#I adore the way you draw reader IT IS SO CLOSE TO WHAT I ENVISION

[dollwrites]

m-more jinkuro pwease 🥺👉👈 *asking politely*

i have so much ideas but i don't wanna spam u i literally have a list of scenarios 😭

[voxmortuus]

Hello! Can I please request a Hannibal lecter and a male reader? If you write for male readers!

Possibly if your comfortable can you make it so that the reader says their safeword? How would Hannibal react? I’m just very curious!

Hello Anon Requester. Due to the nature of your request being unclear as to what you are requesting other than the usage of a safeword. I assumed that you are requesting smut-based fanfiction with a male reader. That is what I have provided below.

►PAIRING: Hannibal X M!Reader

►UNIVERSE: Hannibal

►WORDS: 905

►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above.

►SONG INSPIRATION: None

►TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual Themes | BDSM Themes | Blindfolding | Flogging | Arm Suspension | Wrists Tied | Use of Riding Crop | Pain Threshold Met | Use of Safeword | Dominant Hannibal | Hints of Aftercare | Mention of Bruising & Welts | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list.

►NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision.

►IMAGE & DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa

►My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist

Hannibal made everything quite clear, laying it all out there. He left no stone unturned. He showed you what he was going to use, he showed you where all of this was going to happen. You were ready, you wanted to push your limits, and you wanted to push past your last session. Now unlike the others who see Hannibal, your sessions were shall we say rather unconventional.

Hannibal knew what made you tick, he knew how to excite you without touch, but with his words. His words are what made you squirm, is what made you hard with this intense want. They excited you. This was one of many things you adored about this man. His suave nature, his impeccable vocabulary, and how his words brought almost insufferable attention to your cock.

Licking your lips you let out a soft breath, your hands tied above your head to the point where you are on your toes, blindfolded, breathing heavily, and clothes folded on the chair in the room. You pay attention to everything around you that makes a sound. The sound of his dress shoes on the marble floor. The fabric of his shirt as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Each and every little sound. The sound of his lips parting as he starts to speak.

"Do you remember your safeword?"

You nod

"No, we must use our words. I will ask again. Do you remember your safeword?"

"Mango."

"Very good. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

Letting out a shaky breath you bite your lip, feeling the facial hair hit your upper lip, you close your eyes, though blindfolded, you felt this need to do so. Feeling your cock twitch in anticipation you draw in a breath, and like lightning, you feel the sting across your ass, multiple little strands of black leather struck your flesh. You appreciated that he started with the flogger, it was a good way to work up to the crop.

Feeling your rear tighten a bit he lets out a soft breath. "Loosen up, don't tense, you tense, it will only hurt more, Y/N."

Taking a moment he allows you to relax, and get your bearings. After a few brief moments, you feel the sting of the leather strands again. You let out a soft whimper, and you feel that tightness in your cock again. Another whack, and another, and another. The stinging welts beginning to take form.

Hannibal gives you a few moments. He changes direction and starts on the other cheek. His breathing, you focus on his breathing, as you feel that twitch in your cock, that drip of pre-carnal excitement. You let out a soft moan as he takes the flogger to your ass again, and again, and again.

"Do you want to take a break?" he asks you.

"No thank you. Please, keep going. I'm ready for more." you tell him.

Though maybe you were a little overzealous. Maybe biting off more than you can choose. You relax, feeling the slight burning sensation starting to settle in, you wait for that whack against your flesh. It was nothing but a moment when you felt the starting of a light whack against your flesh.

This isn't so bad. You thought. I can handle this. Little did you know, this wasn't full force.

With each passing whack, he got harder, and harder. One cheek to another, large welts starting to bruise. You begin to cry out, in both pain and pleasure. Your cock dripping in the excitement of the pain, wanting attention, but thankful for the pleasures you've been given so far.

With another whack and another, you let out a heavy moan and your jaw clenches. But this next whack. There it was, it had begun to hurt. You didn't want him to stop, you wanted to push your limits but you were getting a little too close to your limits. That pain starts to settle in, and you cry out again.

"Mango!" You call out.

He went to start another whack, but he stopped, tilting his head he looked over his work, it was beautiful, bright deep red, with a hint of bruising starting to form. He walked around after placing the crop on the wall where he had originally got it from.

Walking over to you, he looks you over, watching you, hanging there, dripping, erect from the pain and pleasure, your breathing heavy, staggered. He removes the blindfold and looks over you.

Blinking a few times you look over his face. "Thank you." you state softly.

"You're welcome. Maybe next time we can try something else. You did very well. How about you take a hot shower, I've got soft pajamas you can borrow, and how about I make us something for dinner? Then after, I will have someone take you home, and we try again next time?" He suggested as he untied your hands and helped you to the door, after grabbing your clothes.

Nodding your head you smile. "I would like that very much. Thank you." you lean into him as he helps you out and up toward the bathroom. You appreciated this man, now more so than before. Maybe this was going to be a new leap into something different with Hannibal. It was all a matter of time, place, and how. You looked forward to it, each unconventional session, and each little moment.

[comatosebunny09]

Good, Better, Best

Genre: PWP, Angst, Modern AU

Warnings: Graphic Description of Sex, Female Reader, Self-Loathing, Word Vomit, MDNI!

Inspiration: Call Out My Name – The Weeknd

As always, thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoy! Considering making this another multi-part series.

‘I have a thing for blonds,’ you muse, sifting through strawy, flaxen locks. Maybe you always have, but it took a certain fiery-haired pillar to bring it to the surface.

Your lips part in a shaky sigh, eyes weighted like sandbags, chest afire. The man between your thighs—your prey for the evening—grunts into the juncture of your shoulder; paints your flesh with foul words and open-mouthed kisses. He talks too much. Touches too little, but you will take what you can get. Whatever brings you closer. You deserve this, after all; deserve the discomfort of your back grinding against the brick wall and the veiny cock fucking avidly into you and...

This is painful bliss.

Sweat pours in rivulets down your chest, drip-dropping on the ground below. You grit your teeth as his pace quickens; thrusts harsh and disordered as he snaps into you. And oh.

Oh, fuck.

A shudder wracks your body, toes curling. Speckles of light stipple the corners of your vision. He hit that spot. Not very many people have done it, so focused on bringing themselves to the brink whilst neglecting your needs. You wonder if it was on purpose, seeing as how he’s become more and more erratic by the second.

He’s close. You’re far from it, but...

Fuck it. Anything to feel, right?

You scramble for purchase, nails leaving ellipses in his shoulder blades. Hiccup so pitifully into the nook of his neck. You asked for this; begged for it. This is warranted. You never like it soft, anyway. Prefer hot and furtive fucking that reduces you to a blabbering mess of incoherencies. This way, you can forget how you continually allow yourself to be violated by cheap imitations.

For now, this is good. This will suffice. This will do, and…

And his hips stutter like a sputtering engine, disrupting the inner mechanisms of your mind. Suddenly, he comes undone, much too soon for your liking.

Of course, everyone does.

You deserve this, too.

You wince whilst he releases a guttural sound. Coats your walls with scorching, viscous fluid that burns a trail down your inner thigh. The smell is repugnant, but it’s okay. This is alright as he releases you from his ironclad grip and unsheathes, allowing you to slide down the wall with a fucked-out expression descending onto your features.

He doesn’t say a word. The only sounds between you are the jarring zip of his pants, and the chorus of city-life beyond the towering walls of the alleyway. The blond departs as quickly as he came, leaving you to gather yourself from the crumpled heap of sweat, cum, and contempt you’ve become.

You didn’t get his name; never asked. You prefer it this way, as it makes it easier to envision him between your thighs instead.

You fight to get your breath under control. Sweep your tresses into some semblance of neat, heaving yourself up from the ground onto trembling, crackling limbs. You fix your dress as best you can, grateful for its length.

Wouldn’t want him to see the remnants of your tryst coasting down your legs.

He regards you so highly, after all. Too highly. You’re not that amazing; not the innocent woman everyone has typecast you to be. If only they knew how frequent your run-ins with passion have become. Would they still respect you? Coddle you? Adore you?

Would he?  

You spare a glance at your reflection in a shop window. Push yourself into the sea of passerby once satisfied, stumbling down the sidewalk, eyes darting this way and that. You continue fussing with your hair until—

“There you are!” That voice: warm, familiar, enticing. Drawing you in like a moth to a flame, commanding your attention. You watch with bated breath as Kyojuro approaches you; polished in his burgundy button-up, loosened tie, and onyx slacks. He stops a few inches from you. Aura is imposing despite the effervescent grin on his face.

Burnt cedarwood and aftershave impede your nostrils, a tide of vertigo crashing into you. Heat from his body trundles off him in waves, causing liquid fire to singe your innards. Kyojuro dwarfs you by a foot. Slowly, you tick height off as another must-have in your internal book for your future victims encounters.

You think of how easy it would be to stand on the tips of your toes and just kiss that pretty, cerise mouth of his. Your mouth grows dry with the notion. How silly you must look, gaping like a fish out of water. Stammering like some frazzled schoolgirl.  

Really, honestly, truly. Kyojuro is much too beautiful like this, iridescent eyes gleaming under the harsh streetlights. He gives you a once over, frowning.

“Are you alright?” he asks, reaching out to console you, ground you. Concern swims in the undercurrents of his tone. You shrug away from his touch because…well, you don’t deserve his compassion right now. Never have, never will. Especially after—  

“You look a bit flushed,” he adds, hurt dotting his tone.

Good job. You’ve gone and made him feel bad. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Perfectly fine!” you chirp, clasping your hands together behind your back, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You plaster a foolhardy grin on your face, following it up with a strained chuckle. “Just a little cold is all.” The lie is heavy on your tongue, much like the regret sinking into your stomach. You’ve never had a problem doing it before. Filling your spare time with quickies and men in his likeness.

So, why is it bothering you now?

“Ah! It is a bit chilly, isn’t it? Here! Take my jacket!” Kyojuro wrests his coat from his shoulders, moving swiftly to drape it over yours.

Sick. You feel so very sick. The sour taste of bile collects at the back your throat, but you smile around it. You aren’t worthy of his kindness. His pity. Not when…not like…

“I’m fine, Rengoku-san. Really!” your voice, saccharine; overwhelmingly so. Liar. Liar. You’re not fine, but this will do. ‘This is fine,’ you chant to yourself, ignoring the homely embrace of his coat enveloping your frame. How it reeks of the cinder he was forged from.

Kyojuro grins tenfold, maneuvering himself to stand beside you. “I will hail us a taxi,” he says, offering his arm. You observe it for a little while. Feel the acrid vomit char your throat, but you take it. Twine it with yours, falling in idle step beside him as he guides you to the cabstand. This, you don’t deserve. However, it is as close as you will get to touching the sun.

He swims in your peripheral, a stark contrast against the twinkling bokeh in the horizon. That ardent insufferable smile still sits atop his lips. He is so very warm and welcoming. You swallow, looking at your feet.

This was your last time. For real. Has been the last time four last times ago. You can’t continue doing this to yourself; to him. What would he think if he knew you possessed such depraved thoughts of him? If Kyojuro knew your body ached so painfully for his touch; if he discovered what you did to satiate your yearning for him…

Would he able to stand the sight of you?

You can’t risk it. Can’t keep putting your friendship at stake. The sun is unavoidable, after all. If you continue on like this, it’s only a matter of time before you are burned.

Masterlist

[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Deception [Benedict Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: Deception Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 4.5k Published: 21 March 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Violet's constant search for a wife for her second eldest son has become too much for Benedict. The only escape he sees is to ask you to pretend to be courting each other. But how long will it work for with your feelings eating you up from the inside. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes​​​

Square filled: Fake dating

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

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Benedict Bridgerton was a very capable man. He had a tremendous amount of talent in capturing the real beauty of the world in his drawings. He was confident, but still genuinely kind and caring for his loved ones. He also had a rather playful side to him, a somewhat child-like behaviour, one that the ton would not have appreciated in their society, but Benedict had the privilege to show his real personality to those who loved him, ones that never judged him for who he was.

However, there was one person he felt utterly useless around. When it came to you, he turned into an adorable mess, a clumsy one at that, even stuttering on occasions. Should you have known the reason for his unusual behaviour, it would have brought a rather large smile to your face, but Benedict dared not to reveal his feelings for you.

For someone who has been friends for so long, you both seemed to have found it hard to show your true feelings for one another, as though both of you were clueless. For Benedict it seemed you only spared as much attention to him as a friend would, whilst you thought he was merely looking out for you as a brother figure.

You sat in the ballroom, watching as he grimaced at his mother, who might have slightly forced her second oldest child to dance with one of the many stunning unwed ladies. The one he was forced to dance with however seemed to enjoy Benedict's company. He didn't talk, nor did he look at the woman, still she shined brighter than a diamond in his arms, proud to be so close to such a fine man.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you watched as he held his hand firmly on her back, leading her around the dance floor, making her giggle by just being close to her. Your heart ached at the thought of ever having to give up on him, at the thought of seeing him with another, someone he would choose to love, ignoring to see your longing gazes forgotten on him. How could he have seen, he never dared to look when he felt your eyes on him, nor did you dared to look when he forgot his on you.

Standing up from your chair, you walked towards the terrace, needing fresh air, trying to clear your thoughts as the slightly cool, windy weather stroked your cheeks. You knew you shouldn't have thought of him romantically, but you would have been a fool not to notice the handsome and caring man he has grown into. Watching Lady Bridgerton trying to find a wife to her son hurt both emotionally and physically and you couldn't wait for the season to end, to leave the balls and play-pretend behind you, running away from the inevitable.

"Help me!" you heard his desperate voice, but before you could have turned around, you felt his hand lock around your wrist, gently, but in a haste, dragging you after himself.

"Benedict, what are you doing?" you asked in confusion, trying to understand his chaotic behaviour as he pulled you along, passing corridors by corridors in the gigantic mansion.

"My mother," he sighed as he stopped his steps, breathing heavily. "My mother is becoming—" you waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have been stuck in his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" you asked, frowning at his frozen state, as though he couldn't find the words and his thoughts overruled his actions. You watched his hunched back as he fought to get enough air in his lungs, his eyes focused on a certain point on the marble flooring, completely out of the present. "Benedict!" you called him again, this time firmly, attempting to catch his attention.

"I know it!" he exclaimed, making you jump slightly at his unexpected enthusiasm as a rather wide smile spread across his face.

"What do you know exactly?" you inquired.

"It might sound foolish at first and I do not blame you if you think I have lost my mind, but I need your help," he explained, leaving you even more curious.

"What would I need to help you with?" you asked furrowing at the man as if he has forgotten to include you in his grand idea.

"My mother has been adamant in finding me a wife and there is only so much I can do to prevent her from continuing her crusade. I know I shouldn't ask you such a thing, but I can't possibly think of anyone else who I trust enough," he continued in a secretive manner.

"Benedict, you must be clearer. I don't understand what you wish for me to do," you attempted to push him to finally reveal his idea.

"I need my mother to stop searching for a wife and the only way I can do that is if I already found someone I am interested in," he started. "That is where I would need your help, if you agreed. Should you agree to pretend I am courting you, my mother would surely stop this nonsense and leave me alone," for a mere second you felt overwhelmed by the hope of his interest in you, but that was only until your brain processed his words. "Pretend" being the main focus of your attention, shattering the small shimmering light of hope within you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, attempting to hide your disappointment. "Surely you didn't think this through. Your mother isn't a fool, she would see through us immediately. You can't possibly think it's a good idea," you tried to reason with him, but instead of thinking it through again, he quickly shook his head.

"But it is. Think about it. You have said so yourself, you don't want to marry just yet and nor do I. It would be the perfect option for both of us, solving our issues," he added enthusiastically as if his idea was anything, but brilliant. He could clearly see the weary expression across your face as he stepped closer and reached for your hands, engulfing them in his large and warm palms. "We would only have to pretend for a short while, I promise," he tried to reassure you. Whilst you knew it was a foolish idea, the thought of being able to stay close to him even if for a short period of time, seemed to cloud your better judgement.

"For how long?" you asked looking up at him as a mischievous grin spread across his dashingly handsome face. One that you adored so much. "I wouldn't want to be a spinster, Benedict," you sighed heavily.

"I would never let that happen," he shook his head quickly, his previously playful smile long gone from his face. "Let us do it for a few weeks and we will see how my mother reacts. I'm sure if we work well together, you might even catch the attention of some very noble men too," he winked jokingly, trying to lift your dull mood.

You haven't had much time to contemplate, maybe a few seconds until you ran through all the options you have been provided with, which was basically none. You heaved a heavy sigh and shook your head, offering a sceptical look to Benedict. "Fine," you said, earning a surprised expression from him, your answer shocking him for a second, before he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, twirling you around happily.

"You are my saviour," he chuckled as he hinted a small kiss on your forehead, stopping himself as he realised what he had done. "I apologise, I didn't mean to—"

"I understand. You are simply happy I have agreed to such a scandalous idea," you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the happiness you felt. Even if for a short while, Benedict was to belong to you, and it meant more than you could have possibly expressed. You knew you couldn't have him forever but having him for a couple of weeks made you feel like the happiest person alive.

"I owe you! I didn't think you would agree," he grinned happily, a childish warmness radiating from his stance as though he had won a grand prize.

"I still don't understand why I did. Surely, I'm a fool," you added quickly with a silent chuckle.

"We both are," he replied as he started leading you back to the ballroom with your arm linked around his. His gaze focused on the way ahead, but your eyes were rather resting on his attractive features. He was a stunning man, and you were sure if he had turned to look at you, he would have seen the amount of love you were harbouring for him. But as many times before, no one of you has ever turned.

Weeks passed by and if anyone, Violet Bridgerton was the happiest person to see Benedict growing closer to the woman, you, she had envisioned beside her second eldest son. She has made it very clear that a wedding should soon be happening, wanting nothing but a little baby in her arms. You never wanted to crash her dreams but hearing her talking about a future between you and Benedict was beyond painful. The thought of you waking up beside Benedict, his arm resting across your waist, his neck hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin made your heart ache, knowing it was impossible.

