#I needed to scream a bit. Write how I'm feeling somewhere

[joons-cinnamon-bun]

Okay. many thoughts going through my brain; hopefully im able to keep it... clear lol.

first of all, girl, i need to learn to tag how you do. that's an art form

second, omfggg thank youuuuuu @rpwprpwprpwprw for your sweet sweet words and (endless) patience when it comes to my (endless) spoilers lol (and when i refuse to give spoilers coz i feel those are just as sucky lol)

third, yesterday I wrote a whole mini-essay about reblogging and commenting based on this post i saw; (well. more like, how that kind of engagement translates for writers and how much it means to us (me)) I'm not gonna post the whole thing, but I'm gonna paste a few paragraphs i wrote, because ive been thinking about it a lot. it's so weird being a writer lol. (now, i didn't study this like a... idk youtuber or anything, its just based on my own chats with other writers and rec blogs)

So, baselines and weird conslusions:

1) "We write for ourselves, but we post it for the interaction" I'm sure you've all come across this idea somewhere on this world wide web. especially if you're familiar with the fan fiction variety lol

And sure, no one is obligated to engage with us or boost our egos. But even the smallest bit of positive reinforcement gives us such a serotonin boost. It keeps us going. It keeps us writing, and it keeps us sharing our rambles. (like, no literally. i did a lil jump session when i saw @rpwprpwprpwprw wrote a lil thingy about my thingy—even if i already knew it was coming coz we friends💕🌿) Now, maybe it’s just me, but there’s usually such a mess behind the scenes. I fuss and overthink the stupidest things (I’ll stare at a single line for ten minutes, wondering if I should change one word. And then I’ll rewrite the entire paragraph anyway)… @callmenoona25 can be my witness for that. @angellekookie also, but idk if i can get her on the stand. It’s silly, I know. No one’s going to grade us on this. But there’s something oddly vulnerable about sharing your thoughts yk? your stories—weird little brain—and hoping people enjoy it. I think that’s why the tiniest comment or reblog feels so huge. It’s not validation in the ego-stroking sense. Its more like… ‘connection’? It’s a “Hey. I love that scene!” Or a “omfg I saw what you did there!” It’s the way each reader picks up on smth else. and sometimes that’s all it takes to keeps us going.

that's the reason that blogs like @rpwprpwprpwprw make such a huuuge fucking difference omfg. again, thank you sm. (lol she's a pisces... yes, yes she is)

2) Namjoonie fans are shy 😂🤣 (Well… the majority, maybe?) this, again, is based on my personal interactions and talks with peeps who came to the same conclusions. Which is cool but also kind of sucks at the same time. It means that as a writer, if you make the mistake I did and start comparing your works with others, you end up in a weird spiral.

Like, the math won’t give. You’ll look at someone else’s fic with a hundred notes and thirty comments in a day, and then look at your own, and be like… huh. Did I do something wrong? Does my writing suck? Am I not good enough? But it’s not that.

It’s just that your core readership might be full of soft-spoken lurkers who enjoy every word and just… kept it to themselves. Which I get. I'm learning how to overcome this myself. In both senses: learning to leave a comment when I read something I love, even if it’s just a heart emoji or “I screamed!!!” (or something more eloquent when i have the brain) And also learning to accept that the worth of my writing isn’t the sum of its notes. all that being said,

thank you all for reading, and for commenting and reblogging. it literally means the world.

A series of unfortunate Dates -2-

Summary: Fate has never been a determining factor in Namjoon’s life. Destiny, if it existed at all, seemed to have a sick sense of humor, and his horoscope barely got it right half the time. In fact, the only otherworldly forces Namjoon puts any stock in are his mother’s divine meddling…and his unlucky dating streak. So when she signs him up for what can only be described as a modern, barely legal, arranged marriage agency operating somewhere out of Seoul, he’s not even surprised. Resigned? Yes. Hopeful? Not in the slightest. But then he meets you. The girl from the bus, many months ago. The one who felt like a missing piece from his story, but slipping away through the fates' threads. And through what can only be described as a bizarre serries of coincidences (or, as your mother would say, divine intervention), you’re here. Wearing a pink dress. Wondering if maybe, just maybe…soulmates do exist. Namjoon doesn’t believe in fate. And maybe, just maybe—he could believe in you. word count: almost 12K Genre: Borderline rom-com with an arranged marriage kick. Matchmaking. Fluff. Smut. Warnings: Explicit smut scene. oral sex. fluffy sex. the author pokes a lil fun at mysticism masterlist

taglist: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne @oneshallsmile @ktownshizzle @jimineepaboya @lili-spots @themwordsblog @jub-jub @tryingtotwice @callmenoona25 @angellekookie

Namjoon’s lips drag into a slow smile. His heart ticks up when he catches your eyes drop to his lips, like you can’t help it. Like you’re thinking about it—about him—in that very same way he’s been thinking about you all night.

He normally isn't one to chuck up moments of his life to ‘destiny’ or ‘stars’ or even on his karmic balance. In fact he is a proven rationalist. But there’s something about this moment—about you—that makes him want to believe in all of it. In missed connections. In soulmates. In the unspoken glances on the bus. In ironing his shirt for a first date. In the way your fingers lingered a bit too long when he lead you to the table. In the way your laugh cracked open the night like a lighter held to wax.

In the way you step just slightly closer to him, and he doesn’t pull away.

“No,” he says finally, voice low, steady. “Not the last time I checked.”

You nod, once, and it’s all the invitation he needs to let his heart figure-four leg lock his brain into submission. No more pretending this is just a good match on paper, or just a lucky coincidence orchestrated by the universe and meddling parents.

“So…” you start, barely louder than the rustle of wind through the leaves. You’re standing at the corner you’re supposed to turn down to get home—but your feet don’t move. Neither do his. “I know this wasn’t exactly in the matchmaking procedure, but—”

He tilts his head, curious. Heart absolutely stupid in his chest.

“There’s this exhibit down the block.” You offer, pointing with your chin like he can see it. “They’re doing a late-night show. Local artists. A light installation from what I gathered, glow-in-the-dark stuff… All the makings of a very respectable second date.”

His smile grows, slow and bright and so full of genuine delight, it feels like it might light up the sidewalk.

“Lead the way,” he says, voice warm—tinged with that rare, boyish kind of joy that slips out when he’s caught off guard by something good. Really good.

And maybe that’s what this is. Not just a good night, or a good date. But something good.

A second chance to fix the unbalance that was left in the universe that day when you returned his umbrella on the bus; when he wasn’t certain if he should speak, or follow or do anything beyond watch you disappear into the crowd with a polite smile and his heart held loosely on his sleeve.

Back then, he’d told himself it was fine. That not everything unresolved needed resolution. That some people are meant to be passing moments, not permanent fixtures. But now—walking beside you as your hands swing just close enough to brush—he wonders if that logic was just fear, dressed up as pragmatism.

Because here you are. In front of him again, months and lifetimes later, offering him not closure, but possibility. Like destiny is adamant not to let him screw this up again.

You turn before he can see your blooming smile, and he falls in step besides you like he’s done it for years, slipping an arm around your shoulders with something his mother might deem too forward. But he can’t quite bring himself to care.

Not when you’re practically sharing his warmth as you set off on another quiet street.

The gallery is only a few blocks down, tucked between a bookstore and a café that smells like burnt espresso even when its closed. The light from the entrance spills onto the sidewalk in soft waves—cool blue and lavender, gently shifting like reflections on water.

The entrance is marked only by a low-lit sign and a hand-painted poster peeling slightly at the edges. But Namjoon looks at it like it’s the Louvre.

The door softly chimes when he pushes it open, and you step into darkness punctuated only by the gentle glow of the installations. A corridor to the side, one that leads to a room with suspended lanterns pulsing in shades of pinks and oranges; each one swaying ever so slightly, casting rippling shadows across your faces. Your shoes echo against the polished concrete.

“Woah.” You slip away from his arm to brush a finger against one lantern—warm paper, almost like it’s humming against your fingertips. “It’s like a daydream.”

Namjoon lingers behind for a beat, something catching in his chest. The light pools across your shoulders, catches in your hair, glints off your cheeks as you move. You’re looking up, eyes wide, lashes tipped in gold—and he forgets, briefly, about the gallery, the installations, the rest of the world.

The only thing on his mind is that ridiculous manuscript he read many years ago about the red sting that tied fated souls together. It was cheesy, ridiculously syrupy and chucked full with cliches.

But now, even for someone who doesn’t believe in destiny, he sure as hell can feel it pulling taut between you.

He’s always scoffed at the idea before—chalked it up to folklore and sentiment. But there’s something about this moment, about you illuminated in all this soft, shifting light, that makes the whole myth feel less like fantasy and more like gravity. Not a string, exactly. But a weight. A pull. A line drawn from some unseen center straight through the quiet place behind his ribs.

Something about the way you tilt your chin up to see more of the ceiling, the way your fingers linger in the air even after the lantern sways back into place. Like you belong among the blinding lights, because they too, are trying to memorize the shape of wonder.

He should say something about light. About the meaning of the patterns painted on the lanterns. He should keep things easy.

But instead, it slips out—quietly, helplessly honest.

“You are.”

You glance over. “What?”

He blinks, half-embarrassed to have said it out loud. “I meant the room,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting down. “The whole thing. You were right. It’s like a daydream.” He pauses without meaning to, perhaps digging his grave a little deeper. “That’s what I meant.”

You watch him for a beat. Narrow your eyes. But you let it slide, lips curving with something softer than amusement as you walk deeper into the space.

Namjoon doesn’t follow right away.

He stays still, breathing through the sudden, aching swell beneath his ribs.

He’s always known how to be careful. Always kept his hope on a leash. He’s familiar with his own limits, with the way his heart learned to flinch before it could reach. The detachment wasn’t indifference—it was armor. It was survival. He was never scared of love itself, just what it asked of him. What it took when it left.

And right now—watching the way your silhouette slips through glowing strands of light, how you don’t even realize the effect you have just by being here—he feels it again.

That timeworn want.

That quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he’ll be chosen back.

So now, with you…

He exhales, slow and steady, and lets his feet move. One step. Then another. He’s not sure where this goes, but he knows he wants to find out.

“Hey,” he says gently, catching up to you just as you part the curtain that leads into the next room—this one lit in a soft, underwater blue, where fiber optics ripple from the ceiling like kelp and stars and rain.

Fiber‐optic strands immediately brush around you like the a waterfall—thin, cool tendrils of light that tickle your cheeks and arms. You gasp, and he laughs softly, steadying you with one hand while he lightly brushes the sea of glowing fibers away from your faces with the other.

“They should really warn people.” You murmur, blinking through the light like you’ve just stepped into another universe.

“They kind of did,” Namjoon says, voice low and close. “There was a sign. You were too busy floating.”

You nudge him gently with your elbow, but you don’t step away. Neither does he.

This room is smaller, silence deeper—like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you and the hush of soft light. The strands pulse faintly, changing color every few seconds. Pale blue. Violets. Soft greens. It paints his skin in shifting hues, shadows brushing beneath his cheekbones, catching the warmth in his eyes.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head slightly toward him, “for someone who tried to backpedal out of a compliment five minutes ago, you’re surprisingly smooth when you’re not thinking about it.”

Namjoon smiles, but it’s the kind that flickers—bashful and unsure. “I think I just get clumsy when it matters.”

You study him for a beat. “This matters?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It does.”

And it’s stupid, maybe—it’s barely been a night, you’ve only just begun—but there’s something in the way he says it that lands like truth. No embellishment. No overthinking.

Just real.

Your breath slows.

You don’t say anything, not at first. You just reach out, fingers ghosting over his sleeve, the edge of his wrist, like you’re not sure what you’re doing until you’ve already done it.

Namjoon doesn’t move. But he looks at you like he might.

“I think…” you begin, voice quiet, almost shy, “...if you kissed me right now, I wouldn’t stop you.”

Namjoon exhales, the air knocked clean out of him. “Yeah?”

You nod. Just once.

He moves in, slow and careful, as if waiting for you to change your mind, letting the strands slowly fall back around you.

But you don’t pull away. Your chin just tips up, lips part just slightly, and his fingers lift, brushing a strand of glowing fiber from your cheek.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, voice low. Catching the strand between his fingertips, drawing it gently across your lips. You swallow around a pulse of heat.

His thumb brushes the filament against your lower lip. He holds it there, the delicate glow outlining his fingertip, and you nearly tremble under his touch. The whole universe sums up to hush and halo—to lights suspended between you, breath and body caught in the stretch of the undeniable certainty that feels almost too overwhelming for words.

You part your lips just slightly, and Namjoon stills. His eyes search yours, asking one last time. Offering you one last out.

But you don’t take it. You don’t want to.

So you close the gap—only a few centimeters, really—but it feels like a leap. Like a decision. And when your lips finally meet his, it’s soft, almost hesitant, like a step taken into the unknown.

Then he kisses you back.

Fuller. Warmer. His hand slipping to the curve of your jaw, anchoring you to him as the filament falls away, forgotten. His other arm wraps loosely around your waist, drawing you closer, and you feel it—his steadiness, his quiet restraint, the way he’s holding back just enough to be respectful, but not so much that you can’t feel how much he wants you.

The kiss deepens naturally with all it’s warmth and unhurried movements, the kind that tastes faintly of strawberry soju and a hundred things still unsaid. And when you melt into him, finger curling in his shirt, lips sweet and slow, he knows he can die happy.

The kind of kiss that steals the breath right from his lungs without asking.

When you finally pull back, it’s only by a breath. He doesn’t let go. His eyes open slowly, lashes low and heavy, and he searches your face with that same quiet attention he’s held all night—like you’re an answer he didn’t realize he had the question for.

“You good?” he asks, voice husky.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s just…”

You kiss him again.

Because how else do you say thank you for the way he’s looked at you all evening? How else do you say please, don’t stop without giving him every single part of your heart right here and then?

