest. The feeling that inspired the song in the first place.

Loneliness dressed up as longing.

Not for just anyone, but for something real.

Something dangerous.

You’d always loved open mics — not the overly-rehearsed, influencer-heavy ones, but the real ones. The underground ones. The kind that took place in dim basements with scratched-up mic stands, sticky floors, and an audience of strangers leaningg just a little too close.

Tonight’s venue was one of those. Somewhere tucked between a bookshop and a fish and chips place in East London, where no one expected you to show up. And that was the whole point.

Joe and Alfie came with, of course. Alfie insisted on calling himself your “tour manager” the entire night, despite doing nothing except carrying your coat and eating half your fries before the show.

“You’re not slick,” you said as he popped another one into his mouth.

He shrugged. “Tour managers gotta stay fueled.”

Joe just laughed, already filming a bit for his story, zooming in on your nervous expression. “Pre-show panic face — iconic,” he said.

Your stuck your tongue out and turned away, heart already racing. It didn’t matter how many gigs you’d done. This kind of show always got to you. There was something about small crowds and the possibility of silence that made it feel more raw. More dangerous, in a way you chose.

You stepped onto the stage. Adjusted the mic. Took a breath.

And started to sing.

“This is dangerous…”

The moment the first chorus hit, the room changed. You could feel it. Heads lifted. Phones came out. You didn’t look directly at anyone — you never did — but you saw people nudging each other. Whispering. Staring.

Somewhere near the back, Alfie let out a low “yesss” like he was watching a football match. Joe was smiling too, phone up, proud and obnoxiously obvious.

When it was over, the silence hung for a second — then applause. Big. Loud. Honest.

It wasn’t just a good set. It was a moment.

You were still buzzing when the three of you stumbled out into the cold night air. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking — not from nerves, but from adrenaline.

“That was actually illegal,” Joe said, pulling his hoodie up. “Like, you should be fined for causing that many people emotional damage in one room.”

“Alfie almost cried,” you teased.

“I did cry,” he corrected. “But in a hot, masculine way.”

You laughed. “Define that.”

“Like… Ryan Gosling in The Notebook.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “More like Ryan Reynolds in Deadpool.”

“Still counts,” Alfie said smugly.

You shook your head, heart still fluttering, not from the show now — but from how good it felt. How seen you felt.

“You know what’s wild?” Joe said after a beat. “You wrote that song about nothing.”

You gave him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he clarified, “you haven’t dated in five years, haven’t even looked at someone sideways. And you still managed to write something that sounds like a breakup anthem. That’s talent.”

“Or trauma,” Alfie added helpfully.

You shoved them both playfully, but the teasing stuck — because they weren’t wrong.

You’d written a love song from memory. A heartbreak from theory. You wondered what it would feel like to write one from experience again.

Not that you had time for that.

You had press now. Comments. An inbox full of inquiries. People suddenly cared in a way they hadn’t before. You were buzzing — and slightly overwhelmed.

But somewhere in the middle of all the noise… something quiet was coming.

A message you hadn’t seen yet. A name you hadn’t expected. A familiar face who’d just watched your video.

And for the first time in a long time, someone you’d never meant to think about like that… had started to think about you.

[stillbornfrost]

Hello! So I messaged you to ask you about what you're open to writing about and i was wondering if you could write a cookie run kingdom fic but specifically i was wondering if you could write headcanons for Yandere Ancients? I really like the way you write your stuff!!

HELLO YES HI!!

I absolutely take requests and omg thank you so much for the kind words!!! You're feeding my writer ego and I am EATING. Also yes, I do write for Cookie Run Kingdom and Yandere Ancients??? Say less. I’ve got you. Buckle in!

Yandere CRK Ancients x Reader Headcanons

Pure Vanilla Cookie

He looks like the safest choice, doesn’t he? All so soft voice, warm smiles, gentle healing hands. But that’s the danger—he never raises his voice. He lowers it.

The kind of yandere who thinks he’s saving you from the world, and maybe even from yourself.

If you get sick or injured, even slightly, he takes it as a “sign” that you shouldn’t be out and about without him.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore. I’ll take care of everything, my dear.”

Gaslights you with a smile. Says things like “Oh, I never said that,” or “You must be exhausted. Maybe you just imagined it?”