You stood in Somerset House, one arm hooked around Benedict's as he watched the paintings, his face focused on one particular art with dark colours and shadings, slightly depressing as if the artist tried to capture a horrible emotion. Art was always something that you found beautiful, but never really understood. When Benedict talked about the meaning behind each piece with a childish happiness across his face, it made you feel content. Although you didn't understand much of what he was saying, the adorable expression he wore was worth each and every moment you spent listening to him.

Looking at his handsome features as they relaxed into a content smile, made you mirror his expression. You couldn't look at him and not smile. As though his mere presence made you feel at ease.

"I feel your eyes on me," he chuckled with a mischievous smile, knowing that you have indeed been staring at him for the longest time.

"I'm sorry," you quickly turned away, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up in embarrassment. "I couldn't stop watching you. You were really focused on that painting and it seemed as though you were here physically, but not mentally. You unintentionally make this face when you enjoy a painting," you smiled shyly.

"A face?" he furrowed, not knowing of his own reaction.

"Yes, as if you were completely captured by the painting. You have a certain content smile across your face and even forget to blink at times," you giggled, placing your hand in front of your mouth, remembering his facial expression.

"Don't hide your smile," he said as he reached for your wrist and gently wrapped his fingers around your arm, pulling your hand away from your lips. "You are even more beautiful when you smile," for a second his words made you hope, as though he meant more than he let on. His eyes seemed as if they could see through you, reading each and every single thought that crossed your mind. For the shortest of time, it felt your feelings weren't as unrequited as you thought. However, you quickly had to remind yourself that your imagination was playing a painful game with you, one that would surely end in a heartbreak.

You quickly turned away, trying to shake those foolish thoughts away, before you decided to dwell on them any longer. Clearing your thoughts, you turned back to him with a phony smile across your face, biting your bottom lip to calm yourself. But his deep frown left you confused. "Are you okay?" you questioned as he tilted his head as if he was studying your face.

"You were biting your lips again," he replied. "You do that when you are nervous or feeling uncomfortable," he added, stunning you. Biting your lips was indeed a nervous habit of yours, one that you couldn't stop as it made you feel slightly at ease when you felt as if even your own thoughts betrayed you. You never thought Benedict even realised those irrelevant, minor details.

"I'm fine, Benedict," you tried to reassure him with a smile that you wore confidently but could not fool Benedict.

"Should you feel the need to talk, I'm here," he said, drawing tiny circles on the back of your arm that he was still securely holding onto, reassuring you that he was by your side whenever you were in need of him.

As happy as it made you, you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment as you thought about the heartbreak when he would finally want to end your foolish little game and find himself a wife that he could cherish forever, leaving you with the most horrible heartache one could cause.

You knew it was inevitable, you knew it would kill you, but you loved Benedict and you would have never forced him to stay beside you for any longer than he wanted to. You were ready to give him up, to be happy even if with someone else. The thought of letting him go hurt, but you weren't sure of your own strength either. Thinking about how long you could stay beside him pretending to be a mere friend left you with just as much pain, if not more. But you were ready to sacrifice your own happiness even if to be able to spend one more second with him.

Days passed by since your slightly awkward encounter in Somerset House. You have pretended to be a couple so in love that you couldn't possibly stay away from each other. Lady Whistledown didn't miss to write a paragraph or two about the two of you, already planning your wedding, one that you found slightly excessive, but dared not to mention to keep your act believable.

As much as you enjoyed the first few weeks of your play-pretend, it was hard to keep it up for long. You loved every minute you spent with Benedict, but the longer you were beside him, the more pain you felt. You wished to make him happy, to continue your act, but you also knew that it wasn't forever, and that tiny little thought suffocated you.

You sat on a bench in the park, right after promenading with Benedict. He joined his brothers whilst your maid brought you a glass of water to refresh yourself. You watched as Benedict laughed with his brothers, a wide, adorable and carefree smile sat across his face. Weeks ago, you would have smiled at his happiness, but then and there, sitting on the bench, watching his happy form, you felt miserable. Each time you looked at him, your stomach jumped nervously, your breath caught in your lungs as he touched your arm. These tiny little details meant nothing to him, but for you they meant the world. He couldn't have known the effects his advances left on you, he couldn't have predicted to hurt you unintentionally, but in the end, he unknowingly caused you pain.

Standing up from the bench, you started walking towards the Bridgerton brothers. Heaving a heavy sight, you lifted your arm and tapped Benedict's shoulder lightly, trying to catch his attention. He turned around with a wide smile, looking at you curiously. However, your face must have forgotten to oblige as his smile quickly disappeared and concern took over him.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he nodded to his brothers and reached for your hand, placing it on his arm, leading you away from his family.

"I must talk to you," you started, your voice unusually grim.

"Go ahead. You are worrying me," he added impatiently. Trying to collect your thoughts, you stopped, halting the man beside you whose worried eyes didn't seem to want to leave you for a mere second. "Talk to me," he attempted to reassure you.

"I am really sorry, but I can't possibly do this anymore," your words earned a confused frown from Benedict, before he finally understood what you meant. "I know I promised to help you and I wish I could have done it longer, but I honestly can't do this anymore," you added as you fought against your tears, trying to keep them in place for as long as you could. You couldn't let yourself cry in front of so many people, you couldn't let that happen. Benedict straightened himself in front of you, trying to hide your face from the curious eyes.

"I understand. I am sorry for forcing you to do this. I never thought it could be this hard on you. I would never hurt you, you know that, right?" he asked, trying to contain himself from wrapping his arms around you, fidgeting with his hands beside his thighs.

"I know and you didn't hurt me, it's not your fault. It has just become rather difficult recently and I don't think I'm capable of pretending anymore," you tried to reassure him, making him feel less guilty. "I'm still your friend and I will always be your friend," you added with a phoney smile. Your own words were a lie. You didn't know how long you could pretend to be his friend, but you knew he needed to hear that, he needed not to blame himself. "I will be going home now, but surely I will see you later," you smiled up at him as you curtsied and nodded towards your maid, ready to head home, completely oblivious to the pained gaze he was watching your slowly disappearing form with.

Whilst you sat in your carriage, letting your tears finally run down your cheeks, leaning on your maid's shoulder, Benedict stood confused between Colin and Anthony, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thoughts filled with you only.

"Brother?" Colin called for him with concern in his eyes. It was unusual to see his brother unresponsive, without a playful smile. "Are you alright?" he asked, earning a frown from Benedict.

"I shouldn't have dragged her into this," he replied, but his words were directed more to himself than his brothers.

"What do you mean?" Anthony asked, seemingly more interested in their conversation.

"It was all a lie," Benedict replied, his gaze still fixed on the carefully cut grass.

"What was a lie?" the eldest Bridgerton brother asked again.

"All along we were pretending to be courting, so mother would stop trying to force me to marry," he scoffed, finally understanding the weight of his idea. "She said she can't do this anymore. That it was too painful to bear," he shook his head, guilt overcoming him.

"You really are a fool," Anthony replied with a sceptical look across his face, earning a confused look from both Colin and Benedict.

"How do you mean? Is it because we have been pretending?" Benedict questioned his brother. "I know it was foolish, but she agreed, I didn't know it would be particularly hard on her," he added with a deep frown.

"Brother, can you not see the way she looks at you? Always trying to make you feel happy, bringing a smile to your face even when she, herself is struggling to do so? Are you really that blind?" Anthony raised a questioning brow, as though he couldn't believe how oblivious his brother was towards your feelings.

"Should I understand?" he asked tilting his head innocently, searching for the right explanation. "We have been friends from a very young age, I am certain we have always tried to make each other smile in a difficult situation," he added, earning an eye roll from the eldest Bridgerton brother, ignoring his manners.

"When you said you were courting her, I thought you finally realised that you weren't the only one with feelings beyond friendship. However, after hearing about this foolish idea of yours, forcing a lady to pretend to love you, when in fact she has feelings for you is beyond stupid, brother, and I'm quite disappointed in you for not realising it yourself," he shook his head disapprovingly.

"Are you telling me she has feelings for me?" Benedict asked in disbelief, his brother's words lighting a weak hope within him.

"Indeed, took you long enough to understand," he scoffed.

"I have to talk to her," Benedict added quickly, heading towards the carriages in haste, carefully planning all he needed to tell you.

The ride didn't take long, 20 minutes at most, before he stood in front of your house, his hands shaking slightly, nervousness running through his whole being. Knocking on the door, a maid opened it for him, asking him to wait to announce his arrival to you.

You laid on your bed, cheeks swollen from crying, bottom lip red as a result of the constant biting of your nervous state. A knock on your door brought you out of your misery as your maid walked into the room.

"Mr. Bridgerton is here to see you," she said with a saddened tone, knowing of the arrangement between the two of you. Your eyes widened in surprise, you weren't ready to see him, especially not in your current, heartbroken state. "Would you like me to ask him to leave?" she questioned, looking at the panicked expression across your face.

"No, it's fine. Please take him to the drawing room," you instructed her and headed to the bathroom to make yourself presentable. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face was slightly swollen, and your clothes were beyond wrinkled. Attempting to straighten your dress, you stroked the material over and over again, but it didn't seem to work, nor did the cold water you washed your face with to remove the evidence of your miserable state. At last, you gave up and walked to the drawing room, knowing you wouldn't be able to do anything else with your appearance.

"We have just parted, Benedict," you said to the man as you stepped inside the room and took a seat across the sofa he occupied.

"I needed to see you," he replied, standing up from his place and taking a seat beside you. "I—, I talked to my brothers after you left," he started, stammering over his words, something he only did in his nervous state. "I am a fool and there is no excuse for that. I can't possibly imagine how hard it must have been for you to pretend—"

"I have told you already, I am completely fine," you tried to reassure him with a faux smile, one that this time Benedict didn't believe to be genuine.

"But are you?" he asked, earning a confused frown from you. "Do you know why I thought this foolish idea to be brilliant in the first place?" he raised a questioning brow, but instead of replying you shook your head. "I wanted to be closer to you. I merely thought it would be my chance to spend more time with you. Surely, I had no intention to marry anyone, and I wished my mother to stop, but my primary concern was you. I wanted to be near you at all times, but I couldn't possibly tell you how I felt, knowing you would only reject me," you couldn't control the surprise sitting across your face, your lips parted in shock, his words seemingly part of your most precious dreams. It seemed surreal.

"You are confusing me, Benedict," you spoke up, trying not to hope once again to then fall painfully.

"I'm saying I love you. I have loved you for so long, I can't remember when it started. I never imagined my feelings could be returned and I turned to foolish ideas to be beside you. I needed my brothers to open my eyes and scold me for being childish, for making me hope that I might have your heart even if only half as much as you have mine," he reached for you hand, gently squeezing it in his hold, reassuring you that he meant every single word of his.

"I love you," you blurted out, astonished by his speech, your own words surprising you.

"You do?" he asked, afraid to believe the words he has longed to hear from you.

"I do," you nodded, this time with more confidence, earning a wholehearted smile from Benedict as he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around you, embracing you in his arms.

"I made you cry, didn't I?" he asked as he pulled away slightly, enough for him to be able to look in your eyes as he placed his hands on your cheeks.

"It wasn't you. I was emotional, because I wasn't sure how long I would be able to stay beside you as a friend before it became too much to handle," you giggled awkwardly, feeling as if you have said too much.

"It was still my fault. I didn't consider your feelings," he shook his head, disapproving of his own actions. The tip of his thumb gently brushed across your bottom lip, leaving you with a ticklish feeling. "Have you been biting your lips again?" he asked as his eyes focused on your mouth. His attentiveness, his attention to detail and his closeness made you swallow nervously.

"I might have," you whispered, not daring to raise your voice any louder. Feeling his breath on your lips, the proximity between your faces, his warm palms on your cheeks made you feel intoxicated.

"You shouldn't do that. From now on talk to me when something bothers you," he spoke in a low tone, his voice soothing, making you feel safe. "You are doing it again," he chuckled, his eyes completely captured by the way your teeth bit on your lip, but this time it wasn't nervousness, but excitement. His closeness affected every tiny part of your body. "It really makes me want to kiss you," he breathed, completely mesmerised by your lips, as if an invisible force was pulling him towards you. You felt your heart beating at a dangerous pace, almost as if threatening to escape your chest and you could swear Benedict heard it just as well.

"Hmm," you hummed in a reply, incapable of creating a coherent sentence, before closing the gap between the two of you, a certain confidence rush taking over your actions. Instead of the surprised reaction you expected from Benedict, a playful chuckle left his lungs.

"Impatient, it seems," he added, before he returned your kiss, pulling you closer to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body in his embrace. He has imagined over and over again how it could feel to kiss you, to hold you, but none of those made-up scenarios could ever compete against the reality and the content it filled him with. "I wish to genuinely court you this time," he added as he pulled away from you.

"I very much hope so," you giggled happily, earning a playful eye roll from Benedict, before he captured your lips once again, wrapping his arms around you securely.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

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Taglist: (If you would like to be tagged on my Bridgerton fics, feel free to let me know ^^)

@shelby-love​​ @breadqueen95​​ @nuttytani-reblogs​​ @aspiringsloth20​​ @marvel-ousnesss​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @venusflwer​​

[ggukkiereads]

hi hii I was wondering if you had any taekook x reader fics ? 🙈 , also wondering if I could I go as 🗯 anon if that's okay? I love ur recs so much and ur page is a LIFESAVER , ily bae <3

🌷 Dear 🗯️ anon! I am sorry for answering so late. My drafts are all messed up but I was able to focus on this. On my 📍 pinned post, I actually asked if you meant love triangles or MMF smut but you didn't reply. So, I'll just put both =)

Enjoy! Much love and credit goes to all these wonderful writers who brought these fics to life 💖🥳

TaeKook Fics (Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook)

Love Triangle/s

M/M/F Smutty One Shots/Series

#ReadwithMe (fics in my reading queue/planning to read)

Love Triangle

All I Want @ardentlyjae - series [6/6] | 126k | War AU, Soldier!Taehyung | Heavy Angst, S

I actually read this on AO3 but I realized it’s on tumblr too. I remember this fic every time I hear Kodaline’s All I Want, which the fic was inspired by

Anima Meaology @arckook - series [5/5] | 26k | Soulmate AU, soulmate glitch (those with mismatched tattoos on their wrist) | A, F

I read this long ago on AO3 when I had this soulmate AU-fixation phase and I saw it on tumblr recently. Just had to read it again 🥺

Aquarium, Part 2 @whatifyoulivelikethat - two shot | 6.9k | cheating/infidelity, healing/comfort, second chances | A, F

I really like this comfort fic 🥰. Also shows that people deserve second chances, even the person who caused so much hurt. Screamed about it here and here

Change @junghelioseok - series [10/10] | 39.2k | a kind handsome stranger (Taehyung) makes you question your deteriorating relationship (Jungkook) | A, S, F

can I just say that Taehyung is such a sweetheart here 🥰? I always envision Paris Taehyung 2018 in this

Everything Goes @jamaisjoons - one shot | 24k | Fuckboy!Taehyung, Bestfriend!Taehyung, Stranger!Jungkook, unrequited love | A, S  (really angsty)

First Light @inktae - one shot | 24k | Bestfriend!Taehyung, Masked Jungkook who can’t seem to leave the forest, Fantasy AU, based on hotarubi no mori e | F

If you’ve seen my fic recs list, inktae is always part of my recs. The way they write is just emotionally and visually haunting. Their works are just masterpieces. This is beautifully heartbreaking and heartbreakingly beautiful.

House of Cards @aiimaginesbts - series [10/10] | 40k | infidelity au, taehyung in an arranged marriage with someone else, roommate Jungkook | A, S, F

don’t we all want to have a roommate like Jungkook who will be there to comfort you over your heartbreak over someone else?

Stealing the Bite by wildernessuntothemselves - series [6/6] | 37k | witch!reader x werewolf!taehyung x vampire!jungkook, supernatural au, fantasy au | S, A

I mentioned before that some are divided re the ending, so I wonder what’s going to be the reactions of others

The Muse @daddychims - one shot | 30k | Author!Reader, Bestfriend!Taehyung, Fuckboy!Taehyung,  Coworker!Jungkook, Taehyung offered OC to watch him have sex with another so she could write an erotic scene | S, A, F

The Universe of Us (read on mobile) @/taesthetes (officially closed her account) - one shot | 21k | Dream AU, Fantasy, Slice of Life, Kimi no Nawa-inspired | F, A

I am never going to shut up about this fic lol. It’s not exactly a love triangle, ugh hard to explain but please read this wonderful fic. Check their other KTH x R x JJK soulmate fic Cloud Ten too.

