#I just finished reading the first chapter of a physical book

[purplecelestial-buddy]

And the prize for being the most malleable person goes to.... Me!

[neil-jortson]

I cannot begin to describe my level of confusion rn

[minterim]

damn! monster by naoki urasawa is good as fuck !!

[slytherinstories]

Use Your Words

18+ Smut

Mattheo Riddle: your shyness has always been something your boyfriend loved about you however he decides it’s time for a change. He knows you never initiate sex or ask for what you want so he pushes you to the edge, giving you no attention until you go crawling to him with no choice but to say the words you have always been ashamed off.

Your boyfriend’s sex drive is unmatched, always in the mood, always needing to be inside you. You aren’t complaining you quite frankly love it since your sex drive is pretty high yourself. It works perfectly with you never having to initiate sex which is something in all honesty you are too timid to do. You only lost your virginity a couple of months ago with him and it’s a whole new world the desire he stirs up in you. You don’t even have to tell him what you need because he instantly senses it, the look in your eyes, how clingy you go around him. He knows you would never outright ask him to fuck you, always downplaying how turned on you are.

However you don’t know what has gotten into him today, whether he is just teasing you or not interested but he isn’t giving in. The truth is Mattheo knows you have got him wrapped round your little finger. One look from you signifying how much you need him and he is all yours. He has became adept at reading your little expressions, how your body acts when you are horny. But he loves a challenge and he wants to push you, see how much you really need him. And god if he doesn’t love the sight of you begging, something that has however became a rare occurrence with him physically unable to resist you.

So here you are sat in his dorm whilst he reads with a torturous ache between your legs. It has been there all day to be honest. You always get the most turned on with how loving and attentive he is towards you. When you first met him you had no idea you could even see this side to him but he is the biggest gentleman you could ask for. What to him is probably a thoughtless touch, a hand on your thigh sitting together, or holding your waist when walking sends flutters all through your body. You can’t get enough of him and after these all these months you still crave him like the first time he touched you.

Throughout the day you have hinted at your current state, all the usual tactics that pull him in. It started this morning with you squirming against his hard on hoping he could sense you needed him. Then you rubbing your thighs together in potions when he absentmindedly ran his hand up your legs. He shown no signs he had picked it up and you frowned thinking he must be distracted or something. You finally had enough and made it pretty damn obvious sitting in the common room on his lap. You looked at him with your best fuck me eyes, you clung to him placing soft kisses up his neck. But he just sat there talking to his friends oblivious.

Now here you are sat in his room not knowing what to do with your current predicament. Your practically sat on top of him your legs draped over his as he sits up reading. You trail a finger up and down his neck ‘Matty I’m bored can we do something?’

‘Just let me finish this chapter love.’ You roll your eyes knowing damn well this boy doesn’t have the attention span to give up sex for a book. But he does he makes you wait as he finishes his chapter and finally puts his book down. ‘All yours what you want to do?’

You shrug looking up at him with those eyes. ‘Hmm don’t know just want your attention.’ You smirk. He smiles softly ‘I can tell what’s up with you today being all clingy?’ He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

‘Nothing just want to spend time with you.’ You straddle his lap wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Yeah sure that’s what it is.’ You frown but ignore his comment. He makes it even worse by trailing one hand up and down your thigh, going underneath your skirt. The other circling your waist holding you to him. You pull him in for a gentle kiss thinking that will finally give him the hint.

‘Do you want something love why are you looking at me like that?’ You can see a little smile ghosting his mouth and you know for definite he is teasing you. You basically whine not able to stop the noise spilling out your mouth. ‘Matt.’ Your hips involuntarily grind down onto his dick which you can feel is already hard.

‘Yes?’

You sigh ‘do you not want to…?’

‘Oh I fucking want to love but you need to get better at asking for what you want.’

A finger trails across your cheek as he stares at you darkly. You ruffle your head into his neck pulling your bodies together as he wraps his arms around your wait and mumble ‘you already know.’

‘Oh do I? I’m not a mind reader.’

You pull back laughing a little ‘Matt yes you are how many times have you looked at my thoughts to know what I’m feeling?’

You chuckles ‘well that’s not the point’ his hand goes to the side of your neck his thumb moving up and down your throat ‘you need to start using your words. You want me to fuck you?’

You nod your head biting your lip hoping he can’t see the blush on your lips. ‘Then ask’ he says in that dominant tone that leaves no room for debate. Your mouth opens and closes physically not able to get the words out, dirty talk has always made you feel a bit nervous as you are naturally shy. Mattheo knows this though and he wants to push you, push that innocent nature so you can claim what you really want which is him.

‘It’s been a while since you begged me hasn’t it love? I think you’re getting too comfortable thinking I’ll give you whatever you want.’

Your hips are still trying to move of their own accord into him to get some relief but he grabs your hips in a death grip to stop you moving. ‘Please…’ comes spilling out your mouth.

‘Please what?’ How the fuck does he look so calm right now like this is a big game to him and you are a flustered mess.

‘I…I’ you stutter uselessly. This only causes his smirk to deepen. ‘Don’t be shy now love’ he traces his thumb over your bottom lip before moving close to your ear and whispering ‘I know all the filthy things you want me to do to you.’

A little moan escapes your lips as he pulls back waiting for you to ask ‘can you fuck me?’ The words sound foreign on your tongue and come out in a small whisper. He doesn’t respond just stares at you with that intense gaze and you pull him in for a deep kiss. You say into his mouth as you stop ‘please I need you.’

‘Mhm.’

What more does he want you to say? ‘And you have needed me all day haven’t you? Why didn’t you ask?’

‘I don’t know I just… you usually know.’

‘From now on if you want me to make you feel good you’re going to tell me. Understood?’

You nod your head looking at him with that same pained expression. The strength it has took for him today to not pounce on you the second you looked at him with those innocent lust filled eyes. He knows how intense the emotion is, how badly you need him in the moment and part of him is annoyed you didn’t think to give in and tell him. At least he has you here now, the most beautiful sight you begging for his dick.

‘Good girl.’ He flips you over so you are pinned beneath him with his hips pushed up against you. ‘How bad do you want it darling? How much do you want my dick?’