You’ll find the castle staff has stopped speaking to you. They avoid eye contact.

You want freedom? He gives you a “garden” to wander in—an enchanted dome you’ll never get past. But oh, he visits daily with fresh pastries and love-drunk eyes.

Hollyberry Cookie

She doesn’t mean to scare you—but she absolutely does. Loud affection, bear hugs that crack ribs, and the way she throws a punch at anyone who dares to stand too close.

Brags about you constantly. Literally introduces you to people as “my little berry tart.”

You tried to leave once. She cried. Then smashed a stone pillar with her bare hands.

“Don’t do that to me again. You’re mine. You belong with me!”

Has absolutely tackled you mid-escape and then sobbed into your clothes while holding you like a lifeline.

You get everything you want—except freedom. She can’t handle the idea of losing you.

Loves you so hard it’s smothering. You’re surrounded by feasts, music, laughter... and invisible guards who are all under strict orders to never let you leave her sight.

Dark Cacao Cookie

The most chilling part? He’s calm. He never yells. He just speaks in low, cold tones that freeze the blood in your frosting.

Keeps you in the highest room of his kingdom. Says it’s to keep you “above the dangers of the world.”

“It is my duty to protect what I cherish.”

Doesn’t understand why you’d want to leave. Of course you belong here. With him. Always.

He watches from the shadows—personally and through his warriors. You might feel alone, but you never are.

He lets you think you have a choice. That you could walk out. But when you try, the snow thickens, the blizzards howl louder, and suddenly you realize... the mountains are alive, and they answer to him.

There’s a terrible kind of tenderness in how he brushes frost from your hair and says, “The world cannot have you. You are... mine to keep.”

Golden Cheese Cookie

She’s a queen in every sense, and in her mind? You’re her favorite treasure. The crown jewel. Her possession.

She gives you everything. Gold-threaded robes, diamond-studded accessories, meals fit for deities.

“What more could you want? You have me.”

Throws banquets in your honor. Has bards write songs about your beauty and “devotion.”

If you ever try to assert independence, she laughs like it’s a joke... until her eyes go sharp.

"Why would you ever leave the one who gave you everything?"

Anyone who gets too close to you is quietly removed. Publicly discredited. Exiled. You notice the disappearances after a while.

The palace is vast and golden—but feels like a glittering tomb. She’s always watching. Always smiling. Always yours.

White Lily Cookie

Pre-transformation Lily is delicate, poetic, and painfully obsessed.

“We’re two halves of a dream. You understand me, don’t you? You have to.”

Writes long, rambling letters to you—even when you’re just in the next room.

As Dark Enchantress? That obsession turns cosmic. She’ll bend reality for you. Break kingdoms for you. Burn the world and offer you the ashes like a bouquet.

“You’re the only one I spared. That means something. That means everything.”

She convinces you that the rest of the world hates you. That only she can love you completely.

Every time you resist, her mask of calm cracks a little. Her rage is like a storm contained in a teacup—one wrong move and the porcelain shatters.

You’re not her prisoner. You’re her chosen god. And she will not let you fall into anyone else’s hands. Ever.

[jellychee]

”i don’t wanna get undressed for a new person all over again.”

╰┈➤ rin itoshi x reader ╰┈➤ wc: 581

🎧: undressed - sombr

The restaurant is dim, tucked away between shuttered storefronts and rain-slicked streets. You wouldn’t have come here if you had anywhere else to be. If the buses were running, if your roommate answered her phone, if tonight didn’t feel like too much all at once.

You drop into a seat by the window, your soaked jacket clinging to your back, and order something cheap and hot. It’s nearly empty inside, just you and the low hum of the old TV bolted to the wall. You barely notice the match playing at first. But then his name cuts through the static in your brain like a sharp inhale.

Rin Itoshi.

Your eyes flick up.

There he is, on the screen. Hair damp with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes locked forward like he’s running toward something only he can see. The camera catches his face for a moment, those same eyes that used to look at you like they couldn’t decide whether to stay or run.

Your stomach knots. You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always been running.

The food arrives, but you don’t touch it. You just sit there, watching the boy you used to love tear across a field like the world’s trying to catch him. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s why he never stayed.