When You Least Expect @johobi - series [12/14 + drabble] | 118k | Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, Childhood Friend Taehyung, set up with another guy (Jungkook) | S, A, F

ugh, I want to put another tag about Jungkook but I guess it’s a surprise. I just love the drama 🍿

🌷 I’m forgetting two more fics but I’ll update this once I remember. I haven’t read recently released fics too! I’ll add if there are good ones that come along

MMF Smutty One Shots/Series

A Piece of You @httpjeon - one shot | 13.9k | abo dynamics, camboy AU, camgirl AU, fan jungkook joins the cam session | S, F

All’s Fair @kimvtae - one shot | 13k | soulmate AU, college AU, dating Taehyung for a year but different name (Jungkook) showed up on OC’s wrist (lol it’s not a problem if you can get them both) | S

Blacklisted @/httpjeon - one shot | 21k | dom/sub AU, CEO AU, “after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men” | A, F, S

Business @btssmutgalore - two shot | 28.9k | executive!reader, inventors/start-up owners taekook | S (seriously, how could I have missed including this here)

Dulce Periculum @forgottenpasta - two shot [2/2]  | 16k | Hybrid AU, Tiger Hybrid!Tae, Owner!Reader, Wolf Hybrid!Jungkook | S, A, F

Easy Like Sunday Morning @ofsugakookies - one shot | 11.8k | boyfriend AU (yes, both of them), dom!taehyung, sub!jungkook | S, PWP

It Takes Two To Make A Thing Go Right @imaginethisbts - two shot [2/2] 11.6k | Hybrid AU (dog hybrids) | S, A (side note: I realized I’ve read all of their fics! give their masterlist a try)

Just Kidding @/whatifyoulivelikethat - series [5/?] | 21.1k+ | nympho OC, friend Taehyung, tae’s roommate Jungkook | S, kinda F, crack

this is actually fun 😊; and the episodes are written in a drabble-ish sort of way so you won’t feel like it needs to be updated to get the story moving. It’s basically just reading fun scenarios of nympho OC and these two satisfying her needs *wink wink

Not So Digital @jiminables  - sequel to Digital Boy | 2.7k | camboy!taehyung, bestfriend!jungkook, short mxm | S, slight F

Playing to Win @tayegi - one shot | 8.6k | FWB AU (tae), sort of enemies to lovers (jungkook), TaeKook (mxm), originally Taehyung x OC (fwb) | S

okay this is one of my favorites! I’m amazed at how the power dynamics were written. Taehyung seems a dom with OC but with Jungkook he is all soft and sub; then, there’s that dynamic between Jungkook and OC who disliked each other originally. I just found the shifting so interesting and the writer was able to display these changes in dom/sub behavior among the three characters really well

Pour Up @jungkxook - one shot | 14k | fuckboy AU, fratboy AU (applies to two of them), one sassy OC, one kind of jealous Koo | S (thank you dear author for reposting this! 🥰)

Shhh @bang-tan-bitches - drabble (with OT7 sequel) | 2.7k | PWP (just pure hot imagine)

Shameless @imaginethisbts - one shot | 5.1k | established relationship (jungkook x oc), Taehyung’s POV, exhibitionism | S (not exactly threesome, because JK and OC are just doing it in front of people, Taehyung had a bit of action in the end)

Sugar & Spice @divine-bangtan - one shot | 20.8k | Kiki’s Delivery Service!AU, Baker AU, Noona AU, Assistant!Jungkook, Rich!Taehyung, pining Koo, a bit of M x M  | S, F, A (it’s all good everyone ends up happy 😊)

Sugar and Spice @sunkissedjk - two shot [2/2] | 8.6k | Your friends ask you whether you prefer sugar (jjk) or spice (kth) | S

ugh this is such an indulgent imagine. If taekook are your friends and they help you decide what type of sex you prefer through a demonstration, wouldn’t you want for multiple demos before deciding? *wink wink

Sacrilegious @therealmintedmango -  part of the Gods and Monsters series | 15.6k | Demon!Jungkook, Fallen Angel!Reader, God!Taehyung | S (so sinful 😈💦)

Sweat Pea @nitaescence - series [10/10] | 63k | DDLG!AU, caregiver!jungkook, caregiver!taehyung, little!oc | S, F, A

so I’m glad there was an ask about caregiver!jungkook because I remembered this. I actually checked if there’s a follow up drabble because the ending is open to any interpretation so I’m curious how other readers interpreted it

051 + Scum’s Wish @scriptmin - one shot | 3k | bestfriend!jungkook, pining!oc (unrequited), rebound!taehyung | S, A

it’s actually kind of sad 😭 but I added this because it's good to have variety. Not all smutty pieces will be a happy one

Tattooed Two @/httpjeon - one shot | 8.5k | tattoo artist AU, boyfriend Jungkook joined by his bestfriend Taehyung | S, F

The Doms Next Door @tatertotthethot - series [3.1/?] | 33.8k+ | BDSM AU, Poly, Neighbor AU, Tattoo Artist AU | S

I really love this series. It’s so funny too, I remember Jimin here - he’s THAT bestfriend you want to have. PLUS TaeKook are absolutely hot. If you're not interested in being a sub or partaking in bdsm, you will reconsider

The Hush Series @suga-kookiemonster - two shot [2/2] | 16.9k | coworker’s friends TaeKook, sort of E2L (Jungkook), dom!taehyung, a bit of voyeurism | | S

okay, I really like author’s writing. It can be about sinful delicious smut scenes but I noticed the members always have this developed characterization. I actually find Taehyung so adorably charming - makes me wonder if irl tae is secretly sinful too behind that sweetness lol

Thic Trilogy @btsinned - series [3/7] | 37k+ | CEO AU, Hybrid AU, College AU, Chubby!Reader | S, F, A

🌷 I’m throwing in fics in my reading queue #ReadwithMe

Attitude Adjustment @s0seo - one shot | 11.8k | Roommate AU | S

Chain Reaction @kissmetae - one shot | 3.2k | boyfriend Taehyung and friend Jungkook helping OC relax | S

Cherry @kpopstories - series [4/?] | 29k+ |  college AU, fuckboy AU, love triangle | A, S, F (this is part of my ongoing reading list)

Cobalt Blue @hauntedlilies - one shot | 11.3k | artist AU, “you asked Jungkook to draw you like one of his french girls” | S

When You’re Mad @honeyj00ns -  one shot | 3.8k | established relationship (boyfriend Jungkook), enemies to lovers Taehyung, Taehyung is JK’s bestfriend, Christmas AU, College AU| S

Madam Cupcake @craztextae - series [6/?] | 69.2k+ | Sugarbaby AU, Idolverse, idol!jungkook meets OC through an app called “sugarmamas(.)com” | S, F

Player Two @minjoonalist - one shot | 10.6k | Gamer!Jungkook, Boyfriend!Jungkook, Boyfriend!Taehyung, Brat!Reader | S

Tag Team @goodnight-tae - one shot | 5.2k | stripper AU, TaeKook are roommates and friends who share most things 😉 | S, PWP

Whoa @bangtanlalaland - one shot | 4.7k | skater!taehyung, 1970s AU, coworker!jungkook | S, PWP, Crack

posted: 2021 March 12; updated: 2021 May 12

link to other fic recs here

feel free to recommend a fic

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @tanjhero​

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being the Flame Pillar’s tsugoku is no easy task; saving his brother, however, proves to be something else entirely. - 

warnings: mentions of blood, angst

words: 2.5k

-

Burning hearts, brilliant eyes, wishes that never come true. There’s almost something beautiful in sorrow, the slight glimpse of light in the vast darkness. To be a demon slayer, one must bury their heart. They have to hide it under lock and key, learn how to forget what crying feels like. You’ve always carried this ideology close to your heart ever since you started your training as a young adolescent.

Six years have then since passed, and the Final Selection is well behind you. Ragged scars cover your arms, chest, and back, all trophies from your brutal battles with blood-hungry beasts. Demons, to be precise; you see ragged, glinting teeth in the night, in the hours of the day when you’re finally allowed to dream. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, these teeth seek to ravage you, to sink into your skin and rip your throat out.

The world is dark. You’ve long since grown cold, refusing to properly feel anything. To be emotional is to be distracted; if you wanted to survive, for others to survive, you cannot afford to deal with such interruptions. This is the very reason why your mentor – the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro – always struck you as odd. Like the sun itself, he’s full of light and eternal brightness.

You’ve never been more jealous of someone in your life.

You train by his side, let him whip you into proper shape. Being a tsugoku is no easy task; both mentally and physically draining, you’re often left scrambling for any sensation left in your numb fingertips. Although your body suffers from the constant thrum of pain, you are strong. You don’t take your strength lightly, and neither does your mentor.

As time and his persistent nature eat away at your skeptical brain cells, he’s more or less become a friend. Much to your initial displeasure, you allowed him to root himself to you. However, as you grew stronger, wiser, your heart did so as well. Kyojuro, this dear man, has cracked open the safe of your heart. With each rising sun, you envision him, his dazzling smile, his abnormal irises. It’s the first time in your life you’ve been blessed.

The days grow into something long and dark whenever you train with him. He doesn’t give up, refuses to let you to wipe away the sweat at your brow, keeps going and going until you’re a trembling mess at his feet. He’s to make a slayer of you yet.

Some days, you consider yourself lucky. Kyojuro is a soft man despite the hard cording of muscle covering his skeleton. Sometimes, his gaze melts into something akin to honey, dangerously sweet and tempting. He’ll call training off early, opting to massage your weakened muscles and guide you through breathing exercises. You don’t take these treatments lightly; after all, Kyojuro is a Pillar, a highly respected one at that. To have a pathetically weak tsugoku will only bring shame onto his namesake.

And, if he’s really in a giving mood, he’ll insist you spend the night at his residence.

Already well fed and bathed, you dismiss Kyojuro with a tight-lipped smile and a prayer for his safe return. He explained that he and his father were to travel into town and seek out the beloved liquor his father adores so much. Although his face is stoic, you can see the pain and disappointment in the depths of his eyes. Like himself, Rengoku Shinjuro is a man deserving respect – or at least used to be. Since the passing of his wife, he’s been drowning his sorrows (amongst all other emotion humanly possible) until he sees the bottom of the bottle.

You find solace in your room, wet hair unceremoniously thrown over your shoulder. Like your father and grandfather, you wear your hair long; the one true tradition that’s been passed down your bloodline for generations. Even as shorter hairstyles become widely accepted, your clan refused to do so, following the old rule of cutting hair once one was shunned. You lose yourself in thought, mindlessly combing through hair with a comb made out of bone.

It isn’t the first time you’ve stayed in the Rengoku household, but you always find yourself drawing hesitant. Kyojuro’s own room sits right down the hallway, a silent temptation that you never give into. To do so would be disrespectful to your kind mentor, even downright inappropriate. Mentor and tsugoku was a strictly former relation – nothing more. You’d be damned if you stepped out of line.

A slight knock at the door stirs your curiosity. Kyojuro and Shinjuro have yet to return from their shopping trip despite the sky being cloaked in an ominous purple. Instead, you’re greeted by Senjuro, Kyojuro’s younger brother. Like the other two – and the rest of the males in his bloodline – he sports the fire crackle hair, the robust eyes. The entire Rengoku clan has been blessed by the sun, by fire, since the beginning of time. You’re not good friends with Senjuro, by you’re way past the line of casual acquaintances.

You glance to the cheesecloth in his hands, your eyebrow raising itself in a silent question. Senjuro sends you a cheeky smile, though the edges are tinged with nervousness. It startles you just how much he resembles Kyojuro. As you beckon him to enter, you set your comb down and tell him to join you on the futon.

“Aniki and father aren’t back yet,” Senjuro tells you as he sits down. “And I figured… Well, maybe… If it was okay for us to hang out?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Senjuro’s always been like this, awkward yet exceptionally kind. As he unwraps the cheesecloth, you’re greeted by the sight of plump grapes and rice crackers.

“I know we already had dinner, but sometimes Aniki and I sit around with some snacks and talk about everything.” Senjuro’s smile grows at the mention of his brother; you find it extremely endearing. “And you’re always nice to me, so I thought that we could…” His sentence trails off into nothing and he worries his bottom lip.

You promptly pick a grape from the bunch and pop it into your mouth. Its sweet flavor erupts on your tongue and you hum in appreciation. “Thank you for the treat.”

The nervousness in Senjuro’s smile melts away. “I watched you and Aniki train earlier. You’re incredible,” he gushes. “It’s no wonder why you’re Aniki’s tsugoku!”

You wave off his compliment with a dismissive hand. “First you bring me food, then you flatter me; is there an ulterior motive to this?” you tease.

With a slight giggle, Senjuro shoves at your shoulder. “I just wanted to be in your company, that’s all.”

You find the gesture to be incredibly sweet. As you ponder on his words, you realize that Kyojuro must be busy all the time, attending to his work as a Pillar, and Shinjoru spends almost every waking moment getting drunk. “Look at you, being the charmer,” you throw his way. “You definitely take after your brother.”

Senjuro visibly perks up at your words. “Really? You think so?”

You chuckle at his excited response. “Yes, really. I think you’re going to grow up into a wonderful man, Senjuro-kun.”

His cheeks warm up at your praise. “I can see why Aniki likes you so much.”

The cracker you hold stops centimeters away from your mouth. You instinctively lower your hand. “What do you mean?”

Senjuro cocks his head to the side. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Aniki’s had a crush on you for months.”

The cracker falls into your lap. “He what?”

Something snaps outside the screen door. The hairs on the back of your neck come to a sudden rise; the sharp smell of blood fills the air and your mind kicks into autopilot. Shoving Senjuro away, you quickly grab onto your blade as the door is ripped from its hinges, the sight of bright yellow eyes shining through the dark.

A demon.

“Shit,” you curse, shooting to a stand, drawing your blade from its sheath, and holding it out before you in a defensive stance.

The demon stalks into the room; its body is nothing short of massive, all flexing muscle the color of moss. His head easily brushes the ceiling as he draws himself to his full height, inky, greasy hair falling in his grotesque face. His nostrils twitch as though they’re following a scent. “Where is he?” he growls, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. “Where is the Flame Pillar?”

Your grip on your blade tightens. While it’s fortunate that Kyojuro isn’t home, that means you’ll have to take out the demon and protect Senjuro at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince the creature to turn around and leave.

“My apologies,” you say, your voice brisk. “The one you seek isn’t here.”

The demon’s yellow eyes stare down at the blade in your hands. His lips pull back in a snarl, his razor-sharp fangs shining in the light. You sharply inhale at the sight, a slight spark of panic traveling down your spine. “Pathetic little slayer,” he hisses, “thinking you can stop me? I’ll rip your head off and drink straight from your neck.”

You shift your weight on your feet. “Senjuro, get out of here. Now.”

Behind you, Senjuro scrambles to his feet. You can hear him gulp, but you ignore the urge to turn around and see if he’s okay. “B-but what about…”

“Get your brother. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

With another drawn out growl, the demon lowers itself, ready to pounce.

“Run!”

A large flash of green fills your vision and you hastily swing your sword. The battle you engage in is fierce, intense, too quick to be seen by the naked eye. Your body twirls and evades the monstrous demon’s attacks, bouncing off the walls and slithering between his legs.

You don’t necessarily realize it as you move the fight outside, the night’s breeze carrying your hair and whipping it into your face. Biting back a curse, you jump backwards just in time for a clawed hand to slash at the space where you previously stood.

“I will kill you!” the demon roars.

“Breath of Ashes: Shimmering Coal!” you cry out. In a great, fantastic arc, your blade grows to an unbearably hot temperature as you slice through the demon’s chest.

He screams in agony at the searing pain, reeling back and clutching at his chest. His eyes scream murder as he charges you; this time, though, you aren’t so lucky. Your back makes a sickening snap noise as you’re thrown into a nearby tree. Struggling for breath, you quickly get back up, charging at the demon again.

Time is lost. A faint hint at a new moon fills the sky; the only light comes from the inside of your room, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Your movements are bold, swift, straight to the point; you slash and strike at the demon, landing devastating blows, but his neck is too thick. You curse and howl in pain as claws rip at your sides, your arms, your face; blood openly flows down your face and the rest of your body, soaking the material of your torn yukata.

You groan from your spot on the ground; the coppery taste of blood coats your tongue, the back of your throat. Struggling to sit up, your fingers claw into the grass and dirt as you fight off the wave of nausea. It can’t end like this – you can’t end like this. You refuse to give up, to die. Even if this demon spills your guts, you’ll slice off his head and take him to hell with you.

Black fills the outer rims of your vision. There’s a harsh ringing in your ears, ready to steal your hearing away from you. Death is creeping up onto your doorstep, waiting, just waiting for you to answer.

There’s a cry of your name and a swirl of flames. Kyojuro comes seemingly out of nowhere; a war cry spills from his lips as he swings his blade and brings it down on the demon’s neck. Although he’s incredibly fast, your trained eyes follow his every move. The muscles in his back flex as he slices the demon’s head clean off. The demon releases an animalistic sound, spittle flying from his mouth as his head lands nearby.

“Fuck you, Flame Pillar! I’ll see you in hell!” he screeches before his head turns into dust.

A ragged breath punches its way out of your lungs as you slump back onto the ground. Kyojuro rushes to your side, worry etched into his features. You see his mouth move, but you can barely hear the words tumbling out. He gingerly slides his arms under you and picks you up, holding you close to his chest. The rest of the world passes by in a blur as he carries you back inside, instead of stopping in your room, however, he continues all the way to his room.

“Can you hear me?” his voice filters into your mind. You nod your head and groan as he places you onto his bed. “Gods, (y/n),” he breathes, pushing the damp strands out of your face. He gulps at the sheer amount of blood coating your face. “Hang on,” he tells you.

Rising from the bed, he fetches an abundance of medical supplies and gets to work at cleaning you up. Both his eyes and movements are gentle as he wipes away the blood, revealing your exhausted face. As he removes your yukata, he averts his gaze and hastily covers your privates up before working at your exposed arms and stomach.

“To do what you did,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He sounds suspiciously close to crying. “You saved him. You saved Senjuro.” His voice shakes as his hands begin to tremble. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Flicking your eyes to him, you notice how he’s biting hard onto his lip, desperate to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen such a pained look on his face a day in your life. His eyes shift between the two of yours, tears welling up and clouding the surface. Your heart jumps to your throat.

“You saved my baby brother,” he spews. Tears rush down his handsome face. “You risked your life to save him. It’s just… I…” He frantically rubs at his eyes with a sleeve. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.” Despite his tears, Kyojuro manages a tiny smile. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if you died,” he confesses.

“Kyojuro-san…?” you croak.

Taking your hands in his, he swiftly brings them to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles. “I was so scared.” He frantically shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. “You see… I- I love you, (y/n).”

Your breath stills in your throat. He… He loves you? Rengoku Kyojuro, a man blessed by the gods themselves, loves you.

Leaning down, he gently presses his forehead to yours. “I love you with my very being,” he mutters. “And to know that you’ve saved Senjuro… It makes me love you even more.”

Before you have time to register it, your hands link around his neck. This man was the one to melt the ice surrounding your heart; he was the one to make you feel again. You smile weakly at him. “Kyojuro-san… I… I love you, too.”

[let-them-read-fics]

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think. 

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics. 

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features. 

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.” 

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face. 

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible. 

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that. 

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you. 

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least. 

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug. 

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again. 

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned. 

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer. 

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her. 

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.  

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.  

That had to be some sort of symbolism. 

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement. 

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is. 

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon. 

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents. 

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.  

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you. 

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on. 

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.” 

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence. 

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly. 

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you. 

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her. 

A short time later, you begin. 

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so. 

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life. 

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for. 

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you. 

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing. 

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades. 

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?” 

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you. 