This one is softer. Briefer. But somehow deeper—like a secret passed from mouth to mouth, like a promise sealed not with words but with the way your hand finds his again and stays there.

Namjoon exhales against your lips, like maybe he wasn’t sure you’d come back, like maybe this second kiss is the one that undoes him. His forehead rests against yours and you feel his smile before you see it.

“Okay,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your jaw.

You laugh, quiet and breathless, the sound curling between you like another thread tying future, circumstances and intention together.

Namjoon leans in, just slightly—enough for your noses to brush, for his smile to press against your cheek like a whisper. You feel it in your chest, that dizzy, buoyant thing rising, rising, rising. Hope, maybe? Or something even more dangerous.

“Okay,” he says again, like he’s trying to ground himself. Like maybe saying it out loud will help him believe this isn’t some flickering, impossible dream. “That was… definitely not in the matchmaking brochure.”

You smile, still so close your breath warms his lips. “No, but if it were, I’d sign up again.”

He lets out a laugh that melts into a sigh, and you feel him shift—his arm still around your waist, holding you like you’re something fragile but already his. His thumb strokes gently at your back beneath his jacket, like he needs to remind himself he’s not hallucinating.

The gallery hums around you, quiet and alive. Blue and violet and gold light shimmers on the walls, on your skin, on the edges of your shared silence. Somewhere deeper in the room, the soft whir of a projector starts, casting delicate patterns that ripple across the floor like light on water.

Neither of you rushes to move.

Eventually, he tilts his head, voice quieter now. “So... third date?”

You tilt your head slightly. “Confident, are we?”

“I kissed you twice,” he says, grinning now. “That has to earn me something.”

You lean back just enough to see his face, to read the smile tucked into the corners of his mouth and the warmth simmering in his eyes

“Do I still get points for tteokbokki?” He continues, and you snort.

Your smile stretches helplessly, warmth rushing in from somewhere deep in your chest. “You get a lot of points for tteokbokki,” you murmur, letting your fingers play lightly with the lapel of his jacket still hanging on your shoulders. “And the soju. And the walk. And, well… everything else.”

Namjoon leans in just a bit closer, voice dipping. “So that’s a yes?”

You press your lips together, pretending to think. “Hmm. I don’t know…”

His brows rise, exaggerated mock offense already painting his features. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

You shrug, stepping back through the curtain of light. “Better keep up, then.”

And Namjoon follows—because of course he does—his fingers finding yours like it’s second nature now, like you were meant to be holding hands all along. The lights ripple over your skin as you walk deeper into the exhibit, casting moving constellations across your joined palms.

By the next room, Namjoon’s brain finally reconnects to the server—sparking back to life with enough clarity to remember that he’s supposed to be intelligent, and articulate, someone who can string a sentence together without being entirely distracted by the feeling of your lips on his.

He clears his throat softly, as if that might reset the system.

The next few displays are quieter, dimmer. The lights are cooler—crystalline, and almost sharp. Glass orbs suspended from the ceiling spinning, catching slivers of light and scattering them in fractured bursts across the floor. A projector room that had animations interacting with the walls themselves.

The final corridor is lit by candlelight—flames flickering in unison, guiding you back toward the real world. Outside, the night is deeper than before, colder, and the sky stirs quietly overhead.

Namjoon lifts his eyes towards the black night, bracing against the sudden gust of wind that blows out the few candles outside the exit.

“Was there a rain warning today?”

“Not that I remember of…” But just as the words leave your lips, the clouds open with a loud thunder. Rain comes down suddenly, soft at first, a gentle patter against the gallery’s doorway—but quickly growing in urgency, as if the sky itself can’t hold back any longer. You both freeze in the doorway, caught between the warm cocoon of the exhibit and the cool, unexpected downpour outside.

“Guess the night’s not done surprising us.” He sighs before shifting his gaze over at you. “No chance of you having an umbrella stuffed in that little bag of yours, huh?”

You laugh, breathless and a little wild. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, fingers brushing back a strand of your hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you an Uber.”

You peer up at the night, cheeks flushed. “Isn’t your place close by?”

Namjoon pauses, rain splashing at his shoes. His gaze drifts to the street, then back to you—umbrella-less and close to being drenched.

“My place?” He echoes, voice soft, quickly picking up on the implications. “It’s not far. Maybe five minutes if we run.”

“I—” You stop, “If it’s okay. I don’t want to overstep.” You glance back at the rain slowly puddling the street. “Just to borrow an umbrella…”

He blinks, then smiles—slow and warm. “Borrow an umbrella? I was thinking more along the lines of borrowing your evening.”

You frown, half-smile tugging at your lips. “That sounds… generous.”

He shrugs, eyes sparkling with that same undeniable allure, before he pulls you close, lifting his jacket off your shoulders carefully and sheltering you beneath it. “Come on,” he says, tipping it your way. “Let’s run.”

His jacket settles over your shoulders, the fabric cold against your skin. You slip an arm into a sleeve, the other one around his waist, the collar brushing your neck. He drops his own shoulders under the rest of the fabric, creating a makeshift canopy against the downpour.

“Ready?”

You nod, heart fluttering. “Ready.”

And you dash down the street—feet splashing through fresh puddles, laughter tangled between ragged breaths. The rain pelts the makeshift covering, a thunderous applause that only draws you closer.

Five minutes later, you skid to a stop in front of a tall building, breaths visible in the misty air. He lifts the jacket just enough for you to slip inside first, then follows, shielding you both as he closes the building door against the storm.

The hallway light flickers to light when you move, soft and golden. He peels the wet outer layer from your shoulders with gentle fingers, revealing the pink dress damp at the hem. “Come on,” he murmurs, leading you toward the elevator, completely unbothered by the water he’s trailing behind on the tiled floor.

The elevator dings open, its doors sliding apart with a soft hum. You step inside first, the warmth of the building pressing against your chilled skin. Namjoon follows, pressing the button for the last floor.

“You live in the penthouse?” you ask, brows raised.

He glances at you, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Technically, yes. But it sounds more impressive than it is.” He says, scratching the back of his neck like it’s a little embarrassing. “Just means I don’t have anyone stomping around above me.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “So modest.”

He laughs under his breath. “I mean, it’s no castle.

You huff a laugh. “Still sounds like you’re trying to charm me.”

He leans a little closer, voice low. “Is it working?”

You don’t answer—just smile and look forward again, heart doing its own reckless thing inside your chest. And beside you, Namjoon tries not to grin too obviously, as if you haven’t both already completely given yourselves away.

The elevator hums upward, slow and steady, carrying you somewhere high above Seoul. The lights overhead casting a warm glow across his face—his wet hair slightly mussed, his shirt clinging just a little at the collar. You catch yourself staring and look away too late, heat blooming in your cheeks.

He notices, of course. But he doesn’t say anything. Just slides his hand gently back into yours, thumb brushing your knuckles.

When the doors open, the hallway is quiet, carpeted, softly lit. He leads you a few steps down, then unlocks a wide modern looking wooden door.

Inside, his apartment opens up into warm tones and wide windows—a soft, inviting space that smells faintly of cedar wood and something like bergamot. Books line tall shelves, and for some reason they frame his couch too, where a few shirts are strewn across the back of it. A turntable sits quietly in the corner, covered in plants, and a half-used mug of something forgotten rests on the kitchen counter.

The walls decorated in paintings that range from minimalism to neoclassicism.

Namjoon toes off his shoes by the door, gently guiding yours next to them before stepping further in. He moves through the space like someone used to solitude—quiet, unhurried, but there’s a steadiness in the way he turns on a few low lamps, casting the room in amber glow. It’s not the sterile kind of clean. It’s thoughtful. Lived-in in a way that feels intentional, not lonely.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

“Thank you.”

You stand still for a moment, taking it all in.

Books by the armrest, manuscripts marked with reds and blues, a blanket draped over the side like it’s been used recently. Records leaning against the console—Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Bon Iver, something obscure in Japanese. There’s another sweater thrown over the back of a chair, and a framed photo tucked beside the speaker: Namjoon with someone older, maybe his father, both of them mid-laugh.

Namjoon reappears with a soft, oversized sweatshirt slung over one arm and a pair of black joggers folded neatly in his hand. “They might be big, but they’re warm.” He says, holding them out to you.

You take them, fingers grazing his. “I don’t mind big.”

His smile tugs a little wider, but he doesn’t comment—just tips his head toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. First door on the right.”

You follow his direction, padding down the hall as your bare feet sink lightly into the carpet. The bathroom is like the rest of the place; stone-toned, curated and clean, with eucalyptus hanging from the shower head. A candle, nearly burned to the end, flickers faintly beside the sink.

You change quickly, slipping into his clothes. The sweatshirt hangs loosely on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands and you have to double tie the joggers. They smell like clean laundry, rain and him.

When you return, Namjoon’s already in the kitchen, barefoot, pouring hot water into two mugs. He looks up when he hears you, and something in his face shifts—fond, quiet, maybe a little undone.

“You look comfortable,” he says, handing you a mug. It’s warm between your palms, chamomile and something faintly floral.

“I am.” You glance down at yourself. “I might not give this back.”

He chuckles. “I’ll allow it. As long as I get visitation rights.”

You settle onto the couch, tugging your knees up beneath you, the oversized fabric pooling around you. Namjoon joins you, a little closer than necessary, his own mug cradled between his palms. For a moment, there’s only the soft clink of ceramic, the patter of rain still against the windows, and the rustle of his breathing beside you.

Then—

“I haven’t brought anyone here in a long time,” he says, not quite looking at you.

You glance at him. “No?”

He shakes his head. “Not because I didn’t want to. Just…didn’t feel right.”

His voice is low, almost cautious, like he’s not sure if it’s too soon to say something like that—but says it anyway. And it hangs there, soft and honest, between the two of you.

You study him, the gentle slope of his shoulder where it meets the couch, the tension he’s clearly trying to mask in the line of his jaw.

“Why now?” you ask quietly.

Namjoon’s thumb runs slow circles along the edge of his mug. He exhales through his nose. “Because tonight felt… different.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “For some reason, it’s easy with you. You don’t ask for anything I wasn’t already offering. It just feels like you see me. Not the vision I sometimes hand out.”

You blink at that, unexpectedly moved. Because you know what he means. What it feels like to be seen and not simply looked at. That’s exactly what he does to you.

“I didn’t know I was waiting for that,” he adds, finally meeting your eyes. “But I think I was…ever since the umbrella scene.”

And you don’t know what kind of Fate or Moirai or Kismet is working in your favor. Or if its just two equally stubborn people, avoiding love, who finally decided to stop running.

Without quite meaning to, you reach out—resting your hand lightly over his, fingers curling around the edge of his mug. It’s a small touch, but it roots something between you.

His hand turns instinctively beneath yours, palm meeting palm, like it’s been waiting.

Namjoon doesn’t speak right away—just watches your fingers fit with his, the quiet press of skin to skin. There’s no urgency in the gesture, no need to rush past it. Just a kind of stillness. A shared breath.

Then he says, quietly, “I don’t really believe in fate.”

You nod, not pulling away. “Me neither.”

“But this feels like something,” he murmurs, glancing down where your hands rest between you. “Doesn’t it?”

You don’t answer right away. You just hold his gaze. Let it say everything your words can’t yet touch.

And when you do speak, it’s not a confession. Not a grand declaration. Just simple, quiet truth.

“Yes.”

Namjoon exhales like that was what he’d been holding out for. Like your agreement unlocks something in him.

He shifts, not closer—but deeper, and you move with an impulse, free hand cradling the side of his face, palm meeting the warmth of his cheek, your thumb grazing just beneath his eye. The soft stubble along his jaw, the way he leans into your touch, like it means something—it’s all disarmingly intimate, like a kind of closeness that’s been patiently waiting in the quiet between your words.

Namjoon doesn’t rush it. He just closes his eyes for a beat, like he’s memorizing the weight of your hand, the safety of this moment.

When he opens them again, they’re softer. Clearer. Lit with something that looks a lot like wonder.

His voice is barely above a whisper. “If I kiss you again, I won’t want to stop.”

And your heart stumbles, caught near the fear and the ache of wanting the same.

“Kiss me.”

His breath stutters—just for a second—and then he’s closing the space between you. The kiss is slower this time, surer. Less searching, more knowing. Your mugs forgotten somewhere on the table. Your fingers slip into his hair, nails dragging gently across his scalp, and his hand finds your waist like its meant to rest there. To pull you closer.

There's no background music. No dramatics. No closeups. Just the rain.

Rain on the windows. The tick of the clock. The hush of two people finally arriving at the same place at the same time.

The kiss deepens slowly—like it’s unfolding, not erupting. Like it’s been waiting in the wings, rehearsed in glances and half-smiles and every soft pause between you.

Namjoon tilts his head, just slightly, adjusting the angle, the pressure, the pace. One of his hands slips from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, anchoring you. His other arm is a quiet weight around you, steady and sure.

You shift, instinctively, knees brushing his thigh, the fabric of his joggers warm against your skin. The couch creaks softly beneath you when you move to straddle his lap—slowly, carefully—like you're not quite sure if it's boldness or gravity pulling you there. Namjoon doesn't stop you. If anything, his hands guide you, one resting at the curve of your hip now, grounding you against him.

The kiss never breaks. It just changes, to fuller, to deeper, bracing at the edge of something molten that tugs at the space between wanting and having. The kind of heat that grows steady, reverently, with no call to rush.

Your fingers trail from his hair to the sides of his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, memorizing him with every soft drag. Namjoon’s breathing shakes slightly against your mouth, and you feel it when he exhales, his chest rising to meet yours.

When your lips part, it’s only to rest your forehead against his, breath shared in the quiet lull that follows.

He’s the first to speak, voice low, almost rasped. “Okay. Yeah. I definitely don’t want to stop.”

You smile, slow and flushed, heart tumbling in your chest. “Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker open—dark and shining and impossibly soft.

And he kisses you again.