You remember how quiet he was when you first met. Not cold. Not mean. Just guarded, like he didn’t want anyone too close. But you were persistent, showed up when he didn’t ask, smiled when he barely looked your way, peeled him back layer by layer.

He let you in.

And for a while, that meant something.

You think about the nights he’d sneak into your dorm, shoulders tense like he didn’t know how to be wanted. The way he’d lie next to you, eyes closed, but never quite asleep. Like even in the safest places, his mind was still at war with something.

You think about how he looked at you when you touched him. Not lust, not affection, but fear. Like being seen made him raw.

But you didn’t stop.

You kissed his bruises. You learned how to read his silences. You told yourself he just needed time. That you could love him into something whole.

He let you undress him, physically, emotionally, and you thought that meant he trusted you. That he loved you, even if he never said it out loud.

After he left, you tried to move on. You really did.

There were other people. Other hands. Other mouths. Other beds.

But none of them looked at you the way Rin did. None of them made you feel like every glance was a challenge, like every touch meant something more than just a night of pleasure.

None of them let you undress them the way he did. Not just skin, but soul.

And you never let them undress you, either. Not really.

You still loved Rin, even when it hurt. Even when he disappeared into a world too big for you to follow.

Now, as he scores a goal and barely reacts, as his teammates rush to him and he doesn’t even smile, you feel that familiar ache press into your chest.

You still love him. Maybe you always will.

But watching him now, you finally understand.

He never knew how to be yours.

And maybe he never wanted to be.

The rain outside keeps falling.

Inside, you finish your meal in silence.

And you don’t look back at the screen again.

[mintyys-blog]

BEACH DAY | kon el kent x reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: body shaming, reader is depicted of having a large chest, hurt/comfort themes. 

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission. © @mintyys-blog

The sun was warm, the waves soft and inviting. You were humming to yourself as you knelt beneath the umbrella, setting it into the sand with careful precision. Your bikini was simple—deep blue with silver accents, the kind that made your eyes stand out, the kind Kon had helped you pick out last week. You’d hesitated even then. But today was supposed to be a good day.

He’d kissed your forehead before jogging off to grab ice cream for the two of you, leaving you with a fond smile and a flutter in your stomach. The way he’d looked at you—genuinely awestruck, like you were the only one on the beach—had given you a rare burst of confidence.

That confidence shattered when you heard them.

Two girls walked by, their voices barely hushed.

“Oh my god, she’s really just letting them hang out like that.”

“She’s just asking for attention. I mean, that top’s doing all the work.”

“Bet she loves the stares. Probably thinks she’s the hottest one here.”

You froze, heart plummeting. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around your chest, trying to hide what was already covered. It didn’t matter. Their words sliced through you like razors. You grabbed Kon’s shirt from the beach bag and yanked it over your head, the oversized fabric falling down to your thighs. Still, you felt too exposed.

By the time Kon came back, you were sitting under the umbrella, arms crossed tightly over your chest, eyes fixed on the sand.

“I got your favorite—mint chocolate chip,” he grinned, offering the cone. “Oh, wait—did I bring the volleyball or…?” he trailed off.

You didn’t answer.

“Babe? You there?”

You gave a small nod, but your posture was tight, defensive. His smile faltered.

He crouched beside you, concern instantly taking over. “What happened?” His voice was low, careful. When you didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropped to the way you were clutching his shirt around you, the way your shoulders had curled inward.

Then it clicked.

“Did someone say something?”

You hesitated, throat dry, before mumbling, “Some girls. They were talking about… how I looked. Saying I was showing too much.”

His whole demeanor shifted. Jaw tight. Brows furrowed. The hand holding the ice cream flexed, nearly crushing the cone.

“They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about,” he said, voice low and protective. “You’re wearing a bikini. On a beach. What did they expect? A winter coat?”

You glanced at him, shame and frustration brewing in your eyes.

“I just… I already feel uncomfortable in stuff like this,” you murmured. “My back hurts all the time. Clothes don’t fit right. People either stare or judge, and when I finally try to feel good in something, I get… that.”

He gently set the ice cream down in the cooler and took both your hands, coaxing them away from your chest.

“Hey. You shouldn’t have to shrink yourself because other people don’t know how to act.” His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at him. “You look amazing. And not just because of the bikini. You could wear anything—hell, you could show up in a garbage bag and still be the most beautiful woman here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling a little now.