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[oceanlix]

Sweetheart

Pairing: Yunho x female reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1520

Maybe it was something about the faint moonlight shining down into the backyard, or the way Yunho looked so peaceful at that moment. But before you knew it, you had pulled out your phone and snapped a picture of your best friend, setting it as your lock screen.

So maybe your "little" crush was getting a bit out of control...it's not like Yunho would ever find out anyway.

"Y/N!"

You looked towards the direction that you thought your best friend's voice was coming from, raising an eyebrow. It was mostly unlike Yunho to be this loud, which must mean-

His large body flew to your side, bouncing you slightly off of the couch. Yep, he was definitely more than a little tipsy, judging by the way his eyes shined as he smiled at you. Or maybe that was just your big fat crush talking, who was to say for sure?

"What do you want?" you pretended to be annoyed, though you felt like a celebrity when he set down the drinks he was carrying and his arm slid around your shoulders.

"I missed your arms around me, so I came to cuddle," he whined, pulling you halfway into his lap so he could wrap his other arm around you as well. You heard your roommate snickering from the other couch, though you weren't sure she had any room to talk with Yeosang's arm around her own waist.

He rocked you from side to side in a tight embrace for a few moments, before he seemed to remember the second reason he'd come over and let go of you. "I also brought you a drink." He sounded so proud of himself as he grabbed the cup and held it out to you, cheeks flushed an adorable pink. Your heart melted even further as you took it from him. "It's a Moscow Mule, just how you like it."

You quickly took a few sips to hide your heart eyes, thanking everything that Yunho was an easily distracted drunk. He'd already started looking around the room for Mingi, wondering where his "brother" was currently at. You shot your roommate a glare, who was still giggling at you, and set the cup down again.

"Come on, I think we should get out of the crowd," you urged, tugging on Yunho's sleeve. His eyes found yours again, though they were a little unfocused. "Let's go out on the back porch."

He didn't argue, just stood up and followed you through the living room, then the kitchen. When you stepped outside, the cool night air felt extremely refreshing on your overheated skin. You looked up at Yunho and saw that he seemed more relaxed as well, his eyes slipping closed as he leaned against the porch railing.

Maybe it was something about the faint moonlight shining down into the backyard, or the way Yunho looked so peaceful at that moment. But before you knew it, you had pulled out your phone and snapped a picture of your best friend, setting it as your lock screen.

So maybe your "little" crush was getting a bit out of control...it's not like Yunho would ever find out anyway.

----

“I brought matcha!”

You looked up from your marketing textbook, seeing Yunho approaching your table in the library.

“You are a lifesaver, Mr. Jeong,” you groaned, making grabby hands at the Starbucks cup he was holding. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Maybe once or twice,” he replied, laughing. He sat down across from you, reaching into his own backpack to pull out his engineering textbook. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, taking sips of your drink and glancing down at your textbook every few seconds so as not to make it too obvious.

His hair looked extra fluffy today, you noted. It was cute how his nose scrunched up whenever he was concentrating particularly hard on the text. You didn’t even notice that you had propped your chin on your hand and were full-on staring until he looked up, his chocolate eyes meeting yours suddenly.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased, not an ounce of surprise evident as he winked at you playfully. Had he noticed you staring even before that point? Your heart thumped erratically in your chest and you rushed to take another sip of your drink, only to see that it was empty. Yunho was already looking back down at his textbook when you dared to peek at him again, but there was a smirk still on his lips.

Of course, your phone started to ring right at that moment. A quick glance at the screen told you that you needed to yell at your roommate later for interrupting your study time, but what you forgot to account for was the fact that your lock screen was still that photo you’d taken of Yunho at the party last week. It hadn’t even registered in your brain until Yunho let out a little gasp, drawing your attention.

“Am I your lock screen?” he asked, tilting his head adorably to the side. You immediately began to panic, pulling your phone off the desk and slamming your textbook closed.

“I forgot, I need to go meet Y/R/N right away! We can hang out later, text me!” You were haphazardly throwing your studying supplies into your backpack, desperate to get out of this situation as fast as humanly possible. It was embarrassing enough that his flirting had knocked you this far off your rocker, but now he’d seen the one thing you really couldn’t explain as something platonic. You had almost made a clean getaway when you felt his large hand wrap around your wrist, effectively stopping you from going anywhere as he anchored you to the table.

“Hey, hey,” he called softly, like you were a horse and he was afraid he was going to spook you. “Why are you rushing off?”

You sighed, wishing a hole would open up in the library floor that you could just fall through instead of having this conversation. “You weren’t...you weren’t supposed to see that.”

Yunho’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion for a moment, before realization hit. “Oh, the lock screen? Y/N, you don’t have to worry. I’m not freaked out or anything, I was just wondering when you took the picture because I don’t remember that!”

A wave of relief washed over you, so immediate that your knees buckled a little. Before you knew it, Yunho had stopped you from falling...by catching you in his lap.

“Whoa, are you feeling okay? You’re not usually this clumsy,” he laughed, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. You looked away from his gaze, thoroughly embarrassed at how this entire conversation was going. This was not how you envisioned the day going, and it seemed to just be getting worse and worse the longer you stayed in his proximity.

“Y/N…” he trailed off, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. Gently, he tilted your head until you were looking right into his eyes. “I may be reading this entirely wrong, but...do you...like me?”

You could’ve passed for a cartoon with the way your eyes widened in that moment. Well...it’s not like you were great at hiding it. The longer you considered it, the more sense it made that he’d seen right through you. Even if boys were naturally unobservant about these things most of the time, you were always a little more obvious than you thought yourself to be. Or at least, that’s what your roommate was always telling you.

But now that the cat was out of the bag, you didn’t really know what to do other than open and close your mouth like a fish. Should you come clean and risk facing the awkward but gentle rejection you were sure Yunho would give you? Or should you try and flat out deny it? That didn’t seem like a viable option, as much as you wished it was. Yunho was unlikely to let you get away with that, as nice a guy as he was.

As you considered all of this, you suddenly remembered that you were still effectively sitting in his lap, his hand wrapped around your wrist and your faces extremely close together. There was no way you could get away with lying in this situation...you might as well face the music and whatever consequences were to follow.

“I...sorta like you. Well, not sorta, more like a lot. A whole lot...maybe way too much. Oh, but I’m not obsessed! It’s not weird, just a normal amount-”

You kept rambling, until you physically couldn’t anymore because Jeong Yunho’s lips were on yours. Your mind blanked out, eyes sliding closed as he softly and slowly kissed you over and over. As stupid as it sounded, everything else fell away in that moment, leaving only the two of you. His grip on your wrist was still gentle, but kept you anchored. When you finally parted for air, your eyes fluttered open to find him staring right back at you, cheeks flushed a light pink.

“Was that okay?” he asked, sounding incredibly nervous. You could only smile, finding his hand and interlocking your fingers with his.

“So, you might have guessed that I’ve had a big fat crush on you,” you started, laughing. “I don’t think I was very subtle.”

“Absolutely not,” Yunho giggled, leaning forward to kiss you again.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH15

18+ Content: General fluff/angst. Din POV. Word Count: 5138 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it’s up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate. Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist / Playlist

EPILOGUE

Whispers.

Din is subjected to whispers surrounding him and clinging to his beskar like seafoam on his boots; sensitive and hushed tones aimed to show their condolences, their pity, regarding the absence of light beside him. They raise their voice no louder than whispers out of fear, not sympathy—sterile beskar contaminated with the sun’s liquidised crux intimidating them into tight-lipped smiles.

Sorrow radiates off him in potent waves that roll over the settlement to drown them in his grieving. It doesn’t need to be voiced. There’s a plenitude of evidence that stacks up against the presumption; the reclaimed rifle adhered to slippery beskar as opposed to cradling its framework into soft flesh, a tattered cloak that now only stretches across one side of his back, broad shoulders appearing so compact in on themselves, and a heavy-footed stride that simply speaks anguish.

If those factors aren’t indication enough, the blood does it.

Dried blood that coats his tan appendage but not his gloved—funny, how he always seems to dirty his hands—thick streaks that have yet to reach that dry point smeared against his armour, dark patches on his flight suit that adheres to the skin beneath.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the scene of The Mandalorian—a stoic warrior capable of pulling the tides that’ll swallow their settlement whole—so vanquished and mourning the woman he loved in such dreaded silence is worth a million and then some.

The element of a bare hand no longer pining to envelope itself from intrusive eyes is grisly. Abnormal. Eerie, all most, as if Mando’s resolve will snap before their inspections. Children are guided behind the adults with a subtle hand but it doesn’t pass unnoticed.

Din suspends in the maelstrom of the locals, helmet burdensome on his shoulders, vacantly swaying side-to-side as though struggling to remain awake on his feet; struggling to not let slip of his eyelids and succumb to the mud that’ll pose as his eternal resting grounds. If it weren’t for the slumbering speck of green nestled in the arms of Omera, perhaps he would allow himself to sink to his knees for the second time that night, no—third. Third time.

There’s no communication between them, no are you okay’s or I’m so sorry’s, just a simple exchange of glances that reads she’s gone, my girl is gone when Din recovers the Child from her arms. Familiar weight in the nook of his elbow, the same elbow her head resided as she lay dormant, he reverts back between the compound aisle of onlookers.

It’s all the same expression—that pouted bottom lip and upturned eyebrow, colourful eyes attentive to his exposed hand and gory armour; anything besides the chilling black slit of his visor, the red thumbprint of a much larger hand impression sitting in the corner of his view field—Din’s chin descends to his chest to avert his eyes from the hands on their loved ones, pulling them to a warmth he’ll soon forget the feeling of, the silent declaration of adoration upon seeing such a depleted man without his.

Voices are deteriorating before him, echoing and remote as if they were isolated across a vast canyon—everybody’s tone blending into one heaped bulk he can’t decipher who or where they’re coming from; a procedure his mind conducted to dissociate from the pity timbres.

Caben…

...I know.

Beskar wrenches their route, initiating eye contact with the two farmers his love died to save—died so that they could live fulfilling lives while she’s devoured by parasites—and his fist clenches by his side. Din doesn’t blame them for her demise, not really, she never would’ve inflicted such a gnarly wound if it wasn’t for the fact the Guild was after him; the fact that rescuing a helpless child would lead to a chain of events that brings him such an acquainted feeling of despair.

And he’d do it all over again if the situation arises—that’s what causes his slitted fingers to curl into his palms and draw blood out the gaps between. Din had breached many rules, some of his Creed’s and others his personal pledges; do not fall victim to a girl’s loving touches. They were there for good reason. Din’s not mad at Caben and Stoke nor Omera for informing him of their situation. Din’s mad at himself because, despite knowing the outcome of it all and despite how her name has been carved into his ribs, he would never not rescue the Child.

Even if that statement alone induces a thousand scenarios in which his beloved dies in his arms. Perhaps it’s his private method of torture; a way to inflict damage onto himself that doesn’t bruise skin but the sensitive heart beneath it all.

Caben and Stoke quiver underneath the leer of a visor blemished with vermillion—someone so black and white touched with the coloured essence of a cherished one—he’s never donned so much vibrancy. Not even when he wore his shoddy spraypainted duraplast armour had he been so rich in hues that no eyes should witness.

Din takes mercy on the men and tears his helmet away, feet falling with a burden into the forest haunted with a spirit that’ll never be able to rest.

It takes a day of being in hyperspace to reach overfamiliar craggy rocks and whipping sand granules—a day of being confined within his home, now a duralloy prison, with a fallen star coursing ripples of glacial bursts. The corpse of his sweetheart had been covered with what little material remained of the cloth on his back for the Child’s sake, not his. Din could never want that pretty face cloaked even with the browning plasma cracking on the surface of her cheek, the dark crescents beneath eyes that holds overtones that now only live in his head and windburned lips that once felt warm and smooth against his own roughened.

There’s a steep drop to his death waiting for a mere slip of his boots against the coarse siltstone—internal bleeding upon the impact that would cater his physique with that unaccounted heat one last time—but Din is versatile and makes it down with limited injuries; some grazes into the paddings of fingers and a sore ball of the foot where he’d dug his boots into an uneven surface a little too vigorously.

Soft sand sits beneath his feet in contrast to the grittiness above, a result of the lack of rays that reach between the gorge. It’s darkened down these parts, plagued with skeletons of unfortunate victims to the brittle canyon edgings.

A mote of black pokes upright from the golden ground, the end of a matte-finished cylinder storing pale grains into its blueprint. The ground swallows his knees whole and adheres itself to his flight suit where it’ll reside in the empty space that’s left behind for journeys to come.

Din combs the sand with cupped hands, bare digits burrowing deep and bandaging around the target to wedge free of its tenacious grip. It extracts from the planet’s crust with falling particles from its bore reuniting with its sum beneath his weight—a shattered chamber decays in his clutch. The stock, its untethered support deeper in the terra, withdraws into his idle grip.

It’s a straightforward design—a barrel he’s stared down into more times than he can account for—but there’s sentimental value in its mere existence, despite Din never having any interest in the dark oil encrusted with scratches and weathered patches around a jammed trigger. Such a stocky weapon for arms crafted of supple beams. The tide could easily harness such a defying artifact; digest the barrel whole into the belly of its trenches, the increased pressure simply too great for it to ever leave. Not the beams, though—they should never be required to carry such unstable weight, such compactness.

The amban rifle was perfect for those hands; nimble and delicate, easy to employ.

Salvaged firearm in hand, Din finds himself before the entrance of a shoddy dome shack; a flap of shroud swaying one with the wind eased to the side with the back of his knuckles, helmet dipping as he sets a lagging foot inside. The sparseness, the emptiness, drowns his lungs and constricts his airways—it’d been ransacked, by Jawas presumably, all of the deconstructed mechanics that should be gathering dust pinched from the schism-riddled wooden slab.

Disconnected halves of a rifle are gently laid to rest on the surface, the skeleton of a shattered Creed shortly following. Its critical gaze eats at the delicate man frontwards, toned eyes melting to a bubbling molten transparisteel that scars his assaulted morals. Three tan fingers spin the helmet on its axis to face the duracrete, allowing the pang in his temples to subside.

Din’s calves encased with his duraplast greeves butt against the edge of a mediocre cot, not too contrasting to his own—cramped with little to no support, but it’s stable and it works—he envisions a bandaged figure curled up on the durasteel, nothing but an oversized poncho to supply warmth that wasn’t necessary on such a heated planet. He sinks to the bunk and pursues the comfort of a merciless prod in his waist, a sweat-slicked forehead pressing into the wall.

If he closes his eyes and breathes deep he’s rewarded with a faint whiff of a rich syrup that combats the stale crux on his platings—the point of a pinky muscle stimulated with a fleeting taste of his favourite flavours. Sand particles deposited by the gusts of winds flood his ventilators from the cot beneath him, slicing through the linings of his insides. In lieu of coughing and spluttering Din deeply exhales and laxes his muscles; the overwhelming requirement for rest inevitably forcing his mind to disable and his breathing to even out.

Kuiil and his craftsmanship came up short as expected.

Even with the labour of three lifetimes, I cannot fix this. I have never seen something this shattered be repaired before. Perhaps you are not supposed to restore its properties.

Din respected the Ugnaught too much to vocalise his thoughts—what a load of bantha—and opted to depart from Arvala-7 before its granular claws burrowed into him more than they already had; his boots packed to his ankles with hot grit that converts the soles of his feet to blisters, flight suit drenched in sweat and blood.

Rather than dedicating a whole five minutes of changing attire, rather than finally ridding himself of the constant reminder of his dead lover clinging to his skin and clothes, he punches the navigation and activates the auto-piloting to his next destination.

The Child has developed some independence in the peak of Din’s mourning, often finding himself entertained with a drifting gear knob in the vacancy of the air before him—he almost appeared aware of the situation, aware of the black hole in Din’s chest narrowing his interiors and destabilising his balance—and he no longer needed assistance to vacate from the Crest when the hatch extended.

His guardian, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager to leave his penitentiary. It was quiet and cold in comparison to the hustle and bustle outside the duralloy cell, the loud exclaim of a snappy mechanic, no matter how late into the night it had to be, scolding her droids.

Are ya looking to get shot at? You know the drill, back away from it!

Din straightens himself out from the floor between the cockpit and the hold’s ladder, the one place he didn’t encounter the phantom of waning memories; they plagued these walls beyond belief. Recollections of brief intimate instances strewn throughout the hold, his bunk, the cockpit—it made operating his spacecraft a difficult chore.

He does his utmost not to glimpse at the emptiness atop the crates, the browning streaks that run down the slopes of the cubes and into the grooves of the Razor Crest’s base, but there’s only a limited measure of self-control residing within him and its line has been blurry as of late. Submitting to the gravitational pull of his eyes is inescapable and he risks a peak; a raggedy cloak that concealed gelid mounds now servicing as a blanket for the bare inventory containers.

Shoulders tighten and footwork falters as he maneuvers to the hatch, the idle purring of a preservation machine in the far corner a reminder of what he’d gone and done—guilt and grief goading his esophagus but he swallows it, greets the sting in his walls with a gruff clear of his throat.

What’s the big idea of stationing yourself here? She doesn’t appear in bad shape at all. I ain’t free parking, ya know.

Shiny credits are flung in her direction, the satchel containing the remainder of what was once a reimbursement to the bisected rifle in his leathers, he doesn’t allow him the privilege of feeling sorrow upon parting with them. Din doesn’t deserve to experience such sensitive emotions when he’s the trigger that snapped against a guard—a cherry bolt of a hand jabbing through the wind and tossing delicate goods down a ravine.

Peli eyeballs the exposed spinal plating of the Mandalorian and compiles the fragmented pieces of his physique, slotting in each individual aspect from his impaired posture down to the crust on his steel. Shards of a rusting man relocate, twisting and turning—no, not there...not quite...oh...—until it connects, a brittle sharp-edged outline of a man receding.

But that’s all it is.

An outline. Incomplete. His jam-packed insides—his essence, his life, his love—has been swindled from within leaving a husk of an exhausted bereaved soul ricocheting off the internal boundaries of beskar in search of its partner.