A little hotter. A little bolder. Like he’s memorizing the way you taste and is desperate to have it all to himself. His hands find your hips fully, holding you in place, anchoring you with all the reverence of someone who doesn’t take intimacy lightly.

You shift in his lap, just a little, just enough to feel the way he tightens his grip, more certain than anyone has ever held you before. Like he’s been holding back long enough and now, finally, he’s been given both permission and freedom.

Your hands move again, dragging slowly down the back of his neck, thumbs brushing his pulse point, feeling the way it kicks up beneath your touch. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound low and almost surprised, like maybe he hadn’t expected the way you’d undo him so easily.

His lips trail down, brushing your jaw, the slope of your neck, each kiss a question he’s too careful to ask aloud. And you answer with the arch of your back, the way your fingers twist in the hem of his shirt, tugging, pulling it out of his jeans.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing shifts slightly, slipping off one shoulder. Namjoon leans back just enough to see it—see you—and his breath hitches. His thumb ghosts over the exposed skin, reverent and slow, like he’s not sure how he got this lucky but he’s not going to waste a second of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, half into your shoulder.

You laugh, a breathless sound that doesn’t even try to hide how wrecked you already are. “You haven’t seen me yet.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the kind that’s half amusement, half awe, and presses another lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. His fingers tighten just a bit on your waist, pulling you that much closer.

“I’m getting there,” he says, voice like honey, like a promise unfolding.

You feel it in your spine—in the low, slow drag of his hands along your sides, the tug at the hem of your shirt, the warm press of his mouth as it returns to your collarbone, kissing lower now. His breath fans against your skin, and your fingers thread into his hair again, gently tugging, urging.

“Joon,” you whisper, not sure if it’s a plea or a warning, or if it matters.

He hums against you like he heard both. When his hands slide beneath the hem of the sweatshirt, they pause at your waist—fingertips stroking over bare skin as if to ask, this much? And when you nod, he moves upward, deliberate and slow, slipping the fabric higher. It peels off over your head with a soft sound, and for a beat, he stops.

Your chest is bare before him, flushed like your cheeks and Namjoon doesn’t speak—doesn’t know how to anymore. He just stares.

Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of you, the way the light catches your skin, the rise and fall of your breath. One hand lifts slowly, and rests just beneath your breast, palm warm, fingers splayed wide. You stutter slightly, and his eyes flicker to yours.

He finds no fear in your gaze, just the same quiet, open awe that took refuge in his own heart.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, steady, thumb brushing lightly against your ribcage like he’s trying to soothe you even as you unravel.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… it’s you.”

His hands slide up, featherlight, thumb brushing just beneath you nipple and you tremble again.

“You’re unreal,” he says, like it’s something he’s trying to convince you of.

You don’t hide from it. You reach for him instead, fingers moving to his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “Touch me,”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss just above your heart—soft, almost shy—and then another, lower, slower, his lips brushing the swell of your breast like he’s learning the shape of your skin by his lips. His other hand slides up your side, calloused fingertips trailing over sensitive skin until they meet the curve of your back. When his mouth closes around your nipple, warm and wet, your back arches instinctively, his palm keeping you steady, a breathy sound escaping you that you’re too far gone to care about hiding.

Namjoon groans at that—deep and quiet, vibrating where his mouth presses against you. His teeth drag over your nipple and you moan again, wrecked, melting against him fully. Only when he deemed you wrecked enough he switches sides, lavishing the same attention to your other nipple, his hands never fully leaving your skin.

You feel yourself pulsing already, thighs tightening around his waist where you still sit in his lap, hips rolling without quite meaning to. The friction is slow, but it’s enough to drag a sound from both of you—his head dropping slightly, teeth catching his bottom lip as he exhales hard through his nose.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice cracking on it, running cold over your wet chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You give him a weak laugh through the haze, eyes fluttering half-shut. “That’s not the plan.”

He grins, kissing above your heart again.

“Take this off,” you murmur back, undoing just the top few buttons before tugging the shirt fully out of his jeans.

He doesn't hesitate.

Namjoon lifts his arms, and you pull the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, letting it fall somewhere behind you both. And suddenly there’s nothing between you anymore; just bare skin and rugged breath and the thrum of something heady and unstoppable threading through every second spent apart.

You take a second to look at him. Tracing the lines of his chest with your hands, the dip between his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders. His skin is warm beneath your palms, muscles shifting under your touch like he’s barely holding still. When you lean in to press a kiss to his sternum, you see the way his eyes flutter shut, and feel his heart jump beneath your lips.

The moment swells again when you rock against him, hips shifting just enough to draw a weak sound from his throat—low and guttural, his hands returning to your hips, gripping tighter now.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says, voice strained.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes.

He lifts you, carefully, arms hooked around your thighs, slowly moving you down the hall. His kisses hungrier now—your jaw, your throat, the slope of your chest. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, drawing you closer with every step, every breath.

By the time he lays you down, the bed creaks under your weight, sheets cool against your back in stark contrast to the heat of his body above you. Namjoon hovers for a moment—like he needs that final second to catch up, to make sure this is real. That you’re here. That he’s allowed. And he kisses you, a little demanding now, impossibly tender, full of intent. Tongue sliding slow against yours, one hand braced by your head, the other trailing along your side, smoothing down the curve of your waist. You gasp softly into his mouth when his palm cups your thigh, guiding it around his hip, anchoring you.

His body fits over yours like it was made to.

Your own hands roam, tracing the planes of his back, feeling the taut muscles flex under your touch, nails softly tracing confessions of love until he shivers beneath your fingertips.

He groans against your mouth, and you answer in the same breath. You reach down between you, tugging at the waistband of your sweats, and Namjoon stills, just for a second, before helping you out of them. The fabric slides down your legs with your underwear, and joins the rest of your clothes somewhere forgotten. He kisses down your torso as he goes, mouth brushing each inch of newly exposed skin like a silent thank you.

When he settles between your thighs, his breath is already shaky.

“You sure?” he asks again, voice weak, reverent, gaze stolen by the wetness pooling between your legs.

You nod, and this time, you say it with your whole body—rising up on your elbows to brush away the strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. “Yes. I just—” your breath shakes. “I never do this.”

Namjoon stills at that—just for a moment—his hand still resting on your thigh, thumb sweeping gently over the apex of your thighs.

His expression softens, gaze flicking between your eyes. “We don’t have to,” he says, voice low, steady. Not pulling away, just… waiting. “I want you, but not more than I want you to feel safe.”

You exhale, “No. I want to,” you say, and your voice is steadier now, like his patience gave you permission to mean it. “I just don’t usually—” You trail off, words failing, head sinking in his pillow, but he seems to understand.

Namjoon leans in, brushing a kiss to your hip. Then your thigh. Then the inside of it. “Then we go slow.”

His breath is warm where his mouth lingers, kissing down the tender skin between your hip and knee, charting you, piece by piece, before hiking your knee over his shoulder. “Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “What feels good.”

You’re already trembling, and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, not to guide, just to hold. “You.”

He smirks at that. You feel it against your thigh before the sudden rush when he sinks his teeth right there in the doughy skin.

You gasp, fingers tugging, but it’s enough to distract you from the way he lowers himself fully, settles between your legs like he belongs there, like he’s not just willing, but eager to worship and take his time at this altar. His arms curl around your thighs, grounding you with the weight of his palms as his mouth dips lower, his breath teasing against your folds.

And when he finally licks you, it’s slow. A single, unhurried stroke from your entrance all the way to your clit that makes your hips twist and your breath falter. He moans softly, like the taste of you confirms something he’s been hoping not to long for, the sound rolling against your sensitive clit.

“God,” he murmurs. “You’re already so wet.”

You whimper, hips tilting toward him, and he takes the invitation gladly.

His mouth seals over your clit, tongue flicking with soft, rhythmic pressure—exploratory at first, then purposeful. Like he’s learning what makes you gasp and then doing it again. And again. And again.

Your thighs begin to tense, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other still anchored in his hair. You glance down and find him already watching you, eyes half-lidded and dark, utterly focused.

“Just like that,” you breathe, your voice so airy it hardly sounds like your own.

He moans into you—low, rough, vibrating straight through your core—and your whole body shudders.

When he shifts slightly, you feel the press of his tongue lower, dipping just inside, slow and deliberate. His hands adjust, one palm pressing against your lower belly, the other keeping you open for him as he moves back, mouth closing around your clit again—sucking just once, firmly—and your whole body arches.

You can’t stop the sounds you’re making now. You’re past that. Every flick of his tongue is unraveling you, making it harder to remember anything but his name, the way he tastes you like it’s Sacrament, like he’s been starving.

“Na-Joon,” you gasp, and he hums in response.

That’s all it takes. The rhythm. The hum. The patience in the way he doesn’t rush you, but feel you.

You come with a cry that splits the silence, fingers twisting in his hair, back arching, heels digging into the bed, his name catching in your throat like a prayer you weren’t prepared to say.

Namjoon doesn’t pull away—not right away. He lets you ride it out, only slowing when your body starts to tremble from oversensitivity. He presses one last kiss to your thigh, then rises over you, lips swollen and chin slick, eyes molten with something between adoration and hunger.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, mouth ghosting over yours.

You nod, barely able to form words, breath catching as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back down to you.

“More than okay,” you whisper. “Come here.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, less urgent but no less intense. You can taste yourself on his lips, but there’s no shame behind it—just fucking heat you’ve never felt before. A flicker of something raw and real between you. His hand cradles the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, your jaw, your neck, like you’re still something he needs to hold carefully.

You kiss him back just as fully, fingers threading into his hair, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress in all the ways you didn’t know you needed. And when you shift beneath him—bare skin sliding against the fabric of his jeans—you both groan at the same time.

“Namjoon, baby, my love,” you murmur, voice low and frayed, so wild it doesn’t even register what you’re saying. “I want to feel you.”

His gaze darkens at that. His hand trails slowly down your side, over your hip, between your legs again—touching you softly, testing how sensitive you still are. You twitch under his fingers, and he smiles against your mouth.

“You’re still shaking,” he whispers.

“I want you” you breathe again. “I want all of you. Please.”

You can see how that undoes him. The way his eyes flutter , jaw tightening without him wanting it, like he’s holding something back—like he has been for too long. He groans low in his throat, kissing you again, slower this time, like he needs it to confirm the last piece of his puzzle, to bring himself back to earth, to feel you, the sound of your voice saying things he never thought he’d get to hear.

“Okay,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and full, pupils blown wide. “Okay, yeah.”

You nod, lips parting with the ache of it, and he leans in to kiss you again—this time quicker, just to indulge himself. His hand moves to your thigh, fingers curling around it, anchoring you open beneath him, and he reaches down without breaking the kiss—fumbling for the drawer beside the bed.

The soft rip of the wrapper breaks the hush between you, and you breathe in shakily when you feel him shift back, just enough to strip the last of his clothing away, enough to reach for the fly of his jeans, and for your gaze to follow him instinctively.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen someone undress in front of you—but it feels like the first time. Maybe it’s the low light, or the hush of rain still ticking against the windows. Maybe it’s the reverence with which he wrecks you—or maybe it’s just him. But as Namjoon pushes his jeans down, your breath catches all over again.

You take him in slowly, eyes tracing the lines of him, the quiet power of his frame. The solid line of his thighs. The long stretch of his torso, skin kissed with warmth, marked by the rise and fall of his breathing. The way his cock hangs heavy, already hard for you, fucking big and flushed at the tip. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your throat tighten.

He doesn’t shy from your gaze. If anything, his stance softens. His hands fall loosely at his sides when he’s done with the condom, waiting for your reaction—not cocky, not proud, just… there.

You swallow. “You’re…”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“God,” you breathe, sitting up more fully now. “You’re kind of ridiculous.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, breath catching as your fingers reach for him, grazing lightly along his hip before you look back up. “That’s a good thing, right?”

You nod, unable to keep the heat from your voice. “It’s a very good thing.”

Namjoon laughs—quiet and a little unsteady, like you’ve knocked the breath out of him again. His shoulders relax, his stance falters just enough to reveal the truth behind it: he’s just as wrecked as you are. Just as undone by your eyes, and your voice, and the way you’re sitting there with your legs parted and your fingers on his skin.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says softly, kneeling on the bed again, letting your hand guide him closer.

You hum, fingertips brushing along the V of his hips, watching the way his stomach flexes under your touch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoes, leaning in until his lips meet your shoulder, then your jaw and his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling. “You’re everything".”

You don’t reply, you just kiss him instead.

His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face again, thumb brushing the line of your cheek before sliding into your hair, as he exhales into your mouth.

Then you shift, pulling him down with you, and he follows without hesitation—settling between your thighs, the heat of his body a welcome weight, grounding and electric all at once, pushing you against the mattress. He lines himself up, careful, steady, eyes flicking to yours for that last silver of confirmation.

You nod.

And he pushes in slowly, and it steals the very breath from your lungs.

The stretch is otherworldly. Intimate. painful and pleasurable all at once. His hands brace your hips, guiding you through it, and the moment he’s fully seated inside you, you both freeze, overcome. Your hand clutches at his shoulder. His forehead presses to yours again.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, barely audible.

Namjoon lets out a sharp breath, grounding his weight on one forearm. “You feel—fuck” he whimpers. Fucking whimpers. “Fuck,” he repeats every syllable drawn out, trembling. “You feel—you feel—” doesn’t even finish the sentence. Just groans, his hips rolling once, testing the fit, the friction, and your body clenches around him on instinct.

“I know,” you gasp, blinking up at him, swallowing down the sound building in your throat. “I know.” But it still dissolves into a wrecked moan when he starts to move.

Slow at first, measured. The roll of his hips smooth and sure, dragging heat out of you one breath at a time. You’re impossibly hot around him, slick and gripping tight, and it pulls a curse from his lips that has you tightening again, and his slow rhythm almost stutters.

“Fuck. Don’t do that.” He breathes, voice cracking low in your ear, like he's trying not to unravel right then and there on top of you. “You’ll kill me woman.”