‘So bad Matty I’ve thought about you all day’ you stroke his cheek trying to convey the desperation you feel with your hips grinding against him. What drives him more insane is the fact he knew you weren’t a sexual person before him, he awoken this side of you and he loves how you only crave him.

‘How do you want me to fuck you?’

‘I…’

‘This is all about you baby tell me how you want it. Rough? Slow?’

‘Rough and��� hard.’ Your cheeks couldn’t get any more hotter and you have to look away from him in shame. One thing about Mattheo though is he never makes you feel guilty for your desires and that is what you love about him. There is no shame, no need to hide what you want because he fucking loves seeing this side of you and wants you to own it.

‘That’s my girl, I’m going to make you feel so good yeah?’ You nod your head frantically and he starts sensually kissing your neck. His hand goes down to your cunt ‘fuck you are so wet you really needed me huh?’

You bite your lip nodding again he sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead ‘sorry baby but I wanted to teach you a lesson you shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for what you want.’

He teases your folds for a few minutes before eventually pulling back and taking both your clothes off. He does it agonisingly slow, holding eye contact with you as he unbuttons your shirt and all you can do is lie there waiting until you are both naked. He finally continues biting your neck and you can feel his dick pressing against your cunt. ‘Matt’ you whine ‘can you just…’

Before you get a chance to finish your sentences he pushed his dick into you and you gasp at the sensation. Fuck that’s the feeling you have craved all day the moment he fills you up so good. You moan grabbing onto his neck for support. He doesn’t waste any time now driving his hips hard into you. You love even when he is rough he whispers sweet nothings into your ear and caresses you gently.

‘That’s my pretty girl you take me so well.’

‘Your my little slut aren’t you gorgeous.’

His words drive you insane every time sometimes you think you couldn’t cum of them alone. ‘Feels so goood…’

‘Mhm I know baby.’

One hand is a vice around your neck the other kissing you roughly as his hips slam into you again and again. Your mind is spinning not able to keep up with his kisses, moaning into his mouth as he continues the attack on your face. He stops and pulls back smirking at you which only causes you to wine at the lack of contact. Instead of waiting for him to start again you start pushing your hips up fucking yourself on his dick.

He looks down at you astonished ‘fuckkk…’ he quickly regains composure over himself wanting to be the one to fuck you nice and hard. ‘You ready to cum my girl?’

You nod your head ‘yess pleaseee.’

He settles into the position that he knows hits the right spot. ‘Fuck yes Matt right there!’ So much for being shy.

You finish, riding the high you have chased all day. You can tell it’s been a build up for him as well because he groans deeply into your neck shaking as he finishes. You are definitely asking for what you want more often.

[pastafossa]

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.” 

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room. 

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom. 

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.” 

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.” 

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.”                                     “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…” 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh. 

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.” 

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…” 

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?” 

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You  lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.” 

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.” 

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.” 

[slytherinshua]

ᜃ　SOFT LIPS, FLUSHED FACE　( 오시온 )

genre fluff , established relationship , sion x fem!reader   cw making out (not rly suggestive tho) , not proofread , ending is prob shit   wc 610   request for my pookie @blue-jisungs   note whipped sion agenda AND ALSO SHY SION AGENDA. he's too charismatic on stage we forget this man is soooo shy   net @kstrucknet @chrimatanet

Your boyfriend had always been clingy. Whether it was with you or any of the boys, it didn’t matter. Physical touch was Sion’s love language, and he seemed to have infinite amounts of it to give. Especially to you.

“Why are you pouting again?” you asked, focused completely on the book you were reading. You didn’t even need to glance in his direction to see his facial expression resembling that of a sad puppy. Whenever your boyfriend got uncharacteristically quiet, you knew he was pouting.

“You stopped kissing me.”

“For two seconds while I finish my chapter,” you reminded him, flipping the page. There were only three paragraphs left. He could wait. 

“Hurry up,” he complained, resting his head on your shoulder, eyes dropping down to skim the words on the page. He never understood why you always read romance books when he was right in front of you. Thirty seconds felt like hours to Sion, but when you finally moved your bookmark to the page, his eyes lit up. You didn’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise before the book was knocked out of the way, and Sion’s hand turned your head towards him for his long-awaited kiss. 

Long-awaited was an exaggeration, but there was rarely a day that your boyfriend wasn’t a little dramatic. That didn’t matter now, though, as you tasted his lips again, eyes falling closed naturally. Now determined to give your boyfriend exactly what he wanted, you pushed his shoulder back, lips still interlocked, until he rested against the headboard of the bed. 

Hands squeezing his shoulder, you finally pulled back from the kiss, slightly breathless. Sion’s eyes followed you, a slight smirk on his face, and yearning eyes longing for more. You smiled at him, pushing back some of his hair and cupping his cheeks. One hand traced his jawline, finger catching under his chin to lift it up. His soft eyes stared at yours, cheeks starting to flush under your touch. You only giggled at how cute he was, placing a few quick kisses to the beauty marks and freckles on his face. 

Sion’s eyes fluttered closed, soft giggles escaping his lips as your feather-light touch slightly tickled his face. He simply adored moments like this. When he was the focus of all your attention; when the world seemed to fade away, and it was just you two drowning in the love you shared. 

It wasn’t long before your lips found his again, gently dancing in tandem with the other. Soft lips and warm tongue falling into each other. Sion’s hands wandered to your waist, pulling you closer. You felt like you could stay like this forever, the taste of Sion’s lips and the warmth of his flushed skin under your body addicting you more every time you kissed him. 

Sion was the first to separate, breathless but still holding you close. There was a moment of silence before you both broke out in giggles. You fell completely into Sion’s hold, no longer trying to keep your head up as you nuzzled into his neck. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you ever close, as if even a single inch of space between you and him would end the world. 

“I love you so much,” you mumbled. The palm you rested on his chest allowed you to feel his heartbeat, still racing slightly. 

“I know.” Sion smiled, all the warm feelings of love swirling in his chest at the sound of your voice. 

“Thought I should tell you more often,” you whispered quietly, an equally big smile on your face as you snuggled closer to him. 

“I love you too.”