Din deposits himself in a corner of the hangar tucked away where the shadows push and pull his limbs, steering his appendages across the surface of an eroding strongbox showcasing the deconstructed blaster. Phantoms of apprehensive hands ghost overhead, their primary function programmed to destroy and slaughter not replenish and recover.

Reparations are out of the question. It’s beyond demolished; hardly decent for a mantlepiece let alone functional. It’s laid out like a butchered tip-yip primed for roasting, components scattered and misplaced; a muddle not even the greatest gunslinger could capitalise from.

Engravings on the stock of the rifle stabilise him, a gorgeous aluminium that shines beneath all the oil and base of obsidian. Its lines paint a picture of nothing, overlapping and crossing into a mess, but it fires a brisk bolt against his heartplate all the same. Bare fingers spelunk its origins for its quirks, its stories of a stubborn girl entrapped within it; utilising the elongated barrel like a third arm, a trigger snappy as her words, the scenic stock a mirror to the beauty beside it.

Roughened fingers were a by-product of being consistently handsy throughout the decades but when perceiving the sun rays they were reborn entirely. Soft and smooth and careful. Now that the sun no longer responds to his touch, now that he’s left with cool inscribed metal, they’ve reverted to their nature. Sandy. Sharp. Aggressive.

Aggressive fingers that match the stained violence of his Creed—his beskar that simply won’t return to that elegant silver shine no matter how desperately he rubs against the surface. Water sloshes back and forth in the modest trough of a sink, a tainted red-brown colour accumulating at the bottom provoking an ache in the tender organ residing in his centre.

He’d practically been forced into the shoddy refresher by the mechanic—you got the kid all anxious, just look at you, go get that gunk off yourself.

That’s all it can be perceived as by others; nothing more than filthy smears required to be rid of simply for presentation—to preserve the comfort of others no matter how intense the guilt chews against his muscles as her pith dilutes. Gunk.

Din muffles a sob. It’s her.

She’s abandoning him for a second time. What little of her refuses to part from him is so encrusted it’s become a part of his armour, inserting herself into the nicks and grooves of his platings his fingers fail to penetrate.

Mindless hands shift to his lesioned flesh, unsteady digits summarising the hills of rashy bumps visible only through the lens of steamy caf. Phantoms of lingering touches mark tan terrain in the shapes of slender fingers and cottony lips on his chest, his stomach, neck and face; everywhere that’d been blessed with the loveliest of kisses and nips from the Sun now scarred over.

Pendant held firmly in place pulses a scorching burst through the tissue on his sternum, the beskar skull leaving its claim. Its fraying thread drifts to thick fingers and lays loose between them, irritable skin of a palm flaring at its exuding heat and crisp pang; none of its physical but it’s as though he’s brushed with a hand of a million degrees all the same.

Shiny silver occupies the empty space beside him, a lithe barrel glittering in the substandard lighting of a crummy Tatooine refresher; heckling the helmetless man but he could never glance its way in any sort of negative class.

It hurts to connect with the beskar pendant and perhaps he deserves to hurt, but he can’t sustain it, can’t confront that sting in his throat and eyes each time it shifts against his chest.

Din weaves the lace of his material initiation through the metal perch beneath the shiny stretch of a barrel; dangling and showcased on the paired rifle of his Sun where it’ll reside—operating as a threatening symbol to partner his visor against enemies who dare glance his way.

And it did, far more successful than he could’ve imagined; rumours of his descent traversing parsecs faster than his Crest could vie with.

Did you hear about that Mandalorian—supposedly lost his lover and went rogue. I heard he turned berserk, he’s killed a town’s worth of criminals! Someone ought to lock him up before he turns on us. He’s a threat to us all!

Din didn’t much care for the presumptions. It wasn’t as though he frequented locations to be overwhelmed with the local’s support, though it made discreetly getting around a challenge—no longer were the days he could enter a cantina with a few intrigued eyes devising a way to lay claim to his beskar before returning to their booze.

But now it was people confronting him in false hope he’d be too deep in mourning to fight against their attacks. It never did end well for them.

He’d become a magnet for death, even of his own.

It wasn’t righteous to die in that common house. Not when those disproportionate black eyes observed from the arms of a droid; deep, dark masses that depicted more emotion for his guardian’s condition than perhaps they should. He’d been selfishly greeting his emerging end with an inconsiderate let me have a warrior’s death. It’d be a lie if he was to deny its translation; let me see my beloved.

As is his entire life, Din’s been allocated with responsibilities far out of his expertise but he’s not relinquishing his guardianship to the kid that easily. It’s not as if he could be transferred to any other old sucker either; not everybody has the same compassion for a floppy-eared bounty worth their retirement funds.

No, it wasn’t his time to rest. It’ll come when it’s merited.

That night after the events that’d transpired, Greef Karga bestowed some unusually wise statements underneath the moonless canopy of speckled stars patterning the abyss. Simply reminding Din of its existence; the constant celestials that’ll never desert him no matter what dodgy planet he dwelt.

A new moon is approaching. As a child I had been told stories of a cosmic reset at the commencement of a new cycle; an opportunity to start anew. Perhaps it was all just folklore but it’s fascinating all the same, wouldn’t you agree? I always did like shiny things.

It’d been the vulnerability that encouraged his Guild’s leader to utter those words—that unmistakable change in demeanour since they’d last met, that insecurity swallowing an iron stomach upon hearing a dead name chanted amongst an army of Stormtroopers—Din knew without it being conveyed.

He had been stripped of his privacy and put in the spotlight in front of dozens of lifeforms. A name reserved for a benevolent tone now recognised by the enemy, trespassing on those memories of all the situations it’d been murmured into his bare flesh as if labelling him as a person; a real breathing blood-pumping person and not the Creed he fought for.

Gideon was his name, the man who spoke of his identity as though he crafted it himself. As though he nursed the bruises and traumas of his title and being—not gentle hands that’d remain uncomplaining despite how little Din offered in return.

If Din had inspected his fallen TIE fighter for life, perhaps he could’ve avoided the forthcoming events.

With the naive belief of security, Din encouraged the pursuit of his aspirations rather than the concern of his violations towards his code. His relationship with the Creed had been on thin ice and he’s not quite willing to pardon its strict principles.

An opportunity to start anew.

His brain requests a rebalance—the interest for the Child’s consideration prodding needles into the fleshy mass—demands his sentiments to be torched, cremated until they are stardust particles drifting through the celestials above. They crack and pop in tune to the sizzle of a droughted driftwood pyre bearing the corpse of his lover, profitably filling two needs with one deed; a clear state of mind to focus on his ongoing responsibilities and to allow depleted beams to finally rest across the horizon.

She’d endured suffering enough; receiving punishment from those she trusted, the guilt and onslaught Din presented as a by-product, sustaining wounds until it’d finally become too much.

Even in death, she wasn’t permitted serenity.

Her fucking body is still with me!

It slipped out of his mouth back on Tatooine.

I had to - had to put her in carbonite...she was fuckin’ rotting in my ship. I didn’t know what else to do. What are you supposed to do with the body of your-... I can’t just - just ditch her on some shitty planet all alone like that!

Peli had been of assistance; providing Din somewhere to rest his eyes without breathing in the stench of decaying flesh. She’d even gone ahead and supplied him with a pair of gloves to preserve his corrupted honour though she wouldn’t admit it,—prefer not to recognise you as human, makes it hard to dupe you outta credits if I’m too busy pitying you—she wasn’t repelled by his grieving, the unusual depictions of a man underneath all that shiny steel.

She’d been of more assistance than he could thank her for.

Being on Tatooine facilitated the idea of his Sun’s disposal.

Kote Kyr’am.

It’s the best memorial he could devise. A ceremony he’d attended countless times as a foundling watching his elders fall in battle. The very same elders who’d knock Din upside the head for constructing such an ancient farewell for an aruetii but she’s worthy of nothing less; more, perhaps, but there are no alternatives in the vacancy of his helmet adequate for the burial of a star.

Din’s lips are chapped, his skin is on fire, there’s a rumbling in his stomach. He’s watching his beloved burn to ash underneath the new moon and yet he feels as though he’s the one succumbing to the flames; the heat just as powerful as the dormant embodiment it’s consuming.

Velvety skin he’d allocate his hands, his tongue, and time, never enough time, to now blister and contract, tear and melt, crackle and—

He heaves over, helmet rim caught on a scrunched forehead, and readies his throat for the bite of acid. It doesn’t come. Not even a trickle of saliva disperses. Instead, his lungs impale themselves on his ribcage, contracting and expanding so rapidly he fails to recognise his cheeks are devoured with a downstream.

The salt probes his tastebuds though it’s insufficient to dominate the heavy particles of ablaze flesh. It’s so rich, so potent that it’s evolved to a taste rather than a scent. Din could withstand the odour, his filters stripped the majority, but the taste is intolerable and it just so freely floats in through his agape mouth to nestle among his tongue - as if it belonged there - as if a contrasting sweeter taste didn’t.

Din’s skin reddens from Navarro’s meanspirited terrain but it’s not enough motivation to rise to his feet. He sits there, steel dwelling amongst the molten, and waits because he can’t continue his journeys for two without that flicker of confidence she’s at peace.

He’ll take a crumb of assurance, it’d be plenty for him to muster up the strength and return to the Crest where the Child awaits.

Usually, as is Mandalorian custom, he’d be stripping the shell of armour from her corpse as a keepsake of a life well-lived - to preserve the name of her clan but all Din had of her’s was a shattered rifle that’ll remain in the vacuum of a satchel.

Not to mention the chants—the gruff Mando’a words designed to ensure their warrior’s spirit may join their fallen. Din had his fair share of howling war cries through the years but not this time - it’s not right.

An aruetii wouldn’t be welcomed.

Besides, his Creed had stolen his spirit. It doesn’t qualify to steal hers.

It isn’t until a final blow of wind carries her skywards that Din raises to his feel, latches his helmet back in place, and returns to work.

Din likes the skies, no—loves the skies; the magnificent blues and pinks and oranges that blend as one, the swollen cushiony whites that conceal his naked face from the shell whatever planet he’d roam, but above all else Din loves how the sun blessed him with its astral kisses.

That unmistakable warmth flushed over him; the remnants of his extinguished star’s touches.

There was a peace up there that’d never reach the conflict of the galaxy; serenity that allowed for a moment of buoyancy—floating among the cornflower identical to how one might in the colossal depths of the ocean without the intimidation of anchoring oneself by weighted platings.

It was a real sight to behold up there; unfamiliar without the confines of his Crest.

Din had forgotten the thrill of the sweeping winds through his limbs, the freedom rising in his chest upon cutting through white puffs. But it had been the horizon that lured his attention inwards—the bends and slopes of a shimmering orange star smiling at the returning glint in his visor.

It was the first time he’d genuinely smiled since the loss of His Star. It had something to do with the warmth; the sunbeams managing to penetrate past beskar and into his flesh and organs so intimately, so overfamiliar to delicate fingers stroking the muscles of his chest or the bones beneath his cheeks.

It became sort of a custom in his travels to visit the heavens at least once on each planet. Often times bemused squealing would accompany him. Grogu—Grogu...the kid had a name—had been adamant about participating in his encounters and Din now has no doubt that was his abilities, the Force as Ahsoka mentioned, enabling him to perceive his intentions; his ambition to be touched by someone who no longer lives. It’d be easier to go up against seven Krayt dragons than to convince a power-wielding typhoon to remain on land, thereby he’d hoist Grogu up and above the overcast where the beams kissed the peak of his fuzzy forehead.

Renouncing his guardianship to Grogu had been challenging. Losing another lifeform so that he’d be entirely alone wasn’t a consideration as he journeyed in search of a Jedi, but it was to be expected. The kid was powerful and Din didn’t possess the knowledge to help him wield his abilities. Didn’t make saying goodbye any easier, though.

The situation resurfaced ghoulish remembrances of draining light in his arms; how he never presented his emotions without the guise of his helmet. So, encircled with copious lifeforms, Din removed his Creed before Grogu—introducing that vulnerability and love for a toddler who’d swindled his affection so effortlessly. A claw on his face wasn’t the same as gentle fingers but he didn’t love it any less.

The ordeal was absolving despite the moisture in his eyes.

Din’s ambivalent about what he’ll pursue from here with no mission, no ship, no love, but he doesn’t much care when he’s brushed with the warmth of his lover’s thumbs on his eyelids. It’s his favourite space; lingering above the clouds, head craned backwards with his helmet loosely held in his leathers, savouring how the beams kiss his skin until it’s pink from its spice.

Some days he simply wishes to take a peak, a small little glance to quench him until the desire builds up again. Some days he remains in the skies until his jetpack whines and runs into failures; until it makes its descent and is replaced with a shimmering orb.

He’s envious of the moon; how it so easily recovers its glossy shine and integrity, neglecting to address the events of the eclipse. Its radiance chips away at his armour but the sunshine restores it—realigns the shards and offers a toasty kiss to the steel, commending it for protecting her Mandalorian.

Din suspends in a herd of clouds and sighs into the air. It’s quiet except for the monotonous bursts of thrusters from behind. Sunshine is greeted with lukewarm caf, a partnering smile tugging his lips.

“Beloved Girl,” Din’s voice is raspy from inactivity but so loud, so clear in contrast to everybody else’s he’d consulted.

There’s too much he wants to say but he determines to voice them all. Din expresses his thoughts he’d been too stoic to admit, ranging from whispers to shouts at the sun as if it was a sentient being listening to his passion.

He tells her of how much he longs to see her, to taste her on his lips, to provoke that sparkling smile he loved so dearly. He communicates his guilt and how he loves her more than he can fathom—mentions the successful end of his journeys with Grogu and how he now has zilch but an undesired blade to show for it.

There’s nothing but a sway of wind whipping his eardrums in response and Din hums, accepting it.

Din cherishes the splinters of beams as she comes to rest beneath the horizon and he too sinks from the skies, obscured dimples in his cheeks as he recounts the memories of his beloved wrapped in his arms.

One last thing, Cyare, keep an eye on the kid for me, will you?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @djarrex, @omgreally, @spideysimpossiblegirl

[ddarker-dreams]

Round Them Up II. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: canon typical violence, drug mention, kidnapping, gaslighting, previous not sfw mention, and manipulation. word count: 3.4k. part I.

All things that fester in the dark will one day be brought into the light. 

Giorno’s unsure when he first heard this sentiment expressed. Maybe it was when he was passing by a mother scolding her child on the street, or from a missionary of the Church passing on their doctrine. This legalistic jargon never resonated with him. Why fear the judgement of a heavenly being that you didn’t believe to exist? As he makes his way through winding halls, this is the thought that plagues him the most. This concept of judgement. He can’t recall a time where the thoughts and opinions of others held a tangible weight. It’s inconsequential. Almost all others are inconsequential. What has mattered most to him is sticking to his ideals, his dream, not what onlookers may whisper behind closed doors. Yet now he can’t stand the thought of you thinking less of him.

Keen eyes stay focused on the butterfly in front of him. The butterflies wings flutter, gliding to the area you’re being held captive. You’re alive. Here, somewhere in this dilapidated building. Giorno’s familiar with the rhythm of your life energy, and is confident that his Stand sensed you. How beautiful a thing it is. It pulsates, like the strings of a harp being strummed, his chest swelling with adoration whenever he feels it. He keeps checking. Those who sought to hurt you are dropping like flies, Giorno noting that the life energy he felt upon arriving is diminishing. Courtesy of Mista, if he were to guess. Gold Experience Requiem has been primed for usage as well. 

He comes to a halt when the butterfly insists on a single set of doors. This must be the room you’re in. Giorno takes a deep breath, steadying himself, hearing hushed whispers coming from inside. That accident… undoubtedly, this group is from Northern Italy. The moment he opens these doors, there is but one thing that’ll be for certain. His Stand’s power is absolute. Already, unfortunate guards who he happened upon earlier, have sent to a hellish limbo of his making. A fate that they’ll never come to understand. Everyone who took part in this plan will meet a similar demise. 

What worries him most… is how you’ll look at him when it’s all said and done. How much information has Enzo’s men given you? Did you believe all that they said? There must be numerous questions plaguing your mind regardless, having had no idea what being involved with Giorno Giovanna truly meant. He knew there’d be a day where he could no longer hide the truth as he had for months now. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. It was going to be on his terms, an easy to digest version custom made for you. Wetting his lips, he pushes open the door, casting all reservations aside. When the time comes, he’ll know what to do. The proper words have always come to him, like whispers from the divine. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here. 

Wherever this place is -- somewhere far away from Naples, is all you know -- has boarded up windows. From how empty your stomach is feeling, you can safely assume it’s around dinner time. You’ve never felt so sore, your wrists and ankles tied in an uncomfortable position. More information is what you need now. Listening to your surroundings has become second only to breathing. It’s at times difficult to pick through the accents you’re unfamiliar with, the terminology in use not making it easier. These people live in a world completely different from yours, and they speak of a Giorno Giovanna you’ve never heard of. 

The consistent story is that they want to spite him somehow. That this is an act of retribution. How did your precious GioGio earn the ire of these men, to the point of driving them to kidnap a civilian? He’s gotten mixed up with the wrong people. Is that all this is? Your throat feels tighter as time goes on, sweat perspiring on your skin, and chest heaving with every labored breath. The anxiety that’s been provoked within you refuses to release its vice-like grip. You want to be strong. In the car ride earlier, the man who spoke to you did so in a demeaning fashion. Dumbing down his words and treating you like a fool. Being weak here is not an option. 

So who do you place your hope in? The police? Your own strength? Giorno? There’s no way of being certain. From how tight the ropes are against your skin, squirming out of them is a hopeless endeavor. Not to mention the soldatos around you carry concealed weapons. They’ve been tracking your every movement in between chatting with the other men in the room. You don’t want to succumb to the pits of despair, desperately clinging to the possibility of getting out of this somehow. The injury you sustained from the previous escape attempt is making it even harder, the pain in your wrist ebbing and flowing. It’s likely broken or sprained. Pulling an escape off in a situation like this just seems impossible.

You hang your head down, eyes incapable of focusing on your lap in this dimly lit room. It’s difficult to believe that just this afternoon things had been so different. That you had been completely oblivious to the underbelly of society, blissfully thinking about your date for tonight. Whatever Giorno’s association with these men are, he’s surely noticed your absence, and must have informed the police by now. If he hasn’t picked up on it yet, your family or friends have had to. A shaky sigh leaves your lips, earning a pointed glare from the man next to you. He looks at you as if you’re nothing but a pest. 