But you do it anyway—tighten around him, just to see the way he loses control again. The way his voice wavers, the way his hips jerk forward harder than he meant to, pulling a moan from your throat that you don’t have time to swallow down.

“Fuckin’” he doesn’t finish. Just buries his face in your neck like he’s overwhelmed. “God you’re…”

He doesn’t even know what. Evil? How can you when you feel like heaven. Perfect? He already knows that, and suspects you know it too with the way you arch into him, chasing every slow thrust, one leg wrapping tighter around his waist to draw him in even deeper.

The love of my life. Like what it means to want someone without fear.

His hand moves, cradles the back of your knee, lifting your leg higher around his waist, and the angle shifts—deeper, perfect, a little faster—and you keen again, clinging to him, nails scratching down his spine.

And he’s back at evil again. Because how else can you explain it when someone breaks you like that? So easily, so completely, just with the way you say his name.

“Jesus, baby,” he pants, the endearment slipping out raw, like it doesn’t need permission anymore. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile—wrecked, breathless, wild around the edges—because you want to. Because the power feels electric in your blood and you can’t stop rocking up to meet every thrust, trying to pull more of him, all of him, deeper. “You’re already ruined,” you manage to say, even though your voice barely holds.

Namjoon groans like you’ve struck something in him, something buried, something feral. He braces both hands now, caging you in beneath him as his rhythm falters—harder, deeper, no less reverent, but touched with desperation.

The bed cries in protest, headboard fully slamming against the wall now, the sound of skin and breath and everything unspoken crashing into the space around you like a storm too long held back.

You can’t think anymore. Just feel. Just take him—the way he fucks into you, every push, every sound he makes, the way his breath runs hot against your sweaty skin. The way his teeth sink into your neck. The way you let go so easily with him.

“Say it again,” he grits out, voice wrecked, ragged, like he’s chasing something he can’t name.

You blink up at him, barely able to hold his gaze, but you do. You do. You reach for him—both hands cupping his face, your thumb sweeping over the sweat at his temple. “You’re mine.”

And that’s what breaks him.

Namjoon shudders like he’s trying to hold himself together and failing gloriously. Like he’s not just inside you but completely undone by the fact that he gets to have you. All of you, without pretense or performance.

His lips crash into yours again, breath mixing, teeth grazing, and it’s not graceful anymore—it’s reduced to it’s essence. It's raw. Devastation in its honesty. His rhythm stutters, faster now, deeper, each thrust drawing a sound out of you you’ve never made for anyone else.

You feel yourself tightening around him again—close, so close—and your fingers tangle in his hair as you gasp, “I’m gonna—Joon, I—”

“I know,” he whispers, forehead against yours, his voice cracking on the edge of it. “Come with me. Come on, baby.”

And when it hits—when your body seizes around him, when the moan breaks from your throat so loud it almost scares you—it drags him down with you. His hips stutter once, twice more, then he’s pulsing inside you with a groan torn from somewhere deep, too deep to name.

He collapses onto you slowly, carefully, doing his best not to crush you.

But you don’t mind. Not really. Not when you’re both there. And in the silence that follows, with chests heaving, limbs tangled together, skin flushed and trembling, you feel it.

The weight of everything you just said without words.

He kisses your shoulder. Then your cheek. Then your mouth.

Slow. Soft, like gratitude.

“You okay?” He whispers a moment after, brushing your hair back.

You nod, eyes glassy, lips parted, still catching your breath. “I think you just rewrote my brain.”

“Good. I’ve been meaning to leave an impression.” Namjoon laughs, quiet and breathless. and you can’t help but laugh too.

Outside, the rain still hasn’t stopped. But it’s falling slower now, softer. Like even the sky got the message that it’s time to quiet down.

You're still wrapped around each other, his arm heavy cross your waist, your fingers drawing aimless shapes into his back. Neither of you speak for a long while. Not because there's nothing to say. But because there is no urgency to say it. Not now. Not when it feels like everything that needed to be known has already been shared somewhere in the in-between.

Eventually, Namjoon shifts, slowly easing out of you with care, kissing your cheek before sliding out of bed with reluctance. You’re too tired to watch him pad across the room, still you pick up on the soft rustle of tissues and the low thunk of the bathroom bin as he knocks into it. Then the faint splash of water, the crackle of a wet wipe package.

He comes back with both—water first, holding the glass steady while you sip, then the warm, damp wipe he uses gently, reverently, to clean between your thighs. His touch is so careful, you almost want to cry, because you’ve never been handled quite like this—so cherished, even in the quiet after.

You whisper his name, blinking through tired eyes, and he only smiles—soft, boyish, exhausted in the way that means he gave you everything.

 Namjoon tosses the wipe in the trash, then slides back into bed beside you. The sheets are cool, your skin still flushed from the heat between you, but he pulls the covers over both of you and wraps his arms around your waist like he’s never letting go.

You’re just beginning to drift—his heartbeat steady against your chest—when you hear him speak again, barely above a whisper. 

“You’re not going to disappear in the morning, are you?”

 You smile faintly, pressing your forehead to chest. “No. Are you?”

He laughs under his breath, the sound gently shaking you. “No. This is my house.”

You laugh then, quietly—tired and soft and maybe a little in love with the way he says it. Like it’s obvious. Like of course he’s not going anywhere.

“I guess that makes it harder to sneak out unnoticed,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over the line over his heart, lazy and affectionate.

Namjoon shifts, just enough to nudge his nose against the crown of your head. “Exactly. You’d have to climb out a window. And I’m not sure you’re up for that after—”

You cut him off with a light pinch to his side, and he huffs a laugh, catching your wrist gently and bringing your hand back to his chest.

“Okay,” he says, quieter again, thumb stroking once across your knuckles. “Then stay. Just… stay.”

You nod. No teasing now. No hesitation.

“I’m here.”

And you mean it. Not just tonight, not just in the warmth of his bed. You mean here, with him. Maybe forever.

~~~

The light is soft when you wake—filtered through thin curtains and rain-slicked windows, casting a muted gold across the room. It takes a moment to remember where you are. The scattered clothes. The unfamiliar ceiling. The warmth at your back.

Namjoon’s arm is draped over your waist, his chest flush to your spine, breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His hold is loose, but sure. Like even in sleep, he’s still holding on.

You shift just enough to glance over your shoulder.

He’s still asleep. His hair is a mess, smushed from the pillow, lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful—unreasonably handsome in that soft, unguarded way people only look when they forget they’re being seen.

Then he stirs.

Nudges his nose into the crook of your neck like he’s chasing your warmth in his sleep. A beat later, voice low and scratchy from sleep, he mumbles, “Mornin’”

You turn to face him, smiling into the space between you. “Morning.”

“You’re warm,” he mutters.

You nuzzle into his chest, letting yourself settle there, your smile hidden in his skin. “You’re clingy in the morning.”

“You like it.”

You do. God, you do. You just don’t say it yet. Instead, you tease, “Do you always get this handsy before breakfast?”

His lips brush your temple, and you can feel the grin in his answer. “Only with you.”

You stay like that a while. Wrapped in the quiet. In each other. Long enough for the sun to climb higher, for the real world to knock softly at the edges of the room.

“Do you have a plan for today?” He murmurs.

You shake your head, cheek against his chest. “Not really. I just want a shower.”

Namjoon hums, his hand flattening gently against the small of your back. “Later.”

You laugh, quiet and warm, your legs tangling more deliberately with his under the covers. His fingertips trace idle patterns on your spine now, slow and lazy, like he’s in no rush to be anywhere but here. And maybe you aren’t either.

“I should text my mother,” you murmur eventually, not moving.

“Mhm.” He still doesn’t let go.

“And Jimin.” You smile at the way his eyes flutter close, hands still moving. “He’s my friend. He’ll probably grill you even harder than my mother.”

Namjoon just hums.

“I should grab my shirt.”

“No need,” he mumbles into your hair.

You snort softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before slipping free—slowly, reluctantly. He makes a quiet noise of protest, half-heartedly reaching for your wrist but missing.

“We need to work on this morning person tendencies you have if we want this marriage to work.” He mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, his hair spiking up even more when he runs that same hand through it.

You grin, tugging the crumpled sheet with you as you stand up. “That’s fine. I’ll just marry you in the afternoon instead.”

Behind you, Namjoon groans into the mattress. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“You started it,” you call back, voice light even despite the ache between your thighs.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he says around a yawn, already swinging his legs over the bed just as you leave the bedroom in search of your phone.

You pad into the living room and grab your sweatshirt too, swinging it over your shoulder, muscles still deliciously sore. Your phone is right where you left it—wedged in the couch cushions—and as you pick it up, it lights up immediately.

[12 notifications – Jimini 🐸]

You swipe.

12:30 PM: did he come? 12:30 PM: lol come. 🤣😂🫣😏 12:31 PM: no. joking. your mother arranged this—DISGUSTING✨💕 12:31 PM: maybe… send me a pic! a sneaky one. just make sure ur flash isnt on like last time.😂 4:13 PM: Are we still getting drinks with Tae or…? 4:17 PM: helloooooo?!?! 6:27 PM: babe. are you alive? 10:37 PM: I swear if you’re dead I’m gonna be so pissed 12:10 AM: do you know CPR? because I might need it when you finally tell me what happened with that tall korean man. 8:55 AM: okay it’s morning! say something. 9:00 AM: HELLLOOOOOOOOO 9:01 AM: fine. I hope he’s ugly.

You bite your lip, suppressing a grin.

From the hallway, you hear Namjoon’s voice, still hoarse, “Do you eat in the mornings?”

You blink at your phone, thumb hovering over Jimin’s latest message.

You: he’s not.

Then—just loud enough for him to hear, a grin already creeping up your face—you call back, “Eat what?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then: a choked sound, and Namjoon’s footsteps.

You don’t even bother turning around.

“…Food,” he deadpans, emerging around the corner, already dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, towel in his hand, the other combing through his wild, sleep-ruined hair. “I’m going to get us some coffee. Wanted to know your order too.”

You nod slowly, pretending to consider it, even though your smile is already betraying you. “Hmm. Something strong. Hot. Sweet, but not too sweet.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you like he knows exactly what you're doing when you grab the towel from his hands. “You want me or coffee?”

You grin, finally meeting his eyes. “I can have both.” You tease, walking towards the bathroom.

He exhales a short laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you pass by. “I’ll be back before you finish.”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, already half down the hallway, towel slung loose over your arm. “Don’t rush on my account.”

Namjoon smirks, leaning his weight against the doorframe for a moment like he’s debating whether to follow you in after all. “Too late. I'm already thinking about round two.”

You snort. “Bold of you to assume I won’t lock the door.”

Namjoon grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Challenge accepted.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you walk into the bathroom, door completely open behind you, even when you step into the shower.

Namjoon chuckles, heart full and a little dumb, suddenly eager to actually keep his promise of being back before you finish. He slides on a pair of slides and heads down the hall. Waiting for the elevator, he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through yesterday’s notifications.

Work mails, with nothing urgent still, his sister wishing him luck on his date.

Then, five missed calls from his mother and a message that makes him pause.

Eomma 💮: I can’t believe you Kim Namjoon. You are completely something else! How could you even think about skipping on the date!? let alone leave that poor girl hanging??? Ajumeoni Bae said she’d considering lowering your profile!! LOWERING IT! I am deeply disappointed.

His thumb hovers over the screen, mind momentarily blank.

Skip the date?

Namjoon blinks, glancing at the timestamp. The message came in sometime last night—hours after he’d already been tangled up with you in his sheets, your mouth on his, your laugh caught in his chest. Definitely not skipping anything.

Unless—

He swipes back to his call log. All the missed calls from his mom came after dinner.

Well after he’s already met you…

His brow furrows.

“The fuck?”

The elevator dings, but he doesn’t step in right away. Instead, he rereads the message before stepping inside and calling his mother.

The phone rings twice before his mother picks up—no hello, no greeting, just straight to the point.

“Namjoon-ah, you better have a good explanation.”

He closes his eyes briefly, already bracing himself. “Hi, Eomma.”

“Don’t ‘hi Eomma’ me. Do you know how embarrassed I was when I got that call from Ajumeoni Bae? I practically begged her to keep your file active! I told her you’re a good boy—just shy, busy, thoughtful. But this? Skipping on a date without so much as a message?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t skip.”

“Oh really?” She huffs. “Because the girl you were supposed to meet complained you never showed!” She lets out something he can only describe as profound disappointment. “I can’t believe you did this—”

“No, I—” Namjoon blinks hard, staring at the elevator doors like they might provide answers. “I met with her, Eomma. At the Cafe next to the SeMa? A girl in a pink dress. Kang Y/N.”

That makes his mother stop mid rant, a long pause following. So long it makes him wonder if the elevator ate up all his phone signal.

“What?” she asks, suspicious.

“Yes. We ate lunch, ended up going for a walk and then dinner and a gallery too—” and he stops because that is enough information for her.

“Kang what?” His mother demands.

“Y/N.” Namjoon says, just as certain as before. “Pink dress. works as a paralegal at a firm in Seoul, at the café near the museum. You said—”

“I said your match would be wearing a pink dress, yes,” she cuts in, “but her name is Kang Mirae, Namjoon. Mirae!”

Namjoon blinks. “…Who?”

“Oh my dear God,” she breathes, and he can practically hear her pacing now. “ You mean to tell me you went on a date yesterday and didn’t even download her complete file? Did you just read the debrief?” She sounds borderline outraged.

“I thought—” He stops, then runs a hand through his hair. What did he think? “Listen, I saw a her by the window, she fit the description. I figured it was her.”

“And you just sat down?” The disbelief dripping from his mother’s voice is almost unbearable. He feels like a small kid again, getting scolded for coloring on the walls. “You didn’t even confirm she was sent by Ajumeoni Bae?!”

Namjoon grimaces. “No?”

There’s a pause. A sharp exhale. Then—

“Namjoon-ah. Aigoo.” The sound is somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement now. “How did you manage to pay to go on a date and still end up on the wrong one?”

He closes his eyes, forehead tapping against the cool elevator wall. “I thought she was her.”

“You thought? You thought? Did she even mention Ajumeoni Bae’s services?”

“No,” he admits, voice small. “But she looked… like she was waiting for someone too…”

“She wasn’t waiting for you!” his mom cries, fully amused now. “You just saw a girl in a pink dress and assumed?”

“Well technically she assumed too—she didn’t ask either!”

“Oh my God!” She was full-on giggling now. “Dear God,” she says. “You two really deserve each other. I accidentally raised a himbo.”

Namjoon groans. “Eomma—”

“No, no, don’t you ‘Eomma’ me. This is so stupid it must be destiny. You went on a blind date with the wrong woman,” she cackles. “Is she pretty? You said paralegal? Lawyer was better but paralegal isn't bad. Wait—” She pauses mid tirade “Did she know she was supposed to marry you after this date?”

“Yes…She was supposed to meet a Kim,” Namjoon says, running a hand through his hair again, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “That’s what her mom told her. Just—‘a Kim.’”

There’s a beat of stunned silence on the other end of the line.

Then: “Aigoo.” His mom’s voice turns reverent, like she’s just witnessed divine intervention. “That’s fate, Namjoon-ah! You stumbled into your match without even trying.”

Namjoon makes a low noise in his throat, not quite agreement, not quite denial.

“Does she like you?” His mom asks, immediately nosy again. “She must, if you’re still alive.”

“She stayed the night, didn’t she?”

“Kim Namjoon!”

“I didn’t mean it like—well, okay, maybe I did. But it wasn’t—” He pauses, mouth twitching. “I like her,” he admits quietly.

More silence.

“I really like her,” he adds, just as the elevator doors slide open.

And his mom, predictably, gasps like she’s just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Then you better fix this before she finds out from someone else and thinks you’re some matchmaking scammer!”

Namjoon winces. “Why would she even think that?”

“I don’t know! I’m just being thorough. Now go! Make it right. And Namjoon?”

“…Yes?”

“You’re both idiots.”

“Thank you, eomma.” He deadpans.

His mother snorts. “Anytime sweetheart. Now go! I want to meet her soon!”

“You will.” He chuckles and hangs up with a sigh, slipping his phone back in his pocket as he steps out of the elevator and into the soft, overcast morning. The morning smells like rain and city steam, and his brain is buzzing, equal parts panic, disbelief and something stupidly light and warm.

He accidentally ghosted his match.

He accidentally met his better-half.

And yet—he can’t bring himself to regret any of it.

Not when you’re still upstairs in his shower. Not when he can still picture your sleepy smile and the curve of your neck and the sound of your laugh echoing off the bathroom tile. Not when his bedsheets still smell like you.

He ducks into the café on the corner, nods to the barista who already knows his usual, and adds a second coffee order. Strong, hot, sweet—but not too sweet.

Then he points to the pastry case, zeroing in on the flakiest, most obscenely overpriced croissant he can find. The kind of treat you’d mock and inhale in two bites.

He taps his card. He adjusts the pastry bag under his arm, balancing the coffees carefully as he starts back toward the building.

He’s going to tell you everything….

Just… maybe after caffeine.

Maybe after you’ve stopped smelling like his shampoo.

Maybe after round two.

Maybe.