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,, @haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,, @lilly-cherry7,, @kpopandbookschild,, @taroddori,, @lexeees,, @voikiraz,, @xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @yvshi,, @nicholasluvbot

[revelboo]

Last night I dreamed about you (not a strange dream)Basically, in my dream, you were famous to the point that all two stories here on Tumblr were physical books/available on Kindle. One day, on my birthday, I received a gift from my friend: The hardcover editions of "give up/give in" and "everything is alright". Man, what a good dream. The covers were SO BEAUTIFUL, glossy and probably the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Like, I woke up sad, because they were so perfect that I wanted them to be real. The last thing I remember doing in the dream was finishing reading both books on the same day because i was so excited!

Anyway, thanks for making me go crazy over Transformers again! I've been following you since the first 'chapters' of Everything is Alright (I think I found your account when you were releasing the 5th or 6th).

Hugs from a Brazilian fan 💗🇧🇷(And sorry for any words I may have misspelled. I'm not very confident about my English writing 🙂)

Haha nooo this stuff is just purely just my bored rambling nonsense. It’s not even beta read or edited really- it’s super rough. I’m glad you like it, though. I hadn’t been active in the fandom in ten years or so myself before I started writing these snippets.

Give Up/Give In Pt 14

Earthspark Megatron x Reader

• Landing, he waits for you to get clear before transforming so he can kneel and offer you his cupped hands. “Where are we?” You ask, settling yourself in his palm as he stands and walks up to the massive, hidden door recessed into the mountainside. And grimacing, he tries to think of a nice way to explain that he doesn’t trust Ghost. That he likes having his own place to recharge where he doesn’t have to constantly worry or look over his shoulder. Not even Optimus knows about this place and he can appreciate that his old friend also hasn’t pried, respecting his privacy. But letting himself in, he’s suddenly painfully aware of how empty the space is.

• “it’s just a place I can escape to for quiet,” he says, but there’s an edge to his tone that makes you think that’s not the whole answer. You don’t push, though, looking around. There’s a berth against a wall. A storage locker, and what might be a shower area in a corner, but it’s spartan and doesn’t really look like a place someone lives in. No photos, no mementos collected over the years. It’s not a home. “It’s not much, is it?��� He asks as if reading your mind and you flinch, because what do you know about Cybertronians? Maybe uncluttered and empty is their design aesthetic.

• Wishes he can tell what you’re thinking as you look around. Do you find it lacking and lonely? It’s never mattered to him before, but now it does. Dorothy’s home is full of things. Odds and ends that humans tie memories to. What do you make of his hideaway without those human things? “It’s fine. You’re sure I’m not in the way here?” You ask, looking up at him and his spark warms that you’re worried about imposing on him. Just like you hadn’t wanted to impose on the Malto’s. Pulling the air mattress and blankets Dorothy had let him take from his subspace, he sets it up on a corner of his berth. The box of water and packaged MREs go beside it and he turns to find you watching him.

• “I like the company,” he says, nudging the box with a servo. Is he lonely recharging here alone instead of in the Ghost facility with the Autobots? He’s not given you a lot of details, but you get the impression he doesn’t trust Ghost and that Dorothy isn’t entirely sold on them either even though she works for them. Aware that you don’t have all the information, but okay with that for now since you don’t want to hound him. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he adds, letting you avoid the real world a bit longer. To take the time to get yourself together.

• If you’re here, he can keep an optic on you. Live up to his promise. Knows you’ll want to leave him eventually and go back to your life, but he’s not about to make you until you’re ready. And until then, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to. Someone that doesn’t only see the monster he’s trying to leave behind. “Thank you,” you say and he reaches out a servo, one corner of his mouth twitching when you lay a hand on it. Because your trust? It means everything and he wants to be worthy of it.

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[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started. 

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will. 

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them. 

And you claimed it suckered you in every time. 

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season. 

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer. 

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window. 

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.” 

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started. 

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it. 

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.” 

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.” 

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him. 

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens. 

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these. 

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes. 

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction. 

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out. 

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do. 

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care. 

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.  

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something. 

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you. 

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat. 

Definitely a brownish-gray. 

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system. 

The sight relieves him. 

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match. 

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm. 

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too. 

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you. 

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it. 

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him. 

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does. 

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow. 

 Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease. 

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back. 

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told. 

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back. 

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you. 

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire. 

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles. 

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you. 

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand. 

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration. 

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly. 

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back. 

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again. 

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster. 

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand. 

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament.  You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw. 

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice. 

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took. 

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth. 

You don’t think you need to say more. 

He knows. 

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask. 

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek. 

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment. 

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard. 

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told. 

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie. 

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest. 

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags. 

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself  anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?” 

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media. 

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego. 

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification. 

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new. 

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions. 

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries. 

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t. 

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that. 

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too. 

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private. 

You wonder when that happened. 

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes. 

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle. 

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking. 

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues. 

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot.  “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.” 

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex. 

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself. 

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you. 

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm. 

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t. 

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls. 

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough. 

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above. 

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa. 

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are. 

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock. 

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite. 

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook. 

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at. 

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker. 

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle. 

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful. 

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out. 

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence. 

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops. 

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave. 

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell. 

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly. 

“Me too,” Jungkook says back. 

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep. 

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer. 

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents. 

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh. 

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them. 

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow. 

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you. 

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.  

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.” 

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical. 

He remembered. 

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care. 

 It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove. 

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.” 

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[4theitgirls]

how to build a routine 🎀

#1 tip: be realistic! it isn’t realistic to go from not working out, not studying, and not taking care of yourself properly to working out for an hour a day and studying for 6 hours at a time overnight. think: what will you actually be able to do? don’t overdo it, failing an impossible routine immediately will just make you feel bad and you will be less likely to keep trying.

#2: similar to the first, don’t be afraid to start slow. don’t try to go from never working out to working out for an hour every day. it’s perfectly fine to start with 10 minutes a day, then 15, then 20, and so forth. same with things like studying. don’t expect yourself to be able to just jump into studying for hours without a break. start with a little at a time.