He grinned, sensing your mood lift. “Also, that bikini color? Killer. Makes your eyes glow like a Kryptonian power cell.”

You snorted. “That’s not even a real thing.”

“It is now,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You wanna leave? Or throw volleyballs at people’s heads? I’m good with either.”

You laughed, finally relaxing into him. “Nah… just sit with me a bit?”

“Always,” he said, tucking you into his side and handing you the now slightly melty cone.

The rest of the day melted into golden warmth and salty air.

After your swim, the two of you floated in the water for a while—Kon always keeping an arm around you, anchoring you with small touches and silly jokes. He even used his heat vision to warm the surface of the water around you when you shivered, whispering, “Kryptonian perks, babe.”

Eventually, you both wandered back to your spot, dripping and happy. You laid beneath the umbrella, limbs tangled, laughing at how terrible his sandcastle was compared to a toddler’s next to you, snacking and soaking in every second.

And the girls from earlier? They were long gone. Irrelevant.

As the sun began to dip, casting everything in a soft amber glow, Kon glanced down at you. “You ready to head out, babe?”

You groaned. “Nooo. Can’t we live here now? Just sleep under the umbrella and eat ice cream for breakfast?”

He grinned. “Tempting. But I don’t think B would approve of beach squatters, even if one of them is his daughter.”

You chuckled, sitting up. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll help you pack up—”

“Uh-uh,” Kon said, pushing you gently back down. “I got this.”

And then—zip, snap, thud—in the span of a second, every last thing was packed. Towels, cooler, umbrella, bags, sunglasses—all of it vanished into the trunk like a well-edited montage.

You blinked. “Did you just super-speed clean?”

“Efficient,” he said smugly, holding out his hand.

You took it, laughing as he pulled you close, walking you to the car. The day might have been ending, but your heart was still light, still full.

As he opened the passenger door, he paused, looking at you with rare seriousness.

“Before we go… you don’t ever have to hide around me. Not your body. Not your feelings. Not anything.”

You smiled, eyes soft. “I know.”

You kissed him—salt on your lips, sunlight in your hair, and Kon’s steady hand warm against your waist.

And you believed him.

The ride home was peaceful.

The windows were cracked just enough to let the ocean breeze linger in the car, your fingers loosely laced with Kon’s over the center console. Music played low—some indie playlist he liked but swore was “objectively beach-appropriate”—and your eyes fluttered closed as the sun dipped below the horizon.

By the time you made it home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and sun, your skin still warm to the touch. Kon floated all the bags inside in one effortless trip, while you shuffled through the door and immediately headed for the bathroom.

“Shower first dibs,” you called over your shoulder.

He laughed. “Only fair. You did spend the whole day being breathtaking.”

You gave a sleepy snort and flipped him off half-heartedly before closing the door.

The water was heaven. Warm and gentle, washing away the last of the salt and sand. You sighed into the steam, letting yourself lean against the tile, eyes closed. Despite the hiccup earlier, today had been… perfect. Not because everything went right, but because Kon never made you feel like you had to pretend. He saw you—every side, every insecurity—and still loved you like you were made of something sacred.

When you finally emerged, wrapped in a towel and wearing one of his shirts that hit mid-thigh, you found him exactly where you knew he’d be.

Stretched across the couch, arms behind his head, hair still damp, TV humming with some show neither of you were paying attention to.

“There she is,” he said, patting the space beside him. “My favorite towel thief.”

You curled up beside him, tucking yourself under his arm. “I smell like your shampoo.”

He nuzzled your hair, content. “Good. Now you smell like Kryptonian.”

You let out a soft laugh and buried your face against his chest, feeling his heart beat slow and steady beneath your cheek.

After a long pause, you murmured, “Thanks again. For today.”

His hand stroked your back gently, up and down. “You don’t need to thank me, babe. I love you. I’ll always have your back—even when you’re in a bikini and some bitter strangers forget how to mind their own business.”

You smiled, lips brushing his collarbone. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere either.”

And you didn’t need the waves or the sun to feel warm anymore—just this couch, his arms, and the quiet kind of love that stayed even when the rest of the world didn’t understand.