~~~

Epilogue: The steam curls around you in the shower. Your hands are all over him.

Water runs down your spine in rivulets, hot and heavy, but he’s hotter still—his skin, his mouth, the way his fingers skate over your damp skin, mapping out the slope of your waist, the curve of your ass and he carefully presses you against the cold tiles.

His lips drag across your neck, up to your lips to catch them back in another heated kiss. He tastes like coffee now. Like maybe he stole a sip before he got in with you, and you can’t seem to get enough of it.

His palm finds your thigh and lifts it, slow and deliberate, anchoring your leg around his hip. The movement brings your bodies flush together, and the groan that leaves him—low, ragged, real—makes you clench around him.

You bite at his bottom lip and feel him shudder.

Then—

“Random question, have you ever heard of Ajumeoni Bae?”

You gasp around a moan, a little wrecked, a whole lot confused. “Who?”

[yougavememyopia]

Tsundere X Yandere

Tags: Yandere loner reader, tsundere touch-starved darling, stalking, fingers in mouth, suggestive ;)

♥︎----------------------------------------------♥︎

Usually I don't do yandere reader but it was fun to write! Next part is yandere x yandere~

The execution of the plan could not be more perfect. No witnesses, no mishaps. Nothing got in your way to have a pretty boy unconscious and captured within your hold. All yours and yours alone.

When you woke your new darling boyfriend, you expected frightened tears. You expected screams of panic. Shock and disbelief. Cursing and profanity. You expected some kind of negative or (rare case) positive reaction. Not... this.

A bored, unamused expression on his face was far from what you were expecting. His eyes judged you up and down. Filled with nothing but apathy to the environment around him.

No reaction to the ropes that hugged his wrists nor the walls surrounded by various pictures of him. Raging from the mundane to the extreme. From eating ice cream outside to a photo of him sleeping. Every single part of his life was documented, and yet he didn't look creeped out at all.

"So... you're my stalker." He muses. An eyebrow raised while he breathed out a sigh. "I knew I was being watched, but no one believed me. I bet they're sorry now for doubting me."

You cleared your dry throat. The nervousness was getting to you, still caught off-gaurd by how unbothered he seemed. You did owe him an explanation, even if he didn't seem to want one.

Your life had been pretty bland and mundane. A lack of socializing left you with a lonely heart. Every day felt like such a drag. Another day that you had to survive. Another day closer to your death.

You decided that had to change. An action had to be taken. You couldn't go your whole life thinking like that. And while, yes—making friends and meeting someone through the normal ways would've been nice—you just... weren’t that kind of person.

You were always a bit crazy. Abnormal. Creepy. "Welcome to your new, forever home." An anxious smile overtook your face. Excitement pumping through your body. This was messed up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel a hint of regret.

"Yeah, okay. Can we wrap this up? I got somewhere to be." His hands tried to tug their way free, yet those bind was much stronger than him. Another frustrated sigh from his nose as he obviously failed to escape.

"Well... You're not going anywhere. I captured you and now you are mine. That's how these things work, right?"

He just stared at you with a blank face. "Yeah, right. As if I'm going to be living here forever."

Why was he looking at you like that? It seemed like he did not understand how kidnappings worked. "Well, you see, you're tied to a bed. I don't think you can be making demands."

He went silent. The deadpan look on his face not flatering in the slightest. "I see."

This felt more awkward that it need to be. Minutes passed as you started pacing around the room. Rambling and yapping about how it was hard to get into a relationship. Your insecurities. Your fears. Your doubts. All while he bemusingly gazed at you, like a foreigner who didn't understand a single word of English.

You told him about how you learned to tie knots or what kind of drugs were useful. All the trouble with the plan to take him.

"Wow. You went through all that for me?" His tone changed to something lower. A sarcastic grin on his face. "How sweet. You worked so hard to take away my freedom. Good job, freak."

You slowly chuckled. A monster... That was what you turned into. Your hands shaking this entire time while your eyes remained wide. The unhinged forced smile getting bigger. You really did it. You fixed your life.

"Oh, well... I was getting tired of being alone. And you also seemed very alone too." No wonder why. He was a social reject, not very social or outgoing. Thus why kidnapping him was a bit too easy. "You're also pretty cute... W-when you don't speak."

"Great. I'm even hated by my kidnapper. Isn't that something?" He rolled his eyes. "I told you I need somewhere to be. Untie me."

You frowned at his dumb demands. "...I'm quite sure the ice cream truck already closed for the day."

He blushed and turned his head away. "I-I forgot you watched me... Weirdo."

You noticed how he always loved to get the French vanilla once a week after getting out of the house to touch some grass. He was safe, predictable. You knew you would slowly break down his tough exterior and get to the delicious creamy center.

How you couldn't wait to do all the couple things you saw. Gone would be those days where every day was a reminder of how you'd die alone. The mall, the park, literally anywhere. It would finally be safe to enter the real world out there. Escapism can only get you so far.

-----------------------------‐-----------------------------

"Ah, finally home at last." You muttered under your breath as you made your way inside.

You threw your keys into a drawer and took off your shoes. Immediately, you went to check in on your tied hostage. Seeing him on the bed, watching TV. All comfortable and relaxed. It made you smile.

His eyes switched their focus to you.

"You look like a mess." He stated. Eyes scanning up to down. "Aww~ You had a bad day, right? Gonna take it out on me?"

You rolled your eyes. "Hello to you too, doll."

"That's all I am now, huh? A toy to be played with. Urghh! I hate this. This is dumb. So dumb."

As he started to complain, you were already in the bathroom. Changing your clothes to something comfortable and washing your face. When you came back out, you sat on the bed right beside him. The proximity making your heart beat faster.

"You weren't complaining when I hugged you during the thunderstorm last week." You smirked at him. The memory of him falling asleep on your chest while you rubbed his back fresh on your mind.

You slept on the ground. A comfortable matress beside the bed he slept on. Sometimes watching him sleep, sometimes playing with his soft curls. When you heard him yelp at the sound of thunder one night, you had to hold back a giggle.

He whined. "Fuck you. Fuck this. Fuck everything."

Two fingers on his lips silenced him. His eyes closing in frustration while you lowered your tone. "Hey, be quiet... We agreed that if you behaved—"

He pulled away, "—come on! Technically, you're not supposed to be so strict with the guy you're obsessed with. You should spoil me rotten, right? That's how it works. Serve me, worship me, bow—!"

You forcefully plunged your fingers into his lips, shutting him up. The warmth and wetness of his mouth welcoming you. You've never been so bold with him—always making sure you're gentle and respectful—but slowly, you were realizing how to tame him. Slowly breaking his walls and mending him to your liking.

"Don't bite. You don't wanna make me angry." You warned him gently. His tongue failed to get your index and middle finger out, only accepting his fate when you pushed deeper in. Rubbing the slimy texture and exploring the roof of his mouth. It wasn't long before he started panting, tugging his bindings. "Is it getting too much for you?"

As you pulled away—he coughed slightly—watching you put the saliva covered fingers back into your mouth for a taste.

"Eww... Disgusting. Fucking perv!" He yelled. A bit of drool left at the corner of his lip (since he had no way of wiping it). "And here I thought you couldn't get worse."

You let out a hum. "Mmh~ I get you're not ready for kissing, so I will take anything I can get."

He clicked his tongue, eyes looking anywhere but at you. "Tch... Why don't you spare the humiliation of spitting in my mouth next and get that fucking kiss done with?!?"

You smiled hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"If you want it so bad, take it. I'm at your mercy, after all. You... can be more assertive. If you're really obsessed with me, then prove it."

You took his chin in hand, closing the distance between you two. Your nose rubbing on his cheek as you drew in closer. Yet, it wasn't close enough. Your parted lips not quite reaching his. He stayed still with closed eyes for a moment. Waiting, longing, but the kiss never came.

"You're so mean.... just... kiss me.... please?"

Your smile widened, tilting his head to an angle and gently pressing your lips against his. Hands making their way to tug his hair, tongue rubbing lewdly against each other. Moans and pants filling the room.

Your hands ran down from his tinted cheeks to his warm neck, to his tensed shoulders to his heaving chest, and finally, it dropped to his thighs. His quivering and shaking lap hiding a certain growing region from view.

Your finger nudged it with purpose, pulling away from him and tilting your head. Watching him bit his lip as you poke it again. "What's this?"

He frowned. "Nothing...?"

"Right, okay." You always had a hard time deciphering if he was actually serious or joking. His sarcastic remarks, his logical reasoning. It was a bit odd, yet endearing.

Your hand left him, making him groan with a frusted huff. "You're the one to talk, y'know. You're a big loser. That's why you kidnapped me. 'Cause you couldn't make any friends or find a date. I was just a helpless guy living my totally eventful life."

You smiled, amused. Patting his head condescendingly thrice and getting up from the bed.

"You're doing this on purpose, right? You just want to see me beg because it makes you horny." He stated as a fact. His voice turned whiny, "I promise I'll behave from now on~ I promise~ Just a little touch~"

You beamed, holding your hands behind you while you stood still in your spot. "Not good enough."

"Are you serious... All that for nothing?" He embarrassingly turned his head to the side. Mumbling something you could clearly hear. "Why do I have to suck up to this insecure bitch?"

"I heard you." You kept the smile on your face. "Usually, people try to be nice to their kidnapper. It's more safe, no? I'm sure you knew that since you're so smart."

"You have no idea what I'm planning. It's a super smart plan from my intelligent brain." His eyes still stayed on the ground. The relaxed look on his face present as always.

"Sure. But perhaps you'd like to say something nicer, or else no one is relieving your little problem."

He finally looked at you to glare, but it held much desperation and begging. A grunt barely audible while you mockingly tilt your head. A teasing smirk on your face.

"Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Make a decision, doll. It's just a sincere apology and your forever submission."

((Ty anons for all your messages~ I think this is the last additional character (for now), and I'll focus on the existing ones next... Crybaby yan pt4, wink wink~))

[obae-me]

How many kisses I think it would take before he turns to mush

My creativity has been stuck in essentially a rush hour traffic jam for like weeks, so let's write something silly for practice, shall we?

Lucifer

Definitely ten or more. He tries to keep his composure, to focus on the task at hand, scold you for coddling him and distracting him, but if you hold onto your stubbornness and see it through to the end, he will be putty in your hands soon after you reach double digits. He might even fall faster if you give him little bits of praise after every kiss.

Mammon

Three MAX. One to catch him off guard, one to make it really sink in, and then the third to land the final blow. No amount of tsundere will outlast the triple attack. He'll be following you around like a lost puppy for the rest of the day, almost demanding more. He's greed after all, three might've broken him, but he'll be damned if he doesn't get more.