“Stop moving so much, bischero,” he wrinkles his nose, glowering down at you. “Any more suspicious movement and I’ll tighten your restraints. Just sit there like you’re supposed to.”

Cheeks set ablaze, you nod your head, not trusting your voice to form the proper words. Never before have you felt such a stirring sense of hatred in your heart for another. You have done nothing to be treated like this, living your life as a good citizen. The thought of harming someone has never arisen in your mind until now, wanting nothing more than to prove these men wrong. That you’re not the weakling they so obviously believe you to be. You sweep over the area in the most inconspicuous way possible. Five men are all in the same room as you, two standing near the door and the other three by the chair you’re restrained to. The only way out of this room is through that set of doors. 

There is nothing you can do now. This is what you decide. No miracle will give you the strength necessary to get out of here. 

Every second passes by slower than the last, tension in the room thick enough to cut through with a knife. That’s when you notice something is different than your initial arrival. The casual banter between the men have ceased, their bodies noticeably tenser, despite what must be their superior ordering them to remain calm. When you listen closely, you hear a faint commotion outside. It’s a piercing sound that takes a moment to recognize. Is that… gunfire? It doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard in the movies, the shots coming in sets of six. Your kidnappers draw their own weapons from inside their coats, readying themselves. 

The man who has been standing next to you goes to whisper in the ears of the others, who in turn secure different angles in the room. You don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing... but is it possible that law enforcement is coming to rescue you? Adrenaline pumps through your veins at the thought. The throbbing pain of your wrist is drowned out, your vigor restoring. Everyone present in this room -- including you -- is waiting for something. Someone. Whether it’s friend or foe is yet to be discovered. You’re on pins and needles, gaze locked onto the guarded door with bated breath.

Nothing happened like you envisioned it. 

The door, to the disbelief of the others, opens as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Amidst the brewing chaos, you spot an unmistakable flash of golden hair. You could recognize that sight anywhere. It belongs to someone you’ve grown to care for greatly, someone who you didn’t know as much as you thought you did. Still, relief floods into your heart, washing away the previous despair. It’s the sound of guns cocking that brings you back from this potential cloud nine. You’re still in danger. That means he’s in danger too.

Driven by emotion rather than logic, you yell out to him, hoping it might prevent a bloody fate. “Giorno! They have guns!”

Your desperate plea is too late. You know this, and still you pray that it might have any impact. The men in the room fire without holding anything back, all in the direction of the door, the loud noise causing your ears to ring like funeral bells. Though you’re still undecided on your feelings for all that Giorno has been involved with in secret, the thought of him bloodied and falling lifeless to the ground is too much to bear. There’s no way he can survive this onslaught of bullets. This is going to kill him. He’s going to die, trying to save you—

“[First].”

He’s in front of you. 

His face is so close, you can feel his warm breath against your tear stricken cheeks. You smell his musky cologne, feel his silky hair against his face, see the light in his emerald eyes. Giorno’s lips part, words leaving them, that you’re too dazed to pick up on. Blinking once, you look around your surroundings as he works to free you from your restraints. This has to be a dream, a final cruel prank before you enter the next life. 

“GioGio,” your voice croaks, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I don’t— I don’t understand, what is happening?”

All that you’re able to gather is that this is the room you’ve been in for hours. The earth tones of the wall, the crumbling ceiling, boarded up windows, and concrete floor are undeniably the same. There’s rustling behind you, your weakened limbs being freed and falling limp. You gasp as he touches your wounded wrist. There’s a stinging sensation, and then the pain alleviates. Testing out the formerly wounded appendage, you notice the bruises from before are gone. Your skin is a normal complexion, instead of the discolored bruises from before.

 It feels like your grip on reality is slipping through loose fingers. Pinching your side does nothing, as you don’t wake from a dream like you wish. This is reality. It’s as if the only people in the world are you and him. That doesn’t make sense, there were five other men here, literal seconds ago. How any of this is possible is beyond you. They were firing at Giorno, who is here in the flesh, not a single wound in sight. 

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Giorno’s voice is soothing as it always has been. You still flinch when he speaks up, a mannerism that he doesn’t miss. “I’ll answer all of them to the best of my ability. For now, we need to get you somewhere safe. You can agree with that, right?” 

He’s picking and choosing his words with the utmost care. You can still notice this in your mentally exhausted state. There’s no point in arguing, you’ll feel sick should you remain here any longer. “Ah… yes.” 

“Can you walk?” Giorno’s giving you a once over. He must be inspecting you for further injury. You nod your head, standing up on shaky legs. The relief of being in Giorno’s presence is fleeting. You don’t want to dwell on it, not here, but the underlying anxiety he brings can’t be shaken. He’s standing by your side, composed as ever. You wonder how you actually know about him. Everyone in relationships is bound to have their own secrets, aspects of them they’re unwilling to share. This is on another level entirely. Being too close to him now doesn’t bring the sense of security it should, and you find yourself on guard.

He places a hand to your shaking side in what’s meant to be a soothing act. “There’s no reason to hide if you can’t.”

“I said I’m fine.” Your tone comes out harsher than you intended. Giorno pauses, looking into your eyes, as if thinking. Conceding to your wishes, he retracts his hand, and leads you to the door. The walk through the building is silent, neither of you making attempts to speak. There isn’t anyone around other than the two of you. Where are all the others you saw on the way here? It’s not that you care for the wellbeing of your kidnappers, but the mystery of their ambiguous fate stays on your mind. How did Giorno have the confidence to face an armed force by himself? There’s no way he’s operating on his own. Not that anything has made sense lately. 

The poorly insulated building allows for the occasional breeze to slip through the cracks in the walls. It takes your breath away, and you wrap your arms around yourself to ward off the cold. Giorno is quick to take notice, and sheds his blazer without asking. Warmth envelopes you as he places it over your shivering shoulders. It’s a gesture that would’ve sent your heart racing, but no longer feels right. You want to trust him, to believe that he’s the man you fell in love with. That’s why it hurts even more. To think that all this time, you were being deceived. As pressing as these concerns are, getting home is what takes top priority in your mind. The rest can wait for later. 

Walking out the same way you came in, you spot the line of cars that drove you here. All of them are eerily empty. There’s one new car present that you recognize as belonging to Giorno. He’s surprised you in the past by picking you up from work with this car, your coworkers always asking nosy questions about your mysterious lover. Now that you’re reflecting on it, maybe you should’ve been asking more questions too. The source of his wealth was an occasional topic -- that you unfortunately felt was too rude to keep asking about -- and he never gave clear answers. His charm blinded you, and led you into a false sense of security. 

You realize that you’re no longer alone with Giorno. There’s a man wearing an odd hat and an outfit with clashing patterns, and another with an equally strange hole covered ensemble. They straighten up their posture when you come into their sight, or more specifically, when Giorno does. From how Giorno’s body language remains neutral, they must be with him. You probably don’t even want to know their relation to one another. The one wearing a hat is brandishing a gun that’s hard to miss, a revolver to be exact. With what meager information you have, you can safely assume that was the source of gunshots you heard earlier. Now that your earlier bloodlust for your captors has faded, your stomach churns at the thought of what must’ve happened. The person you’re staring at notices your intent staring. He shifts his body to keep the weapon out of sight, not that it means anything now.

“Let’s get you back home.” With an arm around your lower back, he leads you to the parked car. Giorno opens the door for you to the backseat, and slides in after you. The partition is put up from whoever is driving for a false sense of privacy. For the second time today, you find yourself unwittingly in the backseat of a car, having more questions than answers. That has to be a new record. The engine purrs to life, and you’re on the road once more. 

Now that the opportunity to learn more about what the fuck just happened to you is here, you’re having difficulty figuring out where to start the interrogation. It doesn’t help that your anxiety has been given new life. Giorno, who you’ve always found a serene person, is the source of your newfound dread. At least he’s kind enough to let you gather your bearings. 

“Earlier, those... people,” you take a deep breath, hands shaking relentlessly. “The way that they were talking about you made it sound like you did something to them.”

You surprise yourself by gathering the strength to look him in the eyes. He returns your gaze with a similar intensity, inadvertently testing you to say what you’ve wanted to all along. “Giorno Giovanna… just who are you, exactly? And why should I even believe you?”

There’s no immediate response. Despite the physical closeness, you’ve never felt so far away from him. It reinstates the fear that, no matter how well you believe to know someone, they could always be lying. That the truth is what they want it to be. Giorno taking his time to respond makes him appear guilty before your eyes. 

“You’ve been through a series of traumatizing events. Before I explain anything, you should rest,” he glances down at his watch. “It’ll be a few hours before we get home.” 

So he is trying to avoid it. Pursing your lips together, you shoot him a displeased look. “No. Tell me now. I deserve that much after all I endured, don’t I?”

“You’re right. My apologies.”

Giorno leans back in the leather seats of the car and crosses his legs. It’s unfortunate how now of all times you’re reminded of memories shared here. The times the two of you would tumble into the back, becoming intimate with one another, exploring each other’s bodies with mutual trust. Now there is a frigidity in your interactions. You’ve been torn from your blissful ignorance.

“Those men were seeking revenge like you gathered,” he begins to explain. “I lead a coalition that prevents the sale of drugs on the streets. You saw yourself what levels they’re willing to stoop to, didn’t you? This was meant to be a last ditch effort. To use you as a bargaining chip to renegotiate the terms we established months ago, so they could flood the streets with drugs once more.” 

The words seem truthful enough, yet you still have your reservations. “You lead a coalition...? Is it like, a government position? I don’t understand that.” 

“Precisely. I can’t go too deep into it for that very reason, [First],” he places his hand over yours, and you let him. “Please, let me continue to protect you. Now that you’ve been involved with me... I’m afraid something like today could happen again.” 

It makes sense more sense than you care to admit. That doesn’t mean you want to accept it. What choice do you have? They struck in the middle of the day, at a public mall. Next time, you might not be so lucky as to have this outcome. You’re not sure if you could even sleep soundly at night after what you’ve gone through, knowing every moment might be your last. Your body feels heavy, and the blood drains from your face. Giorno came to you, saved you, how can you continue to doubt him? He put his life on the line for your sake. Who is to say those men earlier weren’t lying as a final act of cruelty? Bottom lip quivering, you squeeze his hand tightly, not that he seems to mind. 

“GioGio... I’m sorry. I’ve been awful to you,” you sniffle, wiping away at your tears. “I was scared... I didn’t know what to do, if they’d hurt me, god, if they’d kill me--” 

“I know, I know.” He beckons you to his chest and you gladly accept the offer. The expensive fabric rubs against your cheek, and you openly sob against him. Giorno takes a moment to steel himself, before wrapping his arms around you. He’s never been the best when it came to physical affection, you noticed it never came naturally to him. You can’t bring yourself to care any longer. The comfort and security of being here with him is too good to pass on. 

“Let’s get you home. I’ll take care of everything, so leave it all to me.” 

[ladyartemesia]

OREOs... and Electroshock Couples Therapy

You and infuriating precinct playboy Jeon Jungkook go undercover to lure out a killer targeting engaged couples. Literally nothing goes according to plan...

Genre: Fluff/Comedy/Suspense

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Trope: Enemies/Rivals to Lovers ~ Fake Dating

AU Type: Loosely Brooklyn 99 (with a hint of Smallville) Police Detectives AU

Word Count: 3315

Rating/Warnings: (PG-15) kidnapping with threat of harm (not graphic) ~ mature themes and innuendo ~ light/implied smut

“Your delusions have run away with you again.”

“My delusions? Now I know it was you. You’re even more insufferably pretentious when you’re trying to hide something.”

Jungkook grinned.

“Brilliant theory, Detective. Shame there’s no way to prove it.”

“You could confess,” you fumed tightly.

His grin became positively gleeful. You were this close to tasing him.

“Do you genuinely expect me to confess that I ate your last Oreo?”

“It was a violation of human decency.”

“Yes, and when we find the culprit, I’ll be sure to tar and feather him.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, Jeon.”

“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” Jungkook asked as he folded an arrest report into a paper airplane.

You were saved from responding when Captain Kim barked both your names across the precinct.

“Detectives _______ and Jeon. My office. Now.”

Namjoon sighed as he watched the two of you bicker all the way to the door.

It’s like having extra children. 

“We’ve got a case. Commissioner marked it top priority and you two are taking lead as of right now.”

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion and Jungkook raised a single curious brow.

“But Jimin is my –”

“Why not Hoseok?”

Namjoon raised a hand to silence you both. You weren’t teaming with your regular partners. Questions were to be expected.

“Jimin’s staying on that trafficking case while you work with Jeon. We need to draw out a perp targeting engaged couples. Thus far, all of his victims have been a male and a female, mid-to-late twenties. You two fit the profile, so...” he grinned, “congratulations on your engagement.”

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️ 

As special cases went, this one was … truly bizarre.

The victims always disappeared a few weeks before their wedding. Some couples were abducted, then later returned to their homes or vehicles with no memory of the previous 48 hours.

Others turned up dead in alleyways.

Ligature marks and burns on the bodies indicated the use of restraints and electrocution. After some digging, you discovered that all five couples visited the same jeweler and the same bakery in the process of planning their wedding.

Jungkook nibbled the tip of his pen, absently tugging his curls as he scanned the case files.

It wasn’t sexy.

It wasn’t. 

“Looks like this is the best lead we have. Even though some of them ended up choosing other bakeries and jewelers – they all came through those shops.” He tossed the pen across his desk and stretched back in his chair – causing his shirt to strain over his chest. 

You gulped.

Is it, like, hot in here? -your eyes lingered momentarily on his biceps- Why is maintenance messing with the thermostat right now? People are trying to work-

“Hello? Earth to Detective Space Cadet.” Jungkook waved a tattooed hand in your face. “Are we going with my idea?”

He had an idea? I must have missed it during that brief bout of thirstiness hot flash. 

“I – uh – was analyzing some of the victim profiles …-in my head-” you paused to loosen your collar – which was suddenly strangling you, “-so could you just run it by me once more?” 

Detective Jeon raised a single eyebrow.

“Daydreaming about me again?”

Yes.

“No. I was actually daydreaming about my last Oreo,” you leaned forward with an eyebrow raise of your own. “Really, it meant so much more to me than you do.” 

He laughed and you felt yourself smiling (against your better judgement). 

“Always so cold, Detective. I think you may have hurt my feelings.”

“Impossible,” you sighed airily, “we both know you don’t have feelings.”

“Says who?”

“Gina from Forensics.”

“Fine. Who else?”

“Wendy from Missing Persons.”

“Doesn’t count. I was very drunk.”

“Jimin’s sister.”

Jungkook winced. 

“Is he still sore about that?”

“I wouldn’t accept food or beverages from him any time in the next decade.” 

“That’s fair.”

It was your turn to laugh and Detective Jeon had the decency to blush. He recovered quickly, however.

“As I recall, there was a lot of feeling between those lovely ladies and myself.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Spare me Jeon. If I want to learn about baboon mating habits, I’ll watch Animal Planet.”

Jungkook hissed in feigned pain and clasped his hand over his heart.

“Ouch. Direct hit.”

“I am the top marksmen in the precinct.”

“Hey” he sat up – abruptly serious, “We’re tied.”

“For now.”

“Until I beat you.”

“Until you are beaten by me.”

He bit his lip and grinned – crinkling his nose in a way that was unfairly adorable. 

“Kinky.”

“Oh-KAY,” you swiveled away in your wheelie chair and threw a paper clip at him (which he caught handily). “You were telling me about your plan?”

“Yes. While you were daydreaming about me-” (you snorted at that, but he pretended not to hear) “-I suggested we couple up and head to those shops. Maybe our perp will take the bait.”

You shrugged, “Sounds good.”

Gathering your coat and bag, you tossed a quick glance over your shoulder - already halfway out the door. 

“I’ll swing by my locker and change into a dress or something. Meet me by the front gate in 10 minutes.”  

Jungkook followed after you - catching up as you entered the elevator.

“I noticed you never denied being kinky.”

His grin was seven different types of sinful and if you were even the tiniest bit weaker, you would have cuffed him to the lift rail and addressed his statement explicitly.

You, however, were no Gina from Forensics.

Instead, your features twisted into a knowing smirk as you steered yet another moment between yourself and the delicious infuriating Jeon Jungkook into safe and familiar territory.  

“Impressive,” you drawled cheekily as the doors began to close, “I can see why they made you a detective.” 

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️

The bakery was a famous family-owned establishment near the center of town. Its current owner, Kim Seokjin, had been crowned the city’s most eligible bachelor for 5 years running. 

The man in question was, at the moment, personally campaigning for your vote.

“Now open wide,” he murmured as he slipped a sumptuous square of Seokjin’s Signature Red Velvet ™ between your parted lips. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you moaned.

Seokjin chuckled. “Thank you. I always hope customers can taste my passion in every bite.” The seemingly innocuous words sounded positively lewd dripping from his luscious mouth. You briefly forgot how to exhale.

The baker leaned in a bit closer and brought up his thumb to wipe away non-existent crumbs from your lips, “I find it really helps me connect with them,” he whispered intimately.

You were literal seconds from licking icing directly off Seokjin’s finger when-

“Okay. That’s enough of that.” 

There was a firm tug on your elbow and you collided hard with Jungkook’s chest. It took a moment to regain your bearings (you were still slightly dazed from looking directly into Seokjin’s eyes), but suddenly Jungkook and Seokjin were staring each other down over a plate of cupcakes and all of Jungkook’s limbs were entangled with your own. 

His legs rested on either side of your hips, his left hand latched around your back and torso - pinning you to him from chest to knee caps, and his right hand -

A surprised squeak slipped past your lips as he fully palmed your backside.

Mouth agape, your gaze shot up to meet his, but Jungkook was still glaring stoically at Kim Seokjin. He didn’t even flinch when you pinched him under the arm. 