#3: goal setting. set specific goals day by day. for example, your goals today could be working out for half an hour, reading one chapter of a book, and finishing a class assignment. of course you may do more than this, but make a list of what you MUST get done today, and start with those things. also, set more than just physical goals. set mental ones as well. for example, you could say your goal for today is to incorporate something into your day that makes you feel fulfilled, whatever that means for you!

#4: as you’re starting out, try to incorporate small things into your routine that will boost your mood and keep you motivated for the rest of the day. for example, take time out of your day to do some yoga, bake, sit outside, pet your animals, whatever you may need to keep you going and finish what you need to get done!

#5: make a list of the things you want to get out of this routine. these things don’t need to have anything to do with the physical acts you want to do, like exercising or finishing a task. you could say things like “i want to learn to nourish my body more” or “i want to learn more about myself and my interests.” what do you want this new routine to do for you? what do you want to feel?

#6: don’t expect to feel motivated all the time. chances are, you will not. but know that discipline is much more valuable than motivation alone. once you make your new routine a habit, you will no longer need to feel “motivated” to get things done, because it will be second nature to you. consistency is key!

#7: realize that it’s okay to not always do as well as you would have liked to. there will be days where you’re not as productive or active as you had wanted to be or had planned to be that day. that is okay. understand that days like these will not ruin your progress, and definitely don’t give up on yourself or your routine because of them. pick yourself back up and come back better and stronger tomorrow.

[wearenotstraightkids]

So I’ve just finished the first book of Lockwood & Co and the most prominent thing I noticed, even from the first chapter, was the warmth in how Lucy saw Lockwood. At the start of the show, Lucy was shown to be somewhat indifferent (?) to him. But in the book, during their first meeting, her first thought when he smiled at her was how much it warmed and lit up that small interview room. Lockwood always presented himself as a cool, calm, collected, mysterious person. But for Lucy he was like the sun and trusted him to a point that his presence would be enough to keep the ghosts away in the dark. AND THEY’VE ONLY JUST MET

Here are some lines basically just describing Lockwood’s supposedly “radiant” self from Lucy’s POV

I read on my Kindle and enjoyed the first book so much i might get the physical copies🧡

[laswells-ashtray]

It’s 9 AM where I am now and I have work at 10 (no car). I’m pretty certain I have some type of chest cold/phenomena, but I’m not 100% sure. And I’m on my period.

Can you info dump about all of the little COD ideas you have in your head so I can read about it on my break or when I get off? If that makes sense? It doesn’t have to be full stories, just the Autism Thoughts.

Damn, and to think I just had dinner. To be fair it was an early dinner but it was homemade spaghetti and it was fucking banging. Don't die of illness and such, also if you've cursed me I swear to God because whenever anyone tells me about their period I end up synced with them and that's happened seven separate times. It's like fucked up Bluetooth. And to the one person who reads this and thinks I'm oversharing, what are you gonna do about it?

Ghost has, and will again smack Soap across the back of the head for referring to food as "orgasmic" in public.

Nikolai has a penchant for hazelnut Happy Hippos. He has sworn John to secrecy but God forbid that man smoke a joint and get near a box of those fuckers.

Alejandro and Rudy once got into an argument because Rudy admitted that out of all of Alejandro's nieces and nephews, Rudy has a favourite. The argument only ended because after Rudy named his favourite, Alejandro realised that it was his favourite niece too.

Once while drunk, a baby gay let Kate hit her vape in a bar and Kate considers it the lowest she's ever gotten while drinking, this is nowhere near true. She threw up in a man's mouth when he tried to kiss her while she was drunk in her early twenties, she does not regret it. Nor should she.

On more than one occasion, Farah has woken up to find Alex's face smashed against her shoulder with him drooling on her shirt. She'll never say a word because it's endearing, it's adorable and if she told him he'd never sleep next to her again.

Speaking of, Alex is a wrestling guy. He's always liked The Undertaker bit, especially the entrance music but he doesn't like the man behind the costume. Follows Stone Cold on an Instagram account that he has mainly for watching reals, he likes photos of Stone Cold with his chickens or his cats. Loved the Punkintyre feud, and sided with Punk because he's a good ol American boy but Drew McIntyre awakens something deeply bisexual inside of him. Likes watching Cena and Bautista in any movies they're in, loved them back in the day. Fucking loves Toni Storm's transatlantic, old-timey actress bit.

Valeria is a reader, likes a good murder mystery with a glass of wine and some takeout. Will sit down to read a chapter or two and finish the book. She has a shelf full of her favourites, she'll read them online first but the ones she loves, she buys a copy of. The only non-murder mystery books she owns a physical copy of are the Jurassic Park novels but she bought ones with sophisticated covers so no one would be able to tell unless they open up to the inside page.

He isn't scared of them but Simon is deeply mistrusting of swans. He refuses to explain why to anyone, he just calls them cunts and moves on with his life.

John's go-to move when Nikolai is irritated with him is to drop to his knees and unzip Nik's zipper with his teeth. The Russian goes for it every time even when he knows it's just John's way of playing with him.

[lonely-ey3s]

The Chemistry Between Us | part 1

reedrichards!professor x f!reader (teachers aid)

a/n: after the trailer release my mind went buzzing and i was clawing at the bars of my enclosure - i cannot emphasize how this man will ruin my life when we see this come out in july. ruin my life.

this is a 5 part series that will be posted over the next 2 weeks 💙

chapter warnings: fluff, talks of smut, reed is not married to sue, small age gap, (student is finishing degree, maybe 8-10 year gap), mutual pining.

word count: 3k

Professor Reed Richards has been your teacher for 3 classes now, chemistry, biochemistry, and now for this semester, physics. 

Now one could say you were super smart and taking all his classes was just your way of staying on track for your degree- which you were. But a part of you also was in it for reasons that wouldn’t be deemed appropriate according to the school’s code of conduct. 

On the first day of class, he went over the syllabus, explained what was expected of everyone, and showed a few examples of what you’d be learning, which was something he did for the other few classes you had attended. He was a very visual and hands-on teacher, always showing what could come out of something if the right rules, concepts, and procedures were applied.  

You noticed as he was introducing himself in the beginning, he looked around the group of students, and his eyes fell on you. He smiled and nodded your way as he continued to speak as if he was nonverbally saying, ‘I remember you’, which earned a blush and a small smile from you before you stuck your head down shyly to note what he was saying. 