Levi

I would be tempted to say just one is enough, but we want a soft boy, not a vibrating, anxious mess. He gets tense at first, and he needs some reassurance and some time to understand that he likes and is okay what is happening. So I'm going to say five or more kisses. The first few he's just stuttering and blushing, but soon after, he can put that aside and just allow himself to relax a bit.

Satan

He acts like it takes him just as long as Lucifer, reaching double digits, when in reality he gave in internally much much earlier than that. Four is when his heart is melting and his mind is screaming, but around eight is when his body starts to unwind, almost curling around you like a cat.

Asmo

Much higher than you would expect. One must bridge the initial flirting phase before he becomes a puddle. I'm going to say probably six kisses. The first three he'll be giddy, but if you get softer with each kiss, he'll slowly start to become speechless.

Beel

As long as there isn't food in the way, just one. One kiss is all it takes. This demon has just so much love in him, you hardly need to kiss him for him to be soft for you. He doesn't need to put up an act. Just give him a single smooch and he'll drop whatever he's doing to cuddle into you.

Belphie

So many kisses. Probably even more than Lucifer. He feels like he deserves your kisses anyway, so it's hard to get him flustered about it, especially when he's so spoiled. Besides, you have to hope your affection won't lull him to sleep. Over ten for sure. Just keep going. Eventually, he'll be overwhelmed and give up his sleepy smug nature and transform into fluff.

Diavolo

Look me in the eyes and tell me this touch starved man will not cave after like two or three. He's not used to kisses, so the first kiss has his brain lagging. Hit him with the double combo and he's gone. Wasted. Fatality. Although please just kiss him more than twice. He really likes it.

Barbatos

Too many to count, unfortunately. He likes it, don't get him wrong, he's just tough to break. But there must be a breaking point somewhere. Keep attacking him with kisses and surely he must give in eventually, although most likely by his own will, giving in just so you can catch a proper breath. A win is a win.

Simeon

Probably no more than four, although it seems like more than that because he'll often return to sender and kiss you back. Don't give in, you must stay strong before he makes you melt first. Hum as you kiss him and he'll fall faster, almost cooing.

Solomon

He's got a stronger will than most, almost as good as Barbatos, but he will melt in due time. He'll treat it like a game at first, which it almost is to you, but he doesn't have to know that. It takes a while, but when he melts, he melts fast. He'll be trying to chuckle and make light of it one moment, and then be a completely speechless mess the next.

[seokminfilm]

just friends ── kim mingyu

🤍 pairing, kim mingyu x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, implied childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, mingyu is kind of a flirt, kissing, confession, long-haired mingyu (we moved on too quickly from him), reader sits on mingyu's lap, reader calls mingyu 'gyu'

🤍 summary, you and mingyu realize you aren't just "friends".

🤍 author's note, saw these mingyu pics that screamed 80's college student and had to write something about it cause long-haired mingyu is literally my roman empire🧍consider this to be a LATE mingyu birthday gift cause i planned to do something for his bday the day OF and couldn't think of anything ☹ anyways enjoy!!

🤍 now playing, show me how (men i trust)

🤍 word count, 984 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

"oh, come on. a few kisses will not ruin our friendship." mingyu has a whine to his voice you can't help but laugh at, cheeks heating up nevertheless as you side-eye him.

"mingyu, do you hear yourself right now? are you sure you aren't drunk?" you ask, and mingyu grabs your hands, dark eyes serious as he holds your gaze. his hands are warm, and his body radiates heat, the blush on his cheeks matching yours as he shakes his head.

the two of you had settled in on a quiet friday night to binge-watch your favorite childhood movies, and the two of you had just finished watching flipped, laughing and cringing at the bonus clips of the kissing scenes.

if you thought hard about it, you would have noticed that mingyu was acting differently tonight. he had been really touchy with you lately, hands always somewhere on you as he carried on conversations.

you didn't think about it much at first, but you had started to get distracted by it, body warming up as soon as mingyu had attempted to put his arm around you. it was awkward, seeing mingyu trying to flirt with you, but it made your heart skip nevertheless.

it seems that the little childhood crush you swore you had successfully hidden wasn't truly hidden at all.

"you're seriously asking to kiss me right now? friends....friends don't kiss each other on the daily, gyu." you laugh, trying to shrug off the feeling of thousands of butterflies in your stomach.

mingyu stares at you with puppy-like dark brown eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses, lips parting to reveal sharp canines as he thinks better of his sentence and closes his mouth. he shifts a little bit, broad shoulders blocking any way of escape from the couch as he nods slightly.

"i know that. i know that friends don't want to kiss each other. they shouldn't want to, anyways." mingyu exhales again, pretty eyes downcast to the cushion under him before he looks back up at you again.

"we're not just friends are we?" mingyu asks quietly, eyes piercing as he holds your gaze. you choke on your words, eyes widening slightly as you lock eyes on his frame, fingertips twitching with the urge to push his neck-length hair back.

you were already dancing the fine line between 'friends enjoying a cute movie' and 'friends two seconds away from kissing each other', and you had a feeling that tucking mingyu's hair back for him would be the amount the two of you would need to cross the line into the latter.

"do you want to kiss me?" you ask softly, and mingyu's eyes jump up to meet yours. he's staring down at you, obviously too tall for you to look him straight in the eye.

you had no clue where the confidence to ask that question came from, but you found yourself praying that more would come.

"...maybe." mingyu has the gall to smirk at you, soft lips even more taunting as you heave a sigh, shaking your head slightly.

"i can't believe i'm doing this." something between a sigh and a laugh spills from your lips, and mingyu watches you relapse in judgment, taking your chin in his hand as he pulls you to him.

"don't you dare back out now." mingyu's voice is low, delicate as if he's scared that the moment will pass. you search his eyes, heart slowing down as he traces your jawline with his finger. "i want this. ....o-only if you want it, though."

the nervousness seems to leave your body with mingyu's slight stutter at the end of his sentence, showing that he's just as nervous as you are.

you let your shoulders drop slightly, relaxing your body as mingyu notices the way you lean into his touch. "i want it, gyu."

the words seem like a dream to you as they come out of your mouth, but your heart and mind finally agree on something for once: you want this kiss like your life depends on it.

"good. let me show you what i've been wanting to do to you for ages." mingyu's voice lowers to a whisper as he leans in. his lips lock with yours a few seconds later, massive tanned hands cupping your face as he molds his lips to yours.

your hands are flying to mingyu's tousled hair in an instant, fingers combing through his dark locks as he presses into you. you always knew mingyu's lips were soft, but you never expected they'd be this soft—and on your lips, for god sake.

after a few seconds of silence, the two of you pull away from each other, still in a dazed state of mind. mingyu's glasses had been discarded somewhere, and he sits in front of you now, eyes piercing as he studies your microexpressions.

"you know i've liked you for the longest time, right?" you decide to state the obvious, now that you just kissed your childhood friend.

"yeah," mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, and you take hold of mingyu's broad shoulders quickly, shaking him as he laughs happily.

"seriously? why didn't you do anything about it!?" you pout, and mingyu smiles, finger running across your cheek as he shrugs. "i wanted to see how long you could wait."

"kim mingyu!" you whack mingyu lightly, a smile cracking across your face as mingyu falls back against the couch. you find the confidence to climb up upon mingyu's lap, his hands taking place on your hips as he smiles up at you.

"i love you." the words fall from his lips before you can beat him to it, and your heart flutters, finally hearing mingyu utter the words you had only heard him say in dreams.

"i love you too, mingyu." you smile softly, leaning down to get what's owed to you: mingyu's searing kiss that tastes of a long-waited confession.

[r0-boat]

Gooner!Belphegor magic pocket pussy Drabble

Cw: masturbation, dubcon.

Gn!reader (Even if you don't have the parts the reader can still feel it ✨magically✨

His pupils dilated holding the toy in his hand. It wasn't just an ordinary toy. He had waited months for this magical toy from Tartaros.

A pocket pussy that syncs It's opening to match any person he chooses. With manual excruciatingly using the little bits DNA from strands of hair that fell from your pretty little head the last time you slept in his bed and other bothersome labor setting the damn thing up so it binds to you, It's finally ready.

"This toy better be far worth the hassle I had to endure," Belphegor mutter does he pressed his finger against the slit of the toy. He truly hopes You could feel his fingers working you open from wherever you are. He licks his lips His eyes fluttering clothes as he runs his tongue across the silicone lips.

Meanwhile, You were tagging along with not only Satan but the rest of the kings for a meeting.

"So sad that Belphegor can't attended today..." Asmodeus smirks giving Satan a wink who's flipping him off in response.

"Good riddance I say, if I had to hear One more meeting of snoring I would have closed off his throat." Leviathan mumbled.

You smile as you sit in your usual seat kicking your feet, Even though you had nothing to do with these meetings The Kings were still nice enough to have you join each one.

It was a day like any other.

Until...

A wet warm feeling caresses your core. You gasp as you swallow a moan. Lucifer's sharp eyes catches your sharp noise "Everything all right?"

" Y-yeah." Was all you could muster.

feeling that's sweet familiar taste of human arousal on his tongue he shutters "Haaa-haha This thing can even replicate your taste. Now I know it's working..."

"fuck... No more waiting... I need it!"

Lazily pushing his robes off on revealing his hard cock He strokes his shaft with one hand maneuvering his tip till it pushes against the opening as he works it open. "Fuck! Replicating your tightness too... This might be my new favorite toy." Belphegor mumbles forcing his cock deeper inside the toy.

You felt something hard and warm fill somewhere between your legs You didn't even have time to process where and how before this mysterious feeling begin to move in and out.

There was no mistaking what this feeling was. Which was deeply confusing since you were in the middle of a meeting and not being fucked by any of the kings present. The size, girth, and even the speed of the thrusts were familiar, but you couldn't place your finger on where you had felt this before. Given how fast thrusting motions began to speed up, it was so hard to think. Before you knew it, you clenched your teeth, trying so hard not to scream out in the middle of the six other kings in the room.

Your hand balling your twitching fingers into a fist trying to stop yourself from going underneath your pants.

His breath shook as he finally took his cock out of the toy His tip rubbing circles around The stretched silicone slit. "Hehehe, rest up while you can ma sweet lil' toy cuz I'm not done with you yet~"

He wonders what you're doing. He knows that there's a meeting going on right now. He wonders if you're there.

"I wonder... I wonder you like getting fucked by me in front of all the other demons that want you."

Belphegor cummed his messy hair falling in front of his eyes as he grinded his shaft against the lips of the toy. "betcha do horny slut!"

Even though you weren't there to write him or suck him off till his balls burst, The idea of fucking you anywhere he wished made his cock twitch and drool with precum.

Belphegor hummed getting his other hand to swipe at the precum drooling from his head. He takes his two fingers and slides them inside. "Ya feel that? That's what you do to me."

You finally mustered all your strength when the thrusts start to slow You slammed your fist down on the table catching everyone's attention their eyes wide at the sudden outburst "I'M GOING TO THE BATHROOM!"

Shit, you did not need to yell that loud... Now, everyone looked worried, But you didn't care because if you had stayed a second longer, you would have come right then and there in your pants. While, everyone was watching. You've never run so fast out of the meeting room.

Slamming and locking your door to your bedroom Your nails dig into the sheets trying so hard to hold back any noise as you brace yourself as the thrusting begin again.

Belphegor His eyes will back as he pounds it over and over into the flashlight as fast as he could go. He could feel the toy work it's magic tightening and pulsating just like how a cunt would; now your cunt. He could feel you cum with every tight squeeeeze.

If he thought fucking you was addicting then treating you like a fleshlight was like drugs.

As much as he wanted to use this toy for hours and hours on end. Which believe him he would.

Use it and overfill your new cunt, make feels so full when you're in fact empty. Maybe he would even fill it up to the brim and make sure it holds It aaall in So you could feel full all day.

As a demon known for breaking his toys He had to hold back. Which realization made him click his tongue. But it was true, He didn't know how much a human could take this toy was made intended for devils after all. So might as well finish inside it and store it away for later.

As much as he wanted to keeps stroking his hand was getting tired. In a last ditch effort to cum He shuffled in his bed his hair silk robes and sheet sticking to a sweaty body. He put the pocket pussy in between two pillows. As much as he hated the hassle of actually doing sex. He needed to have you feel him fuck you.

His unrestrained moans feel his bedroom as he drills his cock deeper with each thrust into the toy. Making sure he stoled his hips as deep as he could before exploding. Making sure He failed the toy to the brim.

He was nowhere near satisfied, And he knew he'll be returning to the toy again for right now, exhaustion hit him all at once. He placed his toy upright on the nightstand. He smiled, knowing that you'll feel all his cum deep inside for a while before drifting off to sleep.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

♡He's My Man♡

Not my original idea, though... I really loved what @lemon-koii thought of and I was like "HE'S MY MAN BY LUVCAT???" When I tell you I screamed on the top of my lungs for this after seeing one of my favorite music playing...

If you're asking if I am still listening to this music while writing, yes. I have it on loop in the settings so I got it memorized.

Gender Neutral reader [<-if some of ya'll don't sing this just pretend, since for me? I'm a bad fucking singer, I love me some delusional readers🙏]

Genre: idk slightly creepy!reader? They sing like they killed their own husband but whateves. Romantic.

Involvement: Main cast [<-I'm going to include NPCs so if you see white texts with no color, that's probably scarabia NPC B or smth]

Tw: OOC because I want some lovesick fools, Mentions of poisoning [Kalim cover your ears], unhealthy obsessions, unmentioned death [<-maybe in the lyrics...], cussy, and yeah tell me if there's more I'm putting warnings first before writing this fic bc why not.

P.S. I'm going to open my asks later. And to add more, I don't know what singers do, but I do know that they pour their heart out for their songs, so I wanna put emotions on the reader, describing the feelings or smth.

The whole school was invited for a performance.

Why you ask? Oh, to secretly record the prefect singing one of the music they've heard in their world.