Frankly, you had not envisioned a scenario like this when you reported for duty this morning. Your mind struggled to process a reality where you were plastered all over Jeon Jungkook - surrounded on all sides by pastries and angry beautiful men - and oh my gosh that hand was still on your-

“Find what you were looking for, babe?” his familiar voice snapped with an extra edge of possessiveness that you absolutely - definitely - for sure - totally hated and did not make you shiver involuntarily.

Lies, lies, lies...

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. A cool smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“I think the lady was very satisfied with what I had to offer.”

Jungkook’s jaw twitched. 

Oh boy…

You learned long ago to dread that jaw twitch. 

It was the jaw twitch of I-will-win-this-even-if-I-have-to-break-every-bone-in-my-body-and-burn-down-a-building-in-the-process.

Visions of flying muffins and bloodshed danced behind your eyes. 

Not to mention Jungkook would likely wreck Seokjin’s face and that would be a travesty.

Time for some drastic measures.

Thinking quickly, you slid your hands up over his chest to bury your fingers in his hair and yanked his face close to yours.

“Baby,” you purred, letting your lips brush ever so slightly over his, “I wanna go look at rings now.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened immediately. Tension thrummed in the space between you. Your body suddenly seemed to poised to ignite as you pleaded prettily with him. 

“Won’t you take me, love?” 

The was a sharp flare of something in his gaze and the next thing you knew Jungkook was sweeping you toward the exit - right hand still firmly planted on your-

“I look forward to seeing you again soon,” Seokjin called out - in a tone more suited to a bedroom than a bakery. 

Jungkook froze. His jaw twitched again, but you were out of patience. 

“Come along now, Poodle,” you growled before dragging him out the door. 

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️ 

“What was that?!” you hissed after walking a suitable distance from the bakery. 

“I was about to ask you the same question. I can’t believe you called me Poodle!”

“You're lucky that’s all I did. Between the butt grabbing and the chest beating, I was tempted to bash both your heads in with the complimentary tea tray.”

He snorted. 

“I was just maintaining my cover - unlike you.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You’re my fiancé, Muffin. Drooling all over Kim Seokjin’s goodies while he touches your mouth doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m in a committed relationship’.”

Your jaw dropped and you sputtered out a noise that was equal parts guilt and exasperation.

“I was probing for information!”

“And he was about to probe right back,” Jungkook muttered.

“What was that?” you snapped. 

“I said the jeweler is on the corner of 5th and Womack.”

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️ 

The tension between you and your ‘fiancé’ was palpable by the time you finally entered the jewelry store. 

“What kind of ring were you looking for, Precious?” Jungkook gushed with nauseating sweetness. 

“The biggest and most expensive we can find, Cupcake!” you cooed through clenched teeth. 

For several minutes you wandered aimlessly through the store playing the role of a hard to please couple (employing increasingly more obnoxious pet names with each exchange). 

The clerk, a tight featured man with tiny glasses, kept shooting disapproving looks and sniffing loudly whenever you asked to see anything. After a few minutes of irritable huffing, Jungkook lost patience. 

“I’m surprised this place is still in business, Cuddles.”

You snorted, equally put off by the jeweler’s brisk demeanor. 

“I think we’re done here, Kookie Bear. I parked the car in the garage by Maxwell Market. If we get back in ten minutes, we won’t be charged for another hour.”

The last thing you remembered before completely blacking out was a sharp pain in your neck.

Then you opened your eyes to very real trouble.

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️ 

It felt like there was a knife in your forehead - probably a side effect of whatever drug was used to knock you out. 

As your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting, you became aware of several things at once. 

You and Jungkook were strapped to chairs facing one another in (what appeared to be) someone’s basement. Electrical stimulators simmered menacingly over various contact points on both your bodies.

...ligature marks and burns on the bodies indicated the use of restraints and electrocution…

Your gaze traveled cautiously over your partner. There was a cut near his temple - probably caused when he fell after being drugged - other than that he looked unharmed, but his eyes were still closed and his breathing seemed labored. 

“Jungkook,” you whimpered. Your voice sounded cracked and raw. 

How long were we out? 

After a moment his eyes opened and his panicked gaze darted frantically before landing on you. 

It suddenly occurred to you that his face might be the last thing you ever saw. The thought prompted a strange sort of comfort as well as a powerful surge of emotion. 

A single tear slid slowly down your cheek. 

Your head wasn’t entirely clear yet, but you could vaguely hear the jeweler rambling on about how he was going to save you both from the pain he suffered.

“What ...pain?” Jungkook’s voice sounded as rough as yours. He was still fighting off the effects of sedation. 

“The pain of lies,” your captor hissed. “My wife’s lies destroyed me. I lost everything. I never would have married her if I’d known-”

His unhinged monologue continued in that manner for several uncomfortable minutes, but he did finally get around to mentioning why you were chained up in his cellar.

“-to find the truth. If you want to save each other, you must tell the truth.”

Your eyes fell to your fingers, already knowing what you’d find there.

“Lie detectors?” Jungkook whispered incredulously.

“To know for sure if you truly care. Your lies hurt the one you love. Down here, your lies will kill her.”

“What are you saying?” Jungkook snarled. His voice dripped with real menace.

“I’m saying, if you lie, this will happen.” He pushed a button on the small remote in his hand and excruciating pain suddenly tore through your entire body. 

You screamed. 

“Stop!” Jungkook shouted. His body jerked against the chains and the chair creaked precariously beneath him. “I will kill you, you bastard!”

“No! You’ll thank me for sparing you the pain of heartbreak.”

“We aren’t engaged!” you gasped, still shaking from the aftershock. “This was a ruse - to - to draw you out. We can’t pass it-”

But the jeweler ignored you and cranked up the voltage on his machine.

“First question to the groom. Are you hiding anything from her?”

Jungkook swore and yanked against his chains again. 

“Answer the question or I’ll do it,” the jeweler warned. “Your silence can deceive as well.”

You whimpered in terror and Jungkook howled with rage.

“Yes. I am,” he bit out tightly. 

The voltage cranked again and another tear drifted quietly down the side of your face.

“What are you hiding?”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped in shame, but he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t.

“I do eat your last Oreo. Every time. The first one was an accident. I thought they were Jimin’s... I don’t even like Oreos that much... But I make sure I always get to yours.”

You couldn’t stop a pathetic cough of laughter. “You’re confessing to the Oreos? ...Really?” Your body shook as more silent tears tracked down your face. “Jeon Jungkook you’re so strange,” you whispered softly - almost tenderly.

The jeweler’s eyes narrowed.

“There has to be more than that!” He cranked the voltage again. “Tell her what you’re really hiding!” 

 Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

“She comes to see me when the Oreos disappear. I work mostly homicide and she’s narcotics. We were paired together on a task force a couple months ago and since then I...”

His eyes squeezed shut as he fought for the right words. When they opened again, he was speaking only to you. 

“Our paths don’t often cross, but when you find me to yell about the Oreos... it’s the best part of my day.”

His gaze dropped as he continued, “There hasn’t been anyone else since the moment we met…” He heard your quiet gasp and his mouth tilted into a small tender smile.

“There’s only you,” he whispered.  

The harsh scrape of a lever being pulled caused you both to jump. Jungkook grunted in pain. He passed the test, but the charge was live on his body now.

It was your turn to face the truth.

“Tell me,” the psychotic jeweler snapped - clearly disappointed that no one had died yet, “do you love this man?”

Your eyes widened and Jungkook’s head shot up. Your gazes locked significantly and you felt your heart wrench.

“It’s ok,” Jungkook whispered. “Just tell the truth.”

His beautiful face was filled with trust and understanding. 

You knew what he expected your answer to be.

You knew what you’d say if his life wasn’t on the line.

But only the truth would keep him safe. 

“Yes,” -your eyes fluttered shut - it was too much to face him when everything you buried deep down was now laid bare between you- “I do.”

You saw him flinch - as if he expected the pain to come.

But it never did. 

For a moment there was only excruciating silence... then the barest whisper of your name passing breathlessly over his lips. 

“NYPD! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

You had never been so happy to hear Sergeant Min’s voice in your entire life.

But he’d come too late to spare either of you a confrontation with the truth.

 🕵🏻‍♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻‍♂️ 

The next several hours passed in a blur. You were separated from Jungkook almost immediately. You caught one final glimpse of him as you were both loaded into ambulances.

His gaze stayed fixed on you as the doors closed. 

You vaguely recall giving statements and Namjoon yelling - a lot - like he always does when he’s worried. 

He hugged you so tightly. 

At some point you started to cry.

There was a constant stream of doctors and psychologists...

Then they sent you home. 

Mandatory Crisis Leave. 

Loud banging startled you off the couch and onto the floor of your apartment. It was only the second day of leave, but someone was already interrupting.

In hindsight, you should have known exactly who it was.

“Jungkook ... ”

He looked so wonderful it almost hurt. You savagely beat back the urge to slam the door in his face and bury yourself underneath a pile of blankets.

“I’m... really tired of eating those Oreos.” 

His jaw worked reflexively. After a moment, his eyes crept up to meet yours.

You nodded. 

It was literally all you were capable of doing.

“I want to talk to you every day,” he said with a little more confidence.

Tears began to prick the back of your eyes. You nodded again and he stepped slightly closer.

“I want to hold you. And not just when we’re undercover.”

You laughed. Tears began to fall in earnest.

Jungkook’s hand rose cautiously toward your face and you leaned forward ever so slightly, allowing his thumb to soothe away the wetness on your cheek.

“I am in love with you... and- and I have no idea what I’m doing,” he lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours, "but from now on... I want to do whatever it is with you.”

Pure burning joy bubbled up from your chest as you surged forward - finally pressing your lips to his.

There was laughter and more crying as you stumbled together into your apartment, shutting the door on the outside world to lose yourself in each other.  

As you lay in his arms several hours later with the echoes of his touch still humming over your body and your mouth still swollen from his kiss, you realized that what you’d been running from all those months was nothing more than your own fears.

Here - next to him - was where you were meant to be all along.

Ask My Muse: Have a question for the characters in this work? Send it to my ask box and hear their side of the story.

Endnote: This is an extensive rework of a piece I originally wrote for another fandom (if you see it elsewhere - but with Reylo - it’s me - I promise). It is based heavily on the plot of one of my favorite episodes of Smallvile (I was a huge Smallville fangirl back in the day). The dynamics are inspired by one of the greatest shows of all time - Brooklyn 99. I haven’t written much for the BTS fandom, but I would really love to hear what you think!  (Let me know what you thought pretty please?) Much like Jimin I survive primarily on takeout and praise.

[seokra]

IF YOU LET ME...| (JJK) PART 9

Series: If You Let Me

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining

Word Count: 2518

WARNINGS: Grinding/Dry Humping, Steamy Make-out Session, Guilt

A/N: Be prepared for a roller coaster ride of emotions, my friends.

The following week, you’ve spent every day at the gym with Jungkook. He kept to his word and taught you how to box. Demonstrating how your stance should look and how to throw a strong punch. His hands would find your hips, positioning you correctly, before nodding his head for you to begin.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way his hands would linger on your skin, making your nerves tingle beneath his touch. You also noticed the way his eyes would linger on yours long after he’s explained what to do, causing a spark to ignite in your chest. To make matters worse, you couldn’t help the way your breath would hitch whenever you observe the way his muscles contract and expand as he exercises beside you. He was a walking Adonis, there’s no doubt about that. Still, you tried your best to shove away the feeling, ignoring the stutter of your heartbeat whenever you’d feel his body brush against yours.

After working out, you’ve created a routine of having dinner with Jungkook. Your meals always started casual and easy, but always ended with some alcohol in your veins and heat on your cheeks. You’ve always known Jungkook is a flirt, more so when he gets some alcohol in his system. You just never thought you’d be on the receiving end of it, or maybe you just never noticed it before now. But the way his eyes sparkle at you while he flashes that devilish smirk of his, has butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Honestly, just the littlest things are catching your attention all of sudden. For example, the way his fingertips would just gently touch yours on the tabletop has electricity flowing through your hand and up your arm to your heart. You think maybe it’s just an accident, but he doesn’t move his hand away, and you don’t want to move yours either. In fact, You find yourself wanting to feel his hand in yours again. Since that first night at the gym, you can’t stop thinking about the feel of his large hand, rather it be around your own or on your body.

He’d always take you home afterwards and leave you at your door. For some reason, you have this urge to ask him to stay, not ready to part from him yet. But because he’s just your best friend, you fight back the feelings and reluctantly enter your apartment alone. You’d end your nights with your rabbit vibrator, always envisioning Jungkook’s tattooed hand. It seems you’ve developed quite a hand kink, Just imagining his long fingers wrapped around your throat has your core clenching. God, you really need to get laid… maybe then, your insane fantasies of your best friend will stop.

You wake up the next day and find yourself counting down the hours until you get to see Jungkook again. The image of his adorable bunny smile gets you through your work day, and then you’re off to finally meet him at the gym, beginning the cycle of emotions again.

Today, Jungkook is coming over for your weekly movie night. You feel anxious, busying yourself with tidying up your apartment, even though it’s already pretty clean. You keep moving around your throw pillows and rearranging your shoes by the door. You also find yourself constantly checking your reflection more than normal. Why are you so nervous? It’s only Jungkook! This isn’t the first time he’s been over and it’s not like it’s a date. So why do you feel like you’ll throw up a kaleidoscope of butterflies at any second?

Before you can ponder on your nerves any further, you hear Jungkook turn the knob of your front door. You quickly throw yourself onto your couch and turn on the TV, trying your best to seem at ease. He enters your apartment and joins you on the couch.

“Hey,” he greets you as he sets the bag of snacks he’s been carrying onto your coffee table.

“Hey,” you respond, disliking the way it sounded like you were out of breath. Luckily Jungkook hadn’t noticed, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. You reach into the bag, looking for your favorite bag of chips, but you’re only met with healthy snacks like protein bars and dried fruit. You turn and look at Jungkook puzzled.

“What?” he questions, seeing your expression.

“Where are my chips?”

“I didn’t get them,” he shrugs.

Your eyebrows pinch together. “Why not?”

“Because they’re not good for you, Y/N,” he chuckles.

“So?” you huff.

“So, if you’re trying to get healthier, you gotta start eating healthier.”

You roll your eyes at him before you grab the banana chips out of the bag.

“What are we watching tonight?” he asks as he throws his arm behind you to rest on the back of the couch. Your eyes widen at the action, and you immediately tense up, unable to move or even look at him.

“Hello, earth to Y/N,” Jungkook waves a hand in front of your face. You blink and whip your head to look at him.

“Huh?” your breath catches in your throat when you realize how close his face is to you and you can’t help yourself from glancing down at his lips.

He gives you a goofy smile before repeating himself. “What are we watching tonight?”

You scoot back to put a little distance between the two of you, nervously pulling a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, um, what are you in the mood for?”

Jungkook leans back into your couch, eyes casting up to your ceiling as he thinks it over. “Hmm… I’ve been thinking about watching this new comedy on Netflix that just released,”

“Okay,” you say as you hand him the remote. He quickly finds the movie and presses play. You pull up your legs, crossing them and leaning back into your couch, forgetting that Jungkook’s arm was behind you. He starts to absentmindedly play with your hair, causing you to quickly look over at him. He isn’t paying you any mind, his focus is on your tv screen. Does he know he’s playing with your hair? You think to yourself. You run your hand over the back of your hair, which causes him to stop touching it.

“Oh, sorry, I-I didn’t realize…” he stammers, looking at you with his large doe eyes.

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a smile.

“Can I get some too?” he asks, motioning towards the bag of banana chips sitting in your lap.

“Oh, sure,” you move closer to him so he can access the bag easier. His arm slides off the back of the couch and lands around your shoulders. As he grabs a handful of banana chips, his arm pulls you closer to him. You narrow your eyes at his profile. He knows what he’s doing, that jerk! You catch him eyeing you from his peripheral as he stuffs his mouth, but he quickly looks towards the TV again, unphased by your glare. You shake your head as you try to focus on the movie in front of you.

Jungkook is trying his best to concentrate on the plot of this movie, but anytime you throw your head back laughing at something hilarious that happened on the screen, he can’t help but glace your way. His heart swells at the melodic sound. He’s reminded of the first time he ever heard such an adorable sound; the moment he knew he had fallen for you.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” you ask him, still laughing. He can’t help but brightly grin at you nodding his head, even though he had missed most of it due to watching your reaction instead. You’re covering your mouth, hiding your stunning smile as you slap your thigh from laughing so hard. God, he loves you. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this; his heart fills with joy at the sight.

As you calm down from your laughing fit, you wipe the tears piled up on the corner of your eye. You glance at him and your heart skips a beat. He’s looking at you so endearingly. His eyes soft with an adoring glimmer, bunny smile on full display.

You give him a light shove. “Stop looking at me like that, you dork.”

“Like what?” he questions, a smile still planted on his face.

“Like that!” you exclaim, giggling. He could listen to that sound all day.

“Didn’t realize I was looking at you a certain way,” he shrugs, gaze falling to his lap for a short moment before returning to your face.

You lock eyes with his, smile faltering a little as you watch his smile slowly morph into a soft smirk. Your eyes land on the tiny dot beneath his bottom lip, admiring it. How can a freckle be so adorable? You don’t realize it but you bite your lip, drawing his attention from your eyes to your mouth before they flicker up to your eyes again, and you meet his gaze. His face remains soft, but his doe eyes have become more intense, staring at you with a look of want and longing. He starts to lean in closer to you, and your breath hitches. You stare at him wide-eyed while your heart rate begins to accelerate against your rib cage, threatening to break through. He’s so close you can feel his breath fan over your face. All of a sudden you lose all of your senses. The only thing you can focus on is him: the smell of his cologne; a combination of musk and jasmine, the heat radiating off of his body, and the sight of this beautiful man in front of you. Your mouth goes dry, causing you to force some saliva down your throat. Jungkook’s eyes flashes towards your throat as you swallow before finding your eyes again. You keep your gaze locked on his as his nose brushes against yours, lips ghosting over your lips but doesn’t touch. God, you just want to taste his lips. If you lifted your head just a centimeter, you’d be able to finally feel them against your own, but you hesitate, waiting to see what he does. He gently rests his forehead against yours and it feels like he can see right through to your soul. Your heart is beating so hard you almost don’t hear him speak.