You barely looked up after that reaction, too embarrassed to blush if he were to look your way again so you wrote notes on everything he mentioned as well as doodled when he began to go over the normal rules and expectations of his lecture, things you had already heard in the last two classes. 

Right on time, he dismissed the class after instructing that chapters one through four would need to be read before the next class but before you could make it out of the auditorium he cleared his throat and called your first name from his desk. 

You had gathered your books in your arms and were three steps away from the door when you stopped and looked back, “Yes, Professor?” you said softly. 

He used his hand that was holding a stick of chalk to beckon you to him, “Could I have a word with you?” 

You all of a sudden felt a little nervous and shy by this sudden request. 

You’d had this man’s classes for a little over a year now and not once had you two exchanged conversation privately. The only ‘interaction’ apart from today’s- if you can call it that was glances here and there while in lecture or the lab, and of course when you’d raise your hand to ask a question, but nothing more than that. However, not once did he call you by your name, always ‘Miss’ or your last name as he did with everyone else. 

You felt a warmth as your name rolled off his tongue, going down, betraying you between your thighs. 

You cleared your throat and made your way down the stairs towards him and the blackboard he had been scribbling on during class to show some examples of what you’d be learning. 

“Yes, Mr. Richards?” you said softly. 

He ran his hand through his hair, making a few curls fall forward, furthering the dampness in your panties by the downright sin that he was committing right now with how good he looked.

He looked down as he shuffled through some papers, “It seems that the university is advising for this semester I take on a teacher's aid...” he said as he focused on reading some papers in front of him, “It seems they think my work and study aren’t mixing well as I’ve been known to be a few moments late to a few lectures the last couple weeks…” he softly cleared his throat. 

“Well… if you were to ask me, everyone here knows how important and impactful your work is, Professor. To my knowledge, no one complains when those late moments do arise…” you softly said, “I think they may be a little dramatic to make you take on a student aide, sir.” you shrugged nonchalantly. 

He looked up and chuckled softly, finding your eyes, “So does that mean you wouldn’t want the job?” a small smile that could be mistaken for a smirk etched across his lips. 

Your cheeks betrayed you and turned pink, “I… I’m sorry you’d want me to be your aid?” 

He nodded and leaned his hands against the desk, making the veins in his hands and forearms pop as his sleeves were rolled up halfway up his forearm, “Should something disqualify you from being my choice?” he looked at you from your head slowly down to your feet then back up, checking you out from the way that small smile grew just a little wider before he continued. 

“You would sit in on my chemistry class which you’ve already done and passed with flying colors - but mainly it would be after lecture, helping grade papers, keeping things organized in the gradebook… no more than a couple hours every few days…” he trailed off as he looked at your book you were holding against your chest, and for a split second found his eyes wondering to your cleavage accentuated by the book being pressed against you. 

He quickly snapped out of it cleared his throat, getting too cocky with his gaze, and looked back down at the papers before he turned towards the chalkboard to continue scribbling calculations. Attempting to ignore the sudden and strong blood flow traveling down to his cock, “What do you say?” he asked softly. 

You thought for a moment then nodded, clearing your throat, “When do we start?” 

A couple of weeks had gone by since Reed had asked you to be his TA, and after that, he insisted you call him by his first name as now you were technically partners in the classroom. He insisted giving you some weight and respect when introducing you to his classes, especially when students that would come in and sometimes ignore you, not thinking of you as “good enough”-which bothered him.

You were smarter than most of the people that come through this school and to see you blown off mostly because you were a woman rubbed him the wrong way. 

One student called you a no more than just a secretary under his breath to his friends as you were grading papers as Reed lectured. Unfortunately, it loud enough that Reed heard.

Reed cleared his throat and turned around mid sentence, “Do we have a volunteer to finish this” within a second, not giving anyone the chance to raise a hand he called on the student to the front, humiliating and embarrassing him as he fumbled to guess a correct result, being caught off guard as he was one to rarely pay attention in class.

You had to put your hand over your mouth to hide the smile splayed across your face at the obvious act of protection for your respect Reed was currently displaying.

Once he looked at Reed to signal he was finished, Reed looked over the work and tsked, shook his head, then hummed disappointedly before he cleared his throat and called your name softly and holding out the chalk for you to take, “Could you please show us the correct way of solving this?”

You stood and brushed your fingers against his as you took the chalk from him then erased the young man’s work before writing and explaining the correct way to the class. When finished you placed the chalk down and turning around and walking past the student dusting off your hands, whispering as you passed him, “Not bad for ‘just the secretary’, right?” then winked and sat back down, catching Reeds eyes for a moment to give him a small smile.

After that, when you’d meet up after hours, he’d bring coffee and you’d pack the two of you something to eat as you both discovered that empty bellies and coffee don’t mix well. 

There were stolen glances here and there, especially when you’d sit in on his chemistry class. Small moments where he’d wink at you after saying a specific term as the two of you had come up with small inside jokes about specific topics when the hours got late and you both were running on fumes. 

Not only that- but there was a fog that settled over the two of you after the first two meetings called sexual tension. A fog that was heavy and in some ways smothering, as both of you clearly knew the other one felt the same way. However, something in you both held each other back from making any rushed decisions, both were too stubborn to act. 

You came into the auditorium where he was working through the same calculation for days now, damp from the rain that caught you on your way in on the one day you didn’t carry an umbrella. 

“Sorry I’m late, got stuck in the rain for a moment.” you chuckled lightly and said as you sat down into one of the front row seats, pulling out papers from your bag to start grading. 

Reed turned slightly to acknowledge your presence but eyes fixed on the chalkboard, “You know being late is ok, it’s not like I’m taking attendance with these meetings we have...” he chuckled under his breath. 

You smiled and looked up, “I know, but still, I’d like you to know that I do respect your time after all, Reed.” you said before pulling a hair clip out of your bag to tie your hair from being now damp and ruined from the rain. 

He didn’t hear his name come off your tongue very often as you still mostly referred to him as Mr. Richards or sir due to habit— but when his name does leave your lips, it commands his full attention. 