Does the prefect know? Let's say, kind of? Okay, no, not really. BUT what the prefect doesn't know won't hurt them, soo...

Housewardens and Vice-housewardens were invited as well as a few members in their dorms.

Riddle tried refusing because of his studies.

Ace convinced him because his boring ass needs some fun and needs to learn visually not only through literature.

Riddle agrees since it might be the first to hear prefect singing [<-let's imagine you're not that bad of a singer].

Deuce and Ace celebrates in victory, dragging along Trey [who baked sweets in case they get hungry yk?]

Cater is no where to be seen [no shit]

They all go to the PMC [Pop music club] where they find a stage set up with a spotlight, the room is quite dark, and some random ass person recording the whole thing, Savannaclaw got in here as well, and somehow included Leona who was just sleeping somewhere nearby, Ruggie looking for food [he smelled the sweets Trey made], Jack just chillin' with the rest of the first years [<-the ones he knows], Epel lowkey tweaking out after hearing Vil saying "behave" for the 150th time, Rook is making sonnets of how lovely this performance would be since you are going to be singing for the audience [and you are very scared because what happens if you voice-crack? That shit will make you kill yourself instead for the last performance bro 💯].

Sebek is over here yelling his heart out of this soon-to-be performance that hasn't even started yet, he was even shut down by his other dormmates, even Malleus was invited. Silver is snoring but is woken up by his dormmate that coincidentally has a UM that keeps him awake, Idia came in with his tablet because fucker is scared to step in the function, Ortho takes his place and carrying the tablet with him, Octavinelle is scheming after the performance cuz' they boutta witness a first time in forever.

Azul is patiently waiting, Jade is just smiling and talking to others about something, maybe a mountain fact or tips when hiking, Floyd is slowly getting bored while waiting so he starts to terrorize [tease] Riddle, while Riddle shouts at him, Trey plays peacemaker, Jamil is worried and darting around looking for Kalim out of habit, only to realize that Kalim is a part of the club so he relaxes, just a bit. Leona is secretly listening for something [obviously the performance].

Now in comes the lights turning off and everyone goes silent. Literally silent.

And a spotlight turns on the stage.

Voices.

"C'mon! I promise you, your music taste isn't so bad! First, we'll practice a few times in here, then, we'll show the entire world! I swear, it will go viral, trust me!" Laughed Kalim.

"He's right, [Name]. You should practice singing it in here." In steps Lilia [💋🎀].

Cater just grabs his guitar and does a little test with it before confirming it would go nice with the 'practice'.

"Yeah... I don't know if I should, like what happens if, I like, you know, crack my voice on accident?? Like bro, that'll be MAD embarrassing." "Nahh, you'll be fine! This is JUST practice. Trust me." Said Cater, and you side-eyed him.

Honestly, I think it's legal to slap people here... [sorry random thought]

You grab the mic and just stare at it. You're not sure if you're anxious, scared, or just nervous. This shit is giving you pressure.

"Relax!~ breath in and out!" Kalim chimed in.

You did as you were told, it kinda died down but that don't mean you don't STILL feel nervous. The room is literally dark as fuck. How are you supposed to know you are truly alone with them???

"Nobody would judge you here, it's just the three of us with you. Take your time." Lilia reassured, coaxing you into a false sense of comfort which you totally let your guard down.

☆~~———~~☆

Let's say you let your guard down, you grab the mic, turn it on [if it wasn't already], and of course, you teach them how the music sounded like. Kalim, for once, wanted to actually make it right as to not make it sound something your not familiar with, and tried syncing it to what you believed was how the music went. From the beats, to the chorus at the nearing end.

And so the music starts...

Late September in the city.

Everyone listens closely, wondering if it's a love song or a sad one. A song with meanings? Riddle thought.

The sky is grey, the air is sticky.

Riddle paused. What the fuck does that mean??? Trey paid no mind to it, maybe it's a metaphor, considering how much singers used to do that a lot in their lyrics.

Ace was snickering, so his bitch ass was pinched and a hand clasp onto his mouth before he could yelp [but the mic was loud so you couldn't hear him at all, okay slightly but you assumed something fell].

Deuce watches in amazement. Hearing you sing for the first time.

I keep falling in and out of sleep.

Insomnia? Leona thought, but scratch that, the lyrics said 'in and out' not fully awake, like something bothering the woman from sleeping or something? Must be such a nightmare to live like that.

Ruggie side-eyes someone who wouldn't like to be in a situation like that. (Leona)

Some guitar just playing within silence, it sounds sad, but it sounds a bit eerie not creepy, just eerie. Like the singer has something else in mind.

Letting the sun scorch the grass,

The flies are knocking on the glass.

Jamil cringed at that, why the fuck did you include that... Jade caught a glimpse of Jamil's disgusted face, he grins. But both can tell something is off with this music.

You looked entranced. Like you were detailing even the littlest of things in the moment.

But they're the only other friends I have. You see.

Malleus looks offended, what about him??? Then Lilia eyes him saying "It's the lyrics" Malleus somehow understood.

I need him so much, that it hurts,

I wish, he didn't have to go to work.

Oh? Jade thought, are you saying, you want a husband to stay by your side? Even, if they have to skip out their duties to provide? Hmm, but then again, keeping you happy by providing his attention to you does make you happy... but the problem is these other suitors...

The other boys are listening attentively, wondering if you're talking about someone in here.

I just lie and watch the ceiling fan turn,

He's my man~

We're hand in hand,

To hell and back,

And I'll love him like nobody else can!~

Not gonna lie... Idia thinks that this is some yandere traditional housewife with the way that the lyrics empathize "nobody else can"...

Prefect, is your world okay? Ortho js scanning the lyrics to find the meaning, but he needs to listen to it more to figure it out.

Riddle likes the tone of your voice, the emotion placed in it.

Rook thinks it's marvelous, pouring your heart into the lyrics where it voices out her beloved husband, do you want that type of husband, mon chouchou?

He's my man,

I've been damned,

No, nobody has to understand,

Me and my man~

Okay, so now Jamil side-eyes the lyrics internally, that SEEMS so suspicious. Prefect, you're not going to do what he thinks your going to do, are you?

As the instruments plays in a harmony where it's brooding, almost obsessively brooding, longing for someone that is already theirs, everyone starts to theorize on

What the fuck does this mean.

You literally look a bit eerie talking about 'your man' like, is it him??? He hopes [so] not!

Your voice trails off, like seeing your man whenever he walks into the room, look in a daze, you've memorized this in your heart, you stab it in if you had to.

I stay home and make his dinner,

Even though somehow he keeps getting thinner.

Now you got everyone worried, what the heck... Riddle is not side-eyeing the lyrics, no besides that, he's side-eyeing your expression. Please tell him your okay and that this is just a part of pouring emotions into a music that you totally don't relate in...

Please.

Trey is just concerned for you, WY are you singing this??? Maybe, it's just a song you like, despite the lyrics? Yeah, maybe.

Ace and Deuce looks at you like an escaped lunatic from a psyche ward [even though they should've been in there instead] Deuce doesn't mind but... what does 'keep getting thinner' even mean? Your literally feeding him, is he throwing it away??? Ace is getting justt a bit creeped out.

I wait, watching the washing machine spin round and round again!~

Npc B look at his friend, Octavinalle C whispering, "Maybe it's just in act... you know, the prefect hanging around with Vil?"

But Vil probably didn't remember you taking requests in acting, much more than good at it. Is this genuine? If it is, he'll need medical help to scoop your brain into a normal one...

Rook likes how creepy the vibe is, enjoying the show.

The instruments are taking a slightly intense turn, like madness slowly washing over them.

I NEED him so much that it hurts,

I wish he didn't have to go to work!~

Your voice sounded intense, in a softer way. Obsessively talking about a 'him', eyes fixated on 'him' [even if you're looking at no one], like it's your only thought process on keeping 'him' with you.

Everyone is recording silently, their streams blowing up by the second.

He keeps complaining that his visions blurred~

Okay. What the fuck, prefect. Leona is wide-eyed, deadass staring at the stage you were standing in, obviously not paying attention to the hidden crowd [which is, not that much crowded, if it was then you would've noticed right away. It's just a few NPCs], anyway this isn't about the audience. It's literally what your expressing in the lyrics, Leona is probs getting an eerie feeling from this.

Jamil looks with recognition, 'visions blurred' and 'keeps getting thinner' that couldn't be...

Kalim just ignores it, he knows it's a part of the music, you've explained it to him. It's a form of expression, he quite likely understood it. Just not the reason why it was expressed that way. Not like he wanted to know it anyway.

But he's my man!~

We're hand in hand,

To hell and back,

And I'll love him like nobody else can!~

Sis, that ain't your man, that's a test subject... thought Ruggie and Idia.

Trey looked shocked, if he's not wrong, it could've meant something about the wife being obsessed with her husband, yes? So if she is, and she's giving him food despite his lack of nutrition everyday... Oms.

Ace and Deuce was just catching up with the lyrics, the music sounds good.

Savannaclaw looked slightly intimidated with the way you're expressing this along with the lyrics about a wife.

Azul was paying attention to the possible meaning behind it, with an uneasy feeling writhing in his guts, Jade looked amused as if the music wasn't subtly hinting at a husband's death caused by a wife, Floyd was dead silent, paying attention to his shrimpy [whom he'd call [Name] from now on] and the lyrics. They don't seem to match [Name], that music is about obsession, blah, blah, blah, and [Name] doesn't do any of that! Unless they do...?

Malleus was paying attention to the lyrics mentioning the 'man', he seemed frail despite being fed, his eyes blurred with no reason, the wife's doing? Sebek was going to yell, Silver had a fast reflex into shutting him the fuck up before you performance is disturbed, solemnly attentive.

Idia is just wary of you bro what in the underworld are you even listening in your world ???? Ortho looks a bit concerned for your health, your emotions in his scanner seems a bit off...

Every NPC that was honorably invited was slightly hoisting up their phones to get a better look, until Vil slapped their hands down before you can spot it.

Rook was wondering what type of woman would do that to him if he were ever in your world instead. Would it be you?

He's my man~

I've been damned,

No, nobody has to understand,

Me and my man~

Yeah, this kinda adds up as to why you act so weird around your crush [or when you talk about your crush].

A violin plays for the 'romance' that blooms under delusions, it's like a message of sorts, a twisted perception of love. It's beautiful and fiercely loyal, but deadly and can backfire onto 'your man'.

He keeps having feverish dreams,

That he never ever leave.~

Oh, what a nightmare, Jade muses. But if it's you? That's different. What does he mean by that? No worries. Floyd is grinning, it's tempting to just sweep you off the stage and actually make you one.

Jamil is just concerned on why, out of all the music you could've picked in your world, it had to be this one.

Leona thinks the man did something wrong, but there were no mentions of what he exactly did wrong. Either the man was truly bad or the woman simply had lost her mind.

Ruggie thinks the woman doesn't actually have a husband and has perceived herself as one to her object of affection.

Jack doesn't know what to make out of this, it's so creepy and loving in a twisted way.

Azul probably thinks you know how to hide bodies.

Vil thinks you are acting, if you are he'll maybe invite you for practice, but if you aren't. Well...

Rook thinks this is amazing with how much it tells about how bordering obsessive the singer sounds, all while studying your expressions.

He wakes head aches, funny taste to his tea~

I want him to stay here forever.

He's happiest with me!~

Cause' he~

The instruments go slower, more intense than the last, the violin doesn't sound dramatic, it sounds frantic.

It bursts like an overwhelming sense of emotions. Sudden eruption of a chorus with Kalim, Cater, Lilia, and others who prior to joining in.

He's My Man!~

And I'll Love Him Like Nobody Else Can!~

He's MY Man!~

He's gone quite mad!~

Poor guy. Everyone thought, but some didn't even care, not when they weren't in his place :(...

No, Nobody Has To Understand!~

The instruments grew louder until the drums were heard, the last verse went solo, only them. No one else.

Me And My Man!~

The show went silent after the music stops.

Now, you were thirsty.

"Hey what the- you can't just leave without explaining what the fuck was that!"

Said a purple short boy.

Now you got A LOT to explain. [Even with some freaks].

The End♡~

The ending is ambiguous so you can imagine yourself either running away, or facing whatever they're going to throw at you, whether questions or objects, idk.

I hope you enjoy!~

[ghostlynightpanda]

I love your Ranpo pics sm I'm OBSESSED!!! is it OK if I request another one >///<? I was thinking fluffy (maybe teeny tiny bit angst?) gn reader and Ranpo buying sweets he wanted and other groceries thr Agency needed together. Then while walking back, Reader noticed a peace of jewelry that reminded them of something their parents fave when they were young but unfortunately lost it and had been grieving it since. Reader stood there admiring it for a while, of course Ranpo noticed and commented he didn't take them for a jewelry person, that made reader brushed him off and walked away. Ranpo then pondered about his crush-but-he-doesnt-realize-that-yet's action earlier that day and decided to buy them it and showed it to reader somewhere private (maybe Ranpo showed up to their dorm maybe?) And how reader react ummm I'd love to see how you'd write that😋😋!!! Hope this is okay!!♡♡

A Gift for the Soul

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

synopsis: While running errands with Ranpo, you spot a pendant in a jewelry store window that reminds you of one your mother used to wear — the one you lost long ago. Ranpo notices how your gaze lingers on it, and later that evening, after puzzling over why your sadness affects him so, he decides to surprise you with the pendant, hoping to ease your heartache.

content/warnings: Ranpo Edogawa x reader, fluff, -2.996 words

The day was warm but not unpleasant, the kind of afternoon where the sun peeked shyly from behind drifting clouds. Yokohama's streets were busy, humming with life, as you and Ranpo walked side by side — well, mostly side by side. Ranpo had already drifted ahead, zeroed in on the smell of sugar like a bloodhound.

“This is technically work,” you reminded him, holding up the neatly folded shopping list Fukuzawa had handed you earlier. “You remember that, right?”