“Y/N,” he calls, breathless

“Yes?” you sound just as breathless.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Unable to speak, due to your jumbled mind, you nod your head. That is all the permission he needs before his lips finally capture yours in a soft, gentle kiss. His hands reach up to caress your face as his lips slowly move against your own. His tongue juts out to lick at the seam of your mouth and you part your lips, granting him access. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his wet appendage around yours. You moan into his mouth as your hands find the nape of his neck, grabbing onto his long tresses. Jungkook lets out a groan at the sensation and you happily swallow it. Your mind is clouded with only thoughts of him; the feel of his soft lips against your own, the way his velvet tongue tastes like bananas, and the way his hair feels like silk between your fingers.

His large hands slide from your face down the sides of your body to your hips before lifting you and placing you onto his lap. You straddle him and press your chest against his, deepening the kiss. You capture his bottom lip between your teeth and gently tug, eliciting a moan from his lips which causes a flash of arousal at your core. You grind your hips into him, and his hands find purchase on your ass. Jungkook firmly squeezes it before running his palms up your back. His tattooed hand weaves into your hair at the back of your neck, gently tugging it, causing you to expose your neck to him. He leaves wet kisses along your jaw, slowly traveling down the column of your throat. He nips at the sensitive skin where your neck and shoulders meet, making you gasp. He quickly circles his tongue over the bite, soothing it before licking a stripe up the side of your throat, causing a shiver down your spine. His lips find yours again, and the kiss becomes more fervent than before, leaving you breathless.

You break from the kiss for air. As you look down at him beneath you, he has this lovely twinkle in his eyes. It makes your heart stutter. His hand travels to your cheek and you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“God, I love you,” he breathes out.

Your eyes snap open upon hearing his words. No. You can’t do this. You shouldn’t have done this. This was a mistake. How could you stupidly jeopardize your friendship like this? No. Jungkook can’t love you. You shake your head as you start to back away from him.

Panic sets onto Jungkook’s features as you start to withdraw yourself. “No, wait, Y/N. Let me explain.” He tries to grab for you, but you move out of his reach.

“This was a mistake,” you whisper more to yourself, but Jungkook hears it and his face falls. That’s the sight you didn’t want to see. The hurt painted on his beautiful face was what you dreaded most.

“Y/N, please let me explain. I-I'm sorry. Let’s talk this out,” he pleads, but you just shake your head.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter as you make your way to your bedroom. Jungkook follows you and catches your wrist before you reach your door.

“Y/N.” You keep your back towards him, afraid to face him and see the hurt in his eyes from your rejection. “Please.”

“You should leave.”

“What?” He drops your wrist and you finally look at him, sorrow in your eyes.

“We shouldn’t have done this.”

“What do you mean?” he presses.

“I mean we’re friends, Jungkook! We shouldn’t have kissed. Friends don’t kiss each other, at least not like, like that.”

He narrows his eyes, blood boiling with anger. “That didn’t stop you from sleeping with Hoseok,” Jungkook throws at you.

You scoff at him in disbelief, crossing your arms over your chest. “Get out,” you order, tone cold as ice.

“Whatever,” he angrily mutters as he leaves.

Once he’s gone, you’re left standing in your hallway, angry, confused, and disappointed. Angry with the way he threw your relationship (or lack thereof) with Hoseok at your face. Confused by the feelings you had for Jungkook, and disappointed in yourself for the way you handled this situation. Frustrated with your emotions, you cover your face with your hands as you mentally scold yourself. What is wrong with you, Y/N? You exhale a deep breath. Did you just lose Jungkook? The thought breaks your heart and tears begin to fall from your lashes. What have you done…?

[ofmermaidstories]

Spoilers for the latest chapter of Something!

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize now because this is long; please feel free to ignore my wordy ass, I just have a lot of feelings about a certain someone that showed up in the new chapter lol.

I am still trying to get my shit together enough to write a proper review, but I did want to come yell at you for making the grape boy somewhat likeable, like...

Firstly, how??? Secondly, why?????!?!

Lmao, in all seriousness tho, it's nice to see him have a personality that isn't just "Mmmm, tits" *drools* I like to think that everyone in the series grows up and (mostly) out of the worst of their habits, and while Mineta is still a bit of a lecher here he isn't nearly as offensive/creepy as he comes off in show. In fact he's actually sympathetic in a lot way. The bit about seeing his first dead body before "getting laid" hit different like... He tries to play it off like a joke, but dude has to have just as much PTSD as the rest of them, maybe even more given that he wasn't able to fight back in the same way as someone like Bkg or Deku would be able to with their super powerful offensive quirks. They were all just kids, but they had to face hell full on from jump, and let me stop before I get too in my feelings lol.

In a lot of ways, he reminds of you the boys from school — crude. Taking for granted the safety from being in a pack, unchallenged. Leering at posters, saying off-colour things because no one corrects them.

That's exactly the way I view him, just a crude little thing that refuses to be put in his place for long lol. Still, with his being a hero I would hope that he keeps a cap on it while he's on the job--in fact I'm sure he does; if he didn't I'm sure that Aizawa would've yanked his licence by now, the likes of Deku and Kiri wouldn't continue to associate with him, and that's saying nothing of the shit that would get posted to social mead and such. I feel like the only reason he says what he says to the Reader is b/c she's a little gremlin herself and he knows he's got a bit more leeway, yanno?

The little hangout session that they had at the end of the chapter was weirdly heartwarming?? I want a friend(???) that I can be a surly little shit with and draw on and that will call my bf that's not really my bf but should be my bf because he's (that is Mineta) got more emotional intelligence than me lmao. Never thought I'd see the day when the grape would make for such an excellent wingman--tho I gotta wonder what that text he sent to Deku said. Probably something along the lines of "come get yo girl, she must be bored/lonely af because she asked to hang out with me" followed by "are you ever gonna close the deal or not? or have you already hit it??? >:)" just to give the guy an extra push (or maybe he's got a better sense of self-preservation than what I give him credit for, idk lmfaooo...)

Okay, this is WAY too long, I just had to get it out of my system lol. I loved the new chapter lots and I cannot wait to see how things play out in the next one!!

LOL, oh Puck, i adore you sdlkfjsdlkfjsdlkfj

me being a shit-stirrer/asking myself questions i don’t have answers for under the cut

Cat asked me this question earlier today, actually — why Mineta. And honestly? Part of it is the challenge he represents — like, how do you write him into a fic and mature him up so that he’s at the very least, tolerable, but also keep the backbone of his character (which is being a little degenerate). Like, is it possible? One of the most popular tags on ao3 for mineta minoru is something along the lines of “mineta minoru is replaced with shinsou hitoshi” LOL so…….. why didn’t I just use Shinsou? Or Aoyama or Iida, as Cat suggested? And beyond the part of me that delights in giving myself perceived challenges, there were two stark reasons that stuck out to me, when i was first mulling over his inclusion.

1) the fact that he can draw. it’s literally as simple as that. ever since the BNHA exhibition opened up in Japan and it was revealed that there was a scene in there with a class blackboard and the kids having their little drawing competition — and that Mineta was objectively the most skilled — i was like, “i have to include that”. LOL. it’s like you say, Puck, our Reader is a little gremlin herself — i thought if I was going to write a Reader that could handle interacting with him (ie, be in a position to pay him out) it was going to be this one. I think being in the manga industry and starting out on this journey of creating and drawing a Shonen manga sort of put Reader in this unique position of… being in what seems like a boys’ club? So she’d be used to the male gaze within her field. I follow Horikoshi’s assistant (former assistant?) on twitter and let me tell you, that man is not shy about the things that he likes to draw LOL.

the 2) thing was the philosophy i’ve sort of accidentally given myself LOL and that’s the fact that — as a Bakugou stan, if i’m giving grace to a character who was a literal violent bully then………. i can use my magic powers and hand it around to the other characters, too, LOL. and like, i would argue that with Bakugou it’s different, like we’re currently seeing in the manga how he has grown and learnt and is actively changing, which is the key to any kind of redemption. do i think Mineta will ever undergo that in cannon? absolutely not lmao, i see him as being being Hori’s idea of comedic relief, he’s always going to be a horrible little degen. but i want it for him…… if only to justify why the boys of Class-A collectively ignore his bullshit, for the most part? Like, none of them actively call him out on it?? i think of the time he tried to climb the wall to spy on the girls in the onsen — and how it was literally only Iida scolding him and how it took a child to stop him. Or the one when he found the stupid hole into the girl’s changing room and while the boys all looked grossed out….. Jirou’s the one that point an end to that?????? I saw a TikTok (derogatory) suggesting how like, none of the girls of Class-A would trust Aizawa, as adults, because he didn’t do anything to put an end to Mineta’s bullshit, and it was a devastating suggesting. None of us want to believe that our favourites would be passively okay with this kind of behaviour, right?? Which means……. Mineta’s gotta change LMAO. And if Hori isn’t going to do it then imma borrow him and do it myself. Does it work? I have no idea LMAO i can’t judge anymore, my meter is broken. but i’m gonna work with what i’ve given myself and it either will, or it won’t LMAOOOO kldsfjlksdjflkdj fic is about having fun at the end of the day. :’)

But it’s like you point out, Puck — Mineta is also a child, when these kids get trotted out to their first War. And he’s also not as offensively built as the hard-hitters like Deku and Bakugou and Shouto are. Even if it’s not explored in the manga, that War is going to change them all somehow.

So, my gameplan for Mineta was to grab ahold of the tiny things about him — the talent for drawing, the like one [1] observation he has about the wreckage of the war/pro heroes during the war arc, his tears for Bakugou when B wakes up afterwards and how he tells Deku how cool he was and how much he admires him, in the current Bring Deku Home chapters — and try to envision a sleaze bag who learns that the bullshit he pulls won’t be tolerated, even if he’s still ultimately a skeeze LOL. i mean, he’s never going to drop that er…. appreciation for the female form. and i mean, hey, live your best life King, i’ve distinctly noticed a hand-fetish floating around on this site lately so i’m not gonna be like “NO men can’t like ANYTHING”. But the thing with him being a sleaze and open with his leering is like, he’s actively made the girls of his class uncomfortable with that in the past — how do you write it so that he’s not doing that in a position of power with the women he works with (and saves!), as an adult?? Maturity only goes so far. How much can I bank on the war and the subsequent bullshit they’re gonna face from it on…. transforming him??? It shouldn’t be up to the girls he’s learning with to police him, they’re just children. I have a vague gameplan for it — whether or not it works will be one thing; whether i can naturally shove it into the fic is another, LOL. Guess we’ll see. 🧐

SAYING ALL THAT,,,,, i’m actually really glad you liked (???) the ending scene with him because it’s my favourite LMAO lkdjflkdsjflkdjfkldsjf. 😭😭 Reader is by no means perfect, and she and Mineta both need to start treating each other with more respect, but her bullying of him was fun to write and I like imagining a Mineta who considers himself to be close with Deku (whether or not Deku thinks the same is up for debate) going along with it. i could see this version of Mineta being enough of a shit-stirrer to say something like, “gotta lock that shit down” to Deku LMAO kdfjlkdsjflkdsfjdklsfj and then getting left on a skyscraper somewhere…. RIP short King.

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

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[jeonsjiddies]

idk you yet | myg

Summary- Yoongi was enamoured by the quiet girl who sat in the corner of his coffee shop every morning. word count- 1.5k pairing- yoongi x reader genre- fluff Warnings- a little angst? a/n: for my lovely @excusemin​ ; weirdly in third person, idk what i was doing lol Based on “IDK You Yet” by Alexander23

Yoongi was enamored by the quiet girl who sat in the corner of his coffee shop every morning. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d noticed how gorgeous she was and it caused his breath to get caught in his throat, and his voice to waiver. His cheeks flooded with embarrassment, but she only looked at him with understanding as she gave him the faintest of smiles. Her facial expressions made her seem a little unapproachable, as she looked a little angry but Yoongi learned that was nothing like who she really was. She had the kindest eyes he’d ever seen.

They sparkled even under the fluorescent lights of the coffee shop as she took her daily iced coffee from his larger hands, their fingers brushing only slightly but enough to light Yoongi’s entire body with electricity. She didn’t speak much, didn’t even really order anymore. Yoongi just knew what she wanted because she ordered the same thing every day. She came in at the same time, sat at the same table, with her headphones in and her head in the clouds as she sketched away in the same notepad.

She was a constant in Yoongi’s life that he didn’t realize was so comforting until one day, as he waited with her iced coffee, she didn’t show. Yoongi waited, he wanted for her to come, assuming she was running late, but when it was time to close and he hadn’t seen her, he felt his heart sink. He looked forward to seeing her every day.

He loved to watch her sketch her daily drawing, watching her eyebrows furrow in her focus and her tongue dart out to wet her lips as she concentrated. Yoongi was mesmerized by the action every time, willing himself not to envision how her lips would feel pressed against his own. He imagined they were soft and smooth and she would kiss just like her personality, soft but filled with passion. Yoongi would shake his head and remind himself that he didn’t even know her. But oh, how he wanted to. Yoongi had always been a man of few words, but he’d never been quite as shy as he was around her. Something about her just made him feel so nervous. She was beautiful, not just on the outside, but Yoongi could stare at her gorgeous face all day. There was something about her that drew Yoongi in, he could just tell that she was good.

Maybe it was the way the crinkles by her eyes looked when she smiled when small children would tug on her sleeve and ask what she was drawing. Maybe it was the way she held the door for strangers who were coming in as she was leaving. Maybe it was the way she’d leave little cartoon drawings on a napkin on her table. Yoongi wasn’t sure what it was but he knew she was special. She was kind. She was perfect. And Yoongi missed her.

He missed her shy smile, her adorable giggle. He missed the excited look in her eyes when she finished a sketch. He missed watching her work her magic on the paper. He’d snuck a few glances a time or two, and she was amazingly talented. How could he miss someone he barely knew? He wasn’t sure but being around her just felt… right. He wanted her near him all the time.

Four days went by and Yoongi was starting to get worried. Was she sick? Did something happen? He gnawed on his bottom lip as his mind whirled around all the worst case scenarios and anxiety ate at his being until he decided to do something. Was it against company policy? Yes. Was it creepy? Maybe. But Yoongi was going crazy. He pulled up her customer profile, as she usually ordered from the app, and looked at her cell phone number.

Taking a deep breath, he dialed it on his own. His heart pounded against his ribcage as it rang.

“Hello?” her sweet, if slightly confused, voice rang in his ears and it felt like all the tension left his body in that moment.

“Hello… Y/N?” he asked.

“Who’s this?” she questioned warily.

“This is Yoongi from the coffee shop on main street…” he coughed awkwardly, “I just… I haven’t seen you in a couple of days and I was starting to get worried and I wanted to make sure you were okay…” he rambled on.

“Oh. I uh, hadn’t realized you would notice…” she trailed off, “I have a little cold, and I didn’t want anyone else to catch it.”

“Oh! Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Yoongi asked, worry filling his chest.

“I’m okay, I promise! I do miss my daily coffee though.” she giggled, which was followed immediately by a pitiful cough.

“I can bring you one.” left his lips before he could think twice.

“Oh I can’t ask you to do that.” she immediately refused.

“I don’t mind. I get off soon. Unless that would make you uncomfortable. Which I get. This is weird. Oh god this is so weird I’m so sorry I don’t even really know you I was just kind of worried and I-” he panicked.

“Yoongi. Yoongi, it’s fine. If you want to… I wouldn’t mind the company? I just don’t want you to get sick.” she sighed.

“I’ll be careful. Text me your address? I get off at 6.” he offered.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” she said quietly.

“See you.” he replied, hanging up the phone and clutching it to his chest with his eyes closed as his heart swelled.

At 6:00, iced coffee in hand, he ran to the local corner store to grab some chicken noodle soup, then set off to Y/N’s apartment. His heart was hammering in his chest and he smell-checked himself at least seven times on the way there, and ate a half a can of altoids. He walked up to her apartment door and took a deep breath, knocking gently.

When she opened the door, wrapped up in her fluffiest blanket, her face was puffy from her cold, but Yoongi thought she had never looked more beautiful. Her nose was tinted red from the amount of times she’d blown it and Yoongi’s chest clenched with sympathy.

“I hope you like chicken noodle soup too…” he trailed off, holding up the container.

“That’s so sweet, thank you Yoongi. Please, come in.” she stepped aside, those kind eyes he loved so much beckoning him closer to her.

He set the items down on her kitchen table and turned to her, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Can I do anything for you? Do you need medicine?” he wondered.

She giggled at his nervous behavior and gestured for him to have a seat. She took out two bowls and separated the soup so they could both have some.

“Water? Coke?” she offered.

“I’m okay. I just had an americano.” he grinned.

She nodded and took a sip of her iced coffee, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Oh how I’ve missed these. You make them so much better than any other I’ve had.” she complimented.

Yoongi flushed at the compliment, and the two of them sat at her kitchen table, talking, laughing, and enjoying the presence of the other. The more Yoongi learned about her, the more he wanted to stay near her. She was strong and brave and funny and kind and generous. Yoongi found himself hanging on her every word, watching the way her lips moved and relishing in the way her voice floated through the air and seemed to caress him in warmth.

Yoongi had never felt like he belonged more than he did around Y/N. He felt at peace, like he’d finally found a place to rest his aching, tired soul. Her smile lit up the whole room, and he found himself lost in the seas of her eyes, which watched him as much as he watched her. Soon, she started yawning and the two had to bid one another goodnight, and Yoongi went home feeling like he’d left a piece of him behind in that apartment.

Weeks later, as Yoongi spent another late night in Y/N’s apartment, working up the nerve to confess to his new best friend, he found her sketch book lying open on her desk. He walked over and flipped it open, coming face to face with a drawing of himself, perched against the coffee shop counter with a grin on his face. Y/N walked into the room and dropped the bag of chips she’d left to bring him, her face red with embarrassment, mouth agape in shock.

“Yoongi, I can explain-” she began.

But Yoongi didn’t let her. He crossed the room and wrapped her up in his arms, right where she belonged and crashed his lips into hers. As she lost herself in the kiss and became pliant in his embrace, Yoongi found himself feeling like he was finally home.