He turned his head around and saw you were damp, registering what you had said earlier, “Oh, you’re soaked! You must be freezing…” he grabbed his suit jacket from off the back of his chair and rushed over before putting it around your shoulders, attempting to warm you up. 

He could smell the shampoo from your hair when he put the jacket over your shoulders causing his feet to cement to the ground momentarily. 

You looked up at him, blushing at the immediate action to care for you was with him, “Reed…” you softly chuckled, “I’m damp, not soaked, but thank you, that’s very kind…” you smiled softly.

He lingered close to you for a moment, softly smiling and nodding as he never allowed himself to get too physically close, in fear he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. 

You looked down and bit your bottom lip feeling the tension at an all-time high, your heart racing as you could smell the faint smell of his cologne from his jacket around your shoulders and then his aftershave due to the proximity.  

You slowly rose from the seat and brushed past him, walking towards the chalkboard, causing his knees to buckle as he got a small whiff of your perfume. 

“What’s this?” you tilted your head, attempting to decipher the calculations as you leaned up against the long desk that went from one end of the board to the other, crossing one leg over the other as you put most of your weight on that one foot and your hands planted to the desk. 

Reed had his hand against the desk you came from as he caught himself when his knees gave. He swallowed and cleared his throat, looking down at the ground trying to compose himself, “I’m attempting to prove the existence that there are multiple branches of the universe.” 

You pursed your lips and bit the inside of your cheek, “You mean like a… multiverse?” you questioned. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his pockets to keep himself at bay, “Exactly.” he began to walk towards where you were standing and stood next to you, “This has only been theorized but there’s math to support it… and to support a kind of… time travel which is what I’m trying to prove alongside its existence.” 

He turned around and saw the way you were standing against the desk and if it wasn’t for his stubbornness not to make the first move with a student, he would have taken you from behind right then and there. 

You turned and sat on the desk, slowly sliding yourself back as you looked up at him through your big eyelashes, humming somewhat sadly, “Trying to go elsewhere… different timeline, sir?” you lightly ran your tongue between your lips, feeling them a bit chapped. 

He let out a shaky breath, watching your tongue dart between your lips, and then swallowed, looking down for a moment as he thought, ‘I am a man after all… and men can be weak, right? They can fall to their knees… fall to their knees and in between her thighs and be weak, yes?’ 

But then he snapped out of that thought when you called his name softly, he looked up and a small genuine chuckle came from him and made him smile to where his dimples showed and the small crow's feet near his eyes softly appeared. 

He shyly pushed some of his curls that had fallen on his forehead back, “No.. no, I wouldn’t dream of it…” and then turned his head back towards you and watched as your lips curled into a satisfied smile. 

“Good.” you softly nudge his arm with yours, “Can’t have you leavin’ me all alone to teach your classes, can we?” you joked. 

You chuckled with him and blushed when his hand accidentally brushed against yours after taking his other hand out of his pocket to lean against the desk as he chuckled. 

You both slowly stopped the chuckling and somewhat froze from the jolt of electricity that went up your hands throughout your body by the contact. 

Reed took one glance at your lips and you did the same to his before you breathlessly whispered, “Reed…I…”

Without a second thought, he was a moth to a flame, nodding, “I know…” before stepping closer to you, cupping your cheek with one hand, and pulling you towards him by grabbing your waist with the other, then connecting his lips with yours. 

He kissed you deeply and slowly, drinking you in like you were the last drop of water in a baron desert. 

Your hands came out from his suit jacket that you had over your shoulder to reach for him. One went for his chest while the other grabbed onto his tie and gently tugged him towards you as you continued to kiss him for what seemed like hours as it felt like time stopped the moment your lips connected. 

He pulled back from your lips and nudged your nose with his, softly panting, eyes closed, hoarsely whispering, "I... I wanna take you out for dinner before we..." he was stopped by your lips reconnecting with his, earning a soft groan from him and a soft moan from you. It also was followed by you spreading your legs for him to settle between which he quickly adjusted to. 

He could feel his heart beating quickly against his ribs, mind going a million miles a minute, and now that he was between your legs, blood was rushing to places he was trying to keep at bay. 

His hand moved down from your cheek to your thigh, which your skirt was now riding up due to your legs spreading, earning a groan from him against your lips. 

You pulled back and began kissing down his jaw and starting to lightly suck on his neck just above the collar of his button-down.  

He grunted and shut his eyes, whispering hoarsely, “F-fuck…” he swallowed as you moved your hand to tug at his trousers. 

However, before you could continue, you both pulled away in seconds as you heard footsteps and voices from outside of the auditorium signaling someone was coming in. You both were out of breath, lips were swollen, and obviously disheveled.  

You quickly got off his desk and went to sit in the seat you were at, keeping your head down as a small group of students walked down the steps toward Reed, who was now scribbling on the chalkboard, attempting to get rid of the obvious bulge in his pants before they made it to him, his chest heaving in panic. 

"Sorry to intrude on your evening, Professor, we just couldn't figure out this equation and needed some clarification." a young man said as he and a group of 3 other students came down to his desk, all from his chemistry class. 

You looked up to find him clearing his throat, “Yes, one moment…” he said softly, but his back still to the students. You could tell he wasn't able to turn around due to what had just transpired between you two, knowing what you briefly felt against your hand before you had to pull away. 

You stood and cleared your throat, tucking your hair behind your ears, "I think Professor Richards may have hit a groove in his calculations, why don't I take a look?" you smiled softly at the group. 

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief hearing you save his ass. He continued to softly scribble while listening to what you were telling them, enjoying whenever he could hear your voice, now dizzy on it.

They smiled knowing you were the teacher's aide and came over, showing you the paper which had an equation written out that Reed had assigned out yesterday at the end of the lecture. Below are their notes on how they calculated the result so far. 

They explained where they were having trouble, and you kindly had them all stand around you as you sat back in your seat and wrote out some examples of how to solve the problem without giving them the answer to Reed's assigned question. 

They all nodded, understanding where they were going wrong and how to proceed from there, and thanked you before taking their papers and walking back up the stairs, shutting the door behind them. 

You kept your eyes down but as soon as you heard the door latch closed you looked up to find Reed leaning against the desk, arms spread wide, eyes locked on you, grinning like a schoolboy, a curl falling onto his forehead, "Thank you for that..." he nodded his head up the stairs. 

You blushed and nodded, "Of course..." You cleared your throat softly and looked down at the paper you were grading shyly, "After all, it is my job to help out when those things happen, right?" you began marking up the paper with notes. 

He nodded, “Right.” 

He took a moment then looked down shyly, before he bit his bottom lip, stood up straight, and walked over to you, "I uh..." he cleared his throat and bit the inside of his cheek, "Dinner, you and me, tomorrow, I'll pick you up at 6." he stated, hands in his pockets. 

You continued writing on the paper, purposely avoiding eye contact, smirking to yourself, "Are you asking me to dinner or telling me, Professor?" 

He clenched his jaw and brushed his hand through his hair, smirking before crowding your space and putting his index finger and thumb on your chin to pull your gaze up to meet his. He cocked his eyebrow and licked his bottom lip, "If I'm going to continue what almost happened on that desk earlier… which I very much would enjoy doing to be very clear..." he leaned down slowly, lips inches away from yours, brushing his nose against yours softly, glancing down at your lips hungrily, then looked up into your eyes, "I'm going to take you out to a dinner on a proper date, first." 

You nodded, and your breathing became quick but quiet, that warmth between your thighs coming back again, your core clenching around nothing by the confidence he was exuding right now. 

You pursed your lips together for a moment and then repeated, "Dinner. Tomorrow. You and I. You'll pick me up at 6 pm..." you blushed and said barely above a whisper under his gaze.

“Good girl…” he gently kissed your nose then walked away, back to the chalkboard- leaving you speechless and blushing the deepest shade of red.

Masterlist - Next Chapter

[deadandphilgames]

A note from Daniel (new epilogue from You Will Get Through This Night)

Thank you for reading This Night. Writing this book in 2021, while sitting locked down in a lightless basement apartment for months, had a certain self-fulfilling irony that was not lost on me.

In many ways, I wrote this book for not only my past self that I wish could have known these things when I needed them most - but for the guy sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable, hunched, t-rex-esque position typing, that needed it right then. Like many of you, I thought those particularly fun couple of years were a temporary inconvenience, that I wouldn't have to age the book by diving into. And here we are. I hope you enjoyed that new chapter about resilience and whatever the hell a 'polycrisis' is. Turns out certain global events do have an additional effect on our mental health - it's understandable that you may try to power through it and pretend it never happened, but we all deserve to take whatever time we need to honestly process how life makes us feel. I hope you're doing alright. My journey of reflecting honestly on my own life experiences and lifestyle while writing was …like spontaneously punching yourself in the stomach. "Wow. I really live like this? That is apparently not conducive to a healthy mind. Oops. Guess I'll go touch some grass." I'm happy if that made this a more entertaining read occasionally.

Even now, I find myself continually re-reading the book in those small moments of first emotional reaction to situations where I now at least think "Wait - what was I supposed to do here? Right. Not catastrophise." If this is you - that is fine. You are not expected to perfectly memorise this book or retain all knowledge you hear in life. I know I don't. If you're ever sat next to me in the emergency exit aisle of a plane, know that you may be required to physically throw me out of the door in order to inflate the slide because I was busy during the briefing, imagining how my life would have been different if I actually had the nerve to dye my hair black that time in school. I am at peace with that.

It was honestly terrifying for me to try and mine the content of my life to try and actually illustrate advice for people that may really need it …for me to honestly look at the balance between joking about my mental health, and really getting real. Hey - if your attempt at opening up via some humour comes out a bit offensive, you still get points for at least putting it on the table. That's progress.

This is not a book about me. I am here just as an example of terrible behaviour that you have permission to have an inappropriate public transport snort at, and as a writer who has repeatedly not finished traditional 'self-help' or scientific study books for being dry, unrelatable and preachy. I just hope you found this moist, identifiable and accepting of all of your beautiful flaws. So many flaws. I often worried if any of the material was maybe obvious, or something you could stumble across on the second page of Google - then I had a small moment of honesty with myself contemplating my own ignorance, commitment to procrastination, attention span …and the fact that factually just 0.63% of all people searching online, ever bother clicking to the second page of results. If you already knew some of this, good for you. Honestly. You must literally be happy with yourself. I'm just looking in the mirror and trying to do something for the 99.37% of humanity that spend their lives never successfully researching how to not lay awake at night fantasising about their doom. Look forward to the upcoming pocket size book of 'offensively self-destructive jokes' by Dan - or 700-page memoir of my yet un-girthy, mostly unremarkable life so far if that's what you're really looking for.

Perhaps the most terrifying result of releasing this book into the world, has been coming face to face with those of you that have read it. For in these moments, all of my protective self-deprecating persona comes crashing down in an instant when someone says this book made them feel better. Hearing that this book was the first time they finished anything tangentially related to self-improvement, or that just one thing they read was a new perspective on a part of their life they needed, makes me feel my mission in life is already complete. Seeing it be recommended by bookstores amongst all the other choices, hearing that people have shared it with their therapists or had it suggested to them by a professional, is an unbelievable seal of approval that I appreciate. I am so inarticulably grateful to have been given the opportunity to do anything that could make your life easier, more peaceful, more enjoyable. I've met people who annotated this book with post-its, told me they listen to audiobook exercises on their commute - and even a few people that have had illustrations tattooed onto them as a symbolic reminder of a message.

All of this puts that year of typing like some kind of infinite monkey at a typewriter into perspective. I'd do it all again. Mostly. It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be the guy whose name is printed on this book, and I just hope that reading it helped you, as much as writing it helped me.

Love and good luck.

- Dan

[dilxcc]

chapter one

summary. in which, he fell in love with a girl who loves books . . .

contains. fem!reader, fluff, meet cute, light hearted romance, grammatical error

masterlist

he for one, thinks that going to the bookstore is a waste of times. why does anyone even bother going to the bookstore to buy a new book because they had finished reading one?

atsumu hates the way that it's so quiet in the bookstore. it was a boring place in his opinion. why do people-

his train of thoughts stopped the moment his eyes landed on you. you looked cute. your nose scrunched a little as you struggled to reach for the book you wanted. "need help?" atsumu stride over to you, a confident smile plastered on his lips.

"yeah, i just can't reach for that book," his eyes went to see the book that you pointed at. "a book about cats?" he smiled in amusement. "that's the one," you replied with a shy smile.

your eyes went to scan his feature as he reached for your book. he looks good. you wondered what good things you did in your past life to have a handsome stranger helping you reach for your book. "thank you," you muttered, taking the book from his hand. "do you always come here?"

his question caught you off guard. you hadn't expect for him to be interested in getting to know you at all. "y-yeah," you managed to stuttered. "i come here twice a month. it's after i finish a book. to buy a new one," you rambled awkwardly.

atsume chuckled to himself. you were so damn cute. did you know that?

"well, i don't come here often. in fact, it's my first time here," he smiled proudly. "so, you don't like reading then?" you asked him with an amused smile. "mhm. i'm just here with my friend. he likes reading," the blond shrugged.

the two of you fell in a comfortable silence before he cleared his throat nervously. "right! i'll- i'll go and find my friend now. see you around," he waved at you before walking away.

your heart were thumping like crazy inside your chest.

.

atsumu felt like he was on cloud nine. he felt hazy. like he was dreaming. he didn't even realize that he had arrived home. but even then, he failed to notice osamu calling his name. that is, until his brother decided to get physical - by smacking the back of his head.

"what was that all about?!" he hissed slightly. "done daydreaming? i've been calling your ass for the eighth time," osamu sighed, face-palming himself. "i wasn't daydreaming," atsumu pouted his lips, his eyes looking away from his brother. "what do you want to eat?" osamu asked, his attention returning to the rice ball that he had been holding this entire time.

the blond male only shrugged. "you're the cook," he laid his head on the table, watching his brother pulling out ingredients from the fridge. "is that the girl you're hung up on?" osamu peeked at his brother's phone. atsumu immediately turned his screen to the table and looked up at his brother in annoyance. it wasn't like he had found your socials. he doesn't even know what your name is. so why was he so effected by the question. "it's no one," he huffed, crossing his arms together like a child.

"no one that got your cheeks red. sure," osamu laughed before going back to cooking. atsumu lets out an annoyed huff. "you're such a busybody," the blond muttered under his breath with an eyeroll. atsumu watch as his brother proceed to make dinner for the two of them. "when are you moving out?" the older male suddenly asked. 

"you tired with me already?" atsumu scoffed. "'m still searching for an apartment," he continued, his finger drawing mindlessly on the table. "just tell me if you need help," atsumu only hummed at the offer.

.

it was unexpected. but the next thing he knew, he was already setting his foot inside the bookstore. this time, alone. his eyes wander around, taking in every corner of the store and every aisle to find you. he figured that you wouldn't be here so he wondered why he was even walking around the store like he had something better to do. 

but of course you wouldn't be here. he remembered. when you said that you're only here twice a month. but it had only been a week after your encounter with him. surely you haven't finish reading the book you just bought, right? it was stupid how badly he wanted to see you. how badly he wanted to introduce himself properly this time. 

for the next few weeks, he kept on coming back to the bookstore but ended up empty-handed every time he turned up at his apartment. "where have you been? i asked your friends and they said you didn't show up for training," osamu questioned his brother while keeping his eyes focused on the tv. "the bookstore," atsumu shrugged and flopped onto the couch. "the bookstore? since when did you like reading?" 

"i didn't. just bored," he huffed and scrolled through his phone. "so bored that you would visit the bookstore?" osamu teased. he ignored his brother's comment and focused on the screen of his phone instead. for a while, they sat in a comfortable silence when suddenly, atsumu threw his phone to the wall. "what the hell?!"

the blond's face were red and he was too flustered to say a thing. he had found your social. and it was through your mutual friend. he slowly went to pick up his phone, checking it for any damage. when he finds none, he immediately drag himself to his bedroom. osamu was still surprised by his brother's odd behaviour before deciding that he had always been odd and this was just one more thing added to the list.

when he was alone in his room, atsumu lets out a sigh of relief and turned on his phone once again to check out your social media. he had finally found your instagram handle. laying down in bed, he scrolled through your past post mindlessly, smiling to himself as he takes in every post.

he learned that you had a huge interest in books. also the fact that you owned a house with a bunch of cats as your roommate. and from that, he learned that you were definitely a cat person.

his finger hover over the follow button. should he? he asked himself. maybe he shouldn't. he doesn't want you to be thinking that he was a stalker or something. or maybe he should. you probably wouldn't mind right? it wasn't like he actually stalked you or something. it just so happen that you two have a mutual friend and you showed up on said friend's post. plus, he could just explain it to you if you ever ask the question. but then again, why would you text someone you don't know. a stranger at that.

after a long minute of thinking and giving excuses, he finally toughen up and tap on the follow button.

[kirkscarr]

it’s official!! First, Best Destiny -- Part 1 by the lovely @ophelia-j finally has the physical form that it deserves!! here’s a little photoshoot of the finished product (:

to see how i bound this book i have another post that can be found here.

next up: specialty pages!!

first off there are these title pages

and then the copyright page!

the table of contents!

*note: i did remove the chapter notes to format it more like a “real” book. (looking back, i honestly wish i hadn’t because i do always love reading those!) because i removed the notes, i decided to include which episode/movie the chapters follow in the table of contents!!

the chapter headers!! THEORETICALLY it says t'hy'la in vulcan script.

and then i have this TBC page that i stuck in right before the epilogue!

this is such a small detail but it honestly might be one of my favorite parts. i did my very best to emulate a real book's design, so i have this fun little barcode/QR code at the very back. and!! the QR code links to the actual Ao3 story!! how cool is that???

conclusion!!

throughout every step of the bookbinding process i was mentally like "this is gonna be the step where it ALL FALLS APART" and??? it never did??? like? i just made a 900 page book??? that's crazy guys.

anyways!! i am so, so, SO thrilled that i am now the proud owner of a physical copy of First, Best Destiny -- Part 1.

*sidenote for the author!! thank you so much for all your support on my last post - it actually made my day! <33