Ranpo waved you off without turning around. “Yup. I remember that I said I’d go if I could pick out whatever sweets I wanted. That was the deal.”

You sighed, but not unhappily. “And you’re totally abusing the spirit of that deal.”

“I’m a genius,” he replied with a grin, finally stopping in front of the candy shop he’d been homing in on since the last street corner. “It’s not abuse. It’s efficiency.”

The glass window sparkled with the reflection of pastel-colored sweets arranged in tidy little pyramids. Ranpo’s face lit up like a child’s at a festival. You smiled softly at the sight — it was rare to see someone so openly delighted by something so simple.

Fifteen minutes later, your arms were heavier with a grocery bag filled with essentials — rice, miso, a suspicious amount of instant curry — while Ranpo carried a paper bag with three separate boxes of sweets. You weren’t sure what half of them were.

"You know," you said, shifting your bag to the other arm, "if you don't share with Yosano, she's going to find out and test poisons on you again."

“Pfft. She never shares hers with me either,” Ranpo said, popping a grape-flavored gummy into his mouth. 

As you turned a corner toward the main street, something glinted in a nearby shop window and caught your eye. You stopped walking.

It was a small jewelry shop, unassuming and a little old-fashioned — not the kind of place that screamed trend or luxury. But in the center of the display, nestled in soft velvet, sat a delicate piece: a silver pendant with a curved design that mirrored the shape of a crescent moon cradling a tiny glass bead. It shimmered just slightly when the light hit it.

Your breath caught.

It looked so much like the one your parents had given you — a gift on your birthday, years ago, passed down with quiet pride and warm smiles. You remembered seeing it in old photographs too — your mother laughing, your father holding her hand, the same design resting at her collarbone. You lost it during a move, and ever since, the regret had gnawed at you quietly. With your parents gone now, the loss felt heavier — like you'd misplaced not just an object, but a piece of them you could never get back.

You stepped closer to the glass without realizing it, eyes fixed, memory swimming behind your gaze.

Behind you, there was the soft rustle of a paper bag.

“Huh.” Ranpo had stopped just beside you, popping another candy into his mouth with an audible click. “Didn’t take you for the jewelry type.”

You blinked and straightened, startled out of the moment. “I’m not.”

“You stared at that thing for a full thirty seconds,” he said, chewing slowly. “That’s a lot of seconds for something you don’t care about.”

You shrugged, keeping your tone casual. “It just reminded me of something. That’s all.”

Ranpo tilted his head, his eyes narrowing — not suspiciously, exactly, but in that thoughtful way of his. His usual mischief was subdued, but it was still there, flickering under the surface.

Before he could say anything else, you turned away. “C’mon. We still need soy sauce and tofu.”

For once, he didn’t argue. He just followed behind you, unusually quiet, as you made your way back down the street.

You tried not to think about the pendant — how the light caught on the glass bead, or how warm it had made you feel for one small moment.

But you had seen the price tag tucked beneath it, handwritten in neat ink on a tiny white card. It wasn’t outrageous, but it was enough to sting. Not something you could afford on a whim, not with groceries, rent, and the growing list of everyday needs stacked against your wallet.

Still, your thoughts started shifting, calculating — maybe if you skipped a few café visits, cut back on the impulse vending machine snacks, walked to work more often instead of taking the train. If the pendant stayed there long enough… maybe, just maybe, it could be yours again. 

Behind you, Ranpo crunched down on his candy, eyes lingering on the shop window just a second longer.

After a couple more minutes, you finally reached the office. The doors slid open, and the familiar sound of distant typing and light chatter greeted you. It was a quiet day, relatively speaking. No buildings had exploded, no Port Mafia members had appeared dramatically in alleyways. Just the soft hum of normalcy.

Kunikida looked up from his desk the moment you stepped inside.

“You’re late,” he said, tapping a pen against his open notebook.

“We’re not late,” you said, setting the bags down on the office counter. “We just took our time being thorough.”

Ranpo strolled in behind you, already chewing on something chocolatey. “I did most of the work, obviously.”

“You picked out enough sweets to put a kid into a coma,” you muttered under your breath. Kunikida looked like he was considering confiscation.

Dazai, lounging on the couch with a paper crane balanced on his forehead, tilted his head lazily toward the sound of your voice.

“Oh, you’re back. Did you buy me anything sweet to soothe the agony of existence?”

“You don’t even like sweets,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I could’ve traded it for emotional support,” he said with a sigh, flopping dramatically onto his side.

From across the room, Yosano poked her head around the doorway, surgical gloves still on from some lab-related task.

“Ranpo,” she called, “if you don’t share at least one of those boxes with me, I’m going to need you to volunteer for a few experiments. Just basic stuff. Bone regeneration. Maybe poison immunity.”

Ranpo immediately held a box up in surrender. “You get first pick!”

The Agency buzzed with its usual blend of eccentric charm and controlled chaos. You found yourself falling back into the rhythm of it easily — putting away the groceries, dodging Atsushi’s attempt to reorganize the fridge, watching Kunikida break up a low-level argument between Dazai and Junichiro over stapler theft.

Even Ranpo, who had disappeared briefly (probably to hide a private stash), came back to lounge across the top of a file cabinet like a very smug cat, watching everyone with that knowing look in his eyes.

But even as you laughed and passed around cans of cold tea, your hand drifted to the empty space at your collarbone where the pendant should’ve rested. You quickly pushed the thought away again.

Ranpo didn’t say anything about the jewellery store. Not then. In fact, he barely looked at you at all for the rest of the afternoon — which, in Ranpo’s case, meant he was definitely thinking about something.

Later that evening, the office had mostly emptied out.

Kunikida was the last to leave, after double-checking the schedule board and muttering something about budget reports. Dazai had vanished hours earlier under the pretence of needing “inspiration.” The light hum of a desk fan was the only noise left, and even that felt quieter than usual.

Ranpo lounged in his usual seat — chair tilted back, feet propped lazily on a low drawer, a lollipop stuck between his teeth. The candy’s wrapper crinkled in his hand as he twirled it, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His signature hat had slipped down to cover his eyes.

But he wasn’t sleeping.

He’d been trying to ignore it for hours — that moment outside the jewelry shop, the look on your face, the way you’d brushed off his comment but didn’t quite meet his eyes when you did.

He replayed it like a scene from a mystery. You, standing there too long. The softness in your expression. The way your hand had drifted — not just randomly, but to your collarbone — like you expected something to be there. Something important.

“…Tch.”

He sat up suddenly, unwrapping a new candy and popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary.

Why was this bothering him? He solved things — that’s what he did. He understood people faster than they understood themselves. That was his whole deal. So why did this little mystery — this quiet sadness you weren’t talking about — gnaw at him like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit?

Ranpo tilted his head, chewing slowly now. The shop window. The necklace. The price tag you tried to pretend you hadn’t noticed.

He hated seeing that look on your face — like you were holding something tightly just to keep it from breaking open.

Usually, he didn’t care about that sort of thing. People got sad. People had regrets. That was life. But you — you were part of his world. The Agency, the sweets runs, the playful bickering, the steady presence beside him. That counted for something. Even if he couldn’t name it yet.

He stared at the last gummy in his hand, then glanced at the clock.

Still open, probably.

He stood up.

No dramatic declarations. No speeches. Just a simple, quiet thought:

They want it. I can get it. So I will.

He grabbed his coat and hat, then disappeared out the door — his half-empty candy bag still sitting on the desk behind him.

It was late by the time you returned to your dorm. Not unusually so, but the city had already started to wind down. Traffic outside had thinned, the sky turned a dull slate blue, and even the convenience store on the corner had dimmed its lights.

You dropped your bag just inside the door and stretched, shoulders aching from the weight of the day. There was a pleasant kind of tiredness in your bones — the kind that came from work, laughter, and maybe just a little bit of emotional exhaustion you hadn’t had time to process yet.

You turned toward your kitchen, debating whether to make tea or just crash entirely, when you heard it:

A knock. Light. Barely more than a tap.

You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone, and most of your neighbors texted if they needed something. Padding quietly to the door, you looked through the peephole.

Ranpo.

You blinked, surprised. He stood there like he had every right to be, chewing something — probably a new candy — hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. His eyes flicked up as if he somehow sensed you staring through the door.

You opened it.

He didn’t wait for a greeting.

“I need exactly three minutes,” he said, walking past you into the dorm like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You raised an eyebrow as you closed the door behind him. “Hi, Ranpo. Yes, come in, Ranpo. What a surprise to see you here.”

He waved a hand lazily. “You’re welcome.”

You crossed your arms but couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “What exactly are you doing here?”

He turned toward you then, and for a moment, something uncharacteristically serious flickered in his expression. Without a word, he pulled something from his coat pocket — a small box wrapped in soft tissue paper.

Your breath caught even before he spoke.

He held it out to you, not looking you directly in the eye. “You forgot this.”

You took the box slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the paper as you opened it.

Inside, nestled gently against dark velvet, was a pendant. That pendant — silver, curved like a crescent moon, with the little glass bead catching the light just like it had in the window earlier.

Your heart skipped a beat. You looked up at him, stunned.

“Ranpo…?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze in a very not-Ranpo way. “Don’t make it weird. You were obviously attached to it. And it was cheap. Well, not that cheap, but... I’m smart and I get paid like it.”

You stared at the pendant again, overwhelmed by a strange tangle of emotions — gratitude, grief, warmth. It almost felt like you were holding a piece of the past, something you’d long thought was lost forever.

“…Thank you,” you said softly, your voice a little unsteady.

Ranpo glanced at you then, and the familiar glint was back in his eyes. “You’re crying,” he said.

“I’m not,” you protested, wiping at your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I’m just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, stepping a little closer. “Well, for someone who’s ‘not crying,’ you’re making a very dramatic face.”

You laughed through the dampness in your eyes, and he looked strangely satisfied at the sound. He didn’t say anything else — just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you with a soft, unreadable expression.

Something in the air shifted then — not loud or sudden, but subtle. Like the difference between sunlight and shadow. Ranpo wasn’t fidgeting or cracking jokes or making you guess how he’d figured something out. He was just… there. Present. And maybe, unknowingly, a little vulnerable too.

You glanced at the pendant again, then back at him. “Why’d you really do it?”

He hesitated.

Then, after a beat: “Because I hate seeing you sad.”

That quiet honesty hit harder than any grand gesture could have.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Ranpo stiffened — caught off-guard — then, after a second, relaxed just enough for you to feel it. He didn’t hug back, not really, but he didn’t move away either. And with Ranpo, that meant more than words.

“…You’re really bad at this,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “so are you.”

You smiled.

You stepped back, just enough to look at the pendant again, still resting in its velvet bed. It looked so familiar in your hands — like a dream half-remembered. A ghost of a memory made real.

“Do you want to put it on?” Ranpo asked, tone a bit lighter now.

You glanced up, a little caught off guard. “...Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I do.”

He took the box from your hands gently, and you turned around without needing to be asked. Your fingers brushed your hair out of the way as he unclasped the chain behind you.

There was a surprising tenderness to his movements. Careful. Slow. Ranpo wasn’t usually so… gentle. But right now, he was. Like even he knew this wasn’t just a necklace. This was something sacred.

You felt the cool weight of the pendant as it settled against your collarbone — like it had never left.

He fastened the clasp, then let his fingers rest for a second longer than necessary.

When you turned to face him again, you weren’t smiling. Not yet. You took a deep breath instead, grounding yourself in the quiet.

“I should tell you why this means so much,” you began, voice soft.

He tilted his head, waiting, but didn’t press.

“My mom had one just like it,” you said, fingers brushing the bead lightly. “I remember seeing it in old photos, but eventually she gave it to me. It wasn’t fancy or anything — but she said it carried a lot of memories. And I don’t know… maybe I was too young to understand how much it really meant.”

Ranpo didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, listening in that way he did when something mattered.

“I lost it during a move. One box went missing, and that was in it. I told myself it was just an object, that I’d get over it. But after my parents died, it started feeling like… I lost the last piece of them too.”

Your voice cracked slightly at the end. Not much, just a tremor, but it was enough to make you blink quickly and look away.

“I felt like I didn’t take care of the one thing they trusted me with,” you said, “and I’ve hated myself for that.”

Ranpo was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You didn’t lose it on purpose.”

You looked back at him.

“It’s not your fault,” he added. “You didn’t throw it away. It was an accident. That doesn’t mean you loved it — or them — any less.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear someone say that.

You gave a soft, shaky laugh. “I don’t know how you always say exactly the right thing.”

He smirked. “That’s because I’m the greatest detective in the world.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling now, the ache in your chest a little lighter. Then, remembering something, you reached for your wallet.

“Ranpo… I should pay you back. Even if it takes a while. I don’t want you thinking—”

“No.” His answer was instant.

You blinked. “But—”

He leaned in slightly, a familiar glint returning to his eyes, though this time there was something deeper behind it — something unspoken but impossibly clear.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Except maybe one thing.”

You hesitated. “…What?”

His voice dropped — not serious, exactly, but earnest in a way that made the air between you still.

“Promise me you’ll stay by my side,” he said. “That’s enough payment.”

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t teasing. Not really. There was no smug smile, no punchline at the end. Just Ranpo, looking at you like this was the one mystery he hadn’t solved yet, but wanted to keep figuring out.

You nodded slowly. “I promise.”

That made him smile — wide and genuine and just a little bit shy, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes so easily.

“Good,” he said. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

You laughed again, warmer this time, and reached for his hand without even thinking.

“Guess I could do worse.”

He squeezed your hand lightly.

“You really couldn’t.”

Masterlist

[confiaenanaa]

OOOOOO ANOTHER M&M WRITER?????

ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONE OF US!!! ANYWAY, I'M JUST HERE TO SAY MY THANKS CUZ I'M GLAD SOMEONE ELSE IS WILLING TO WRITE FOR EMINEM 👀, back to my real intention (hehe), may i request (if you're open, if not you can discard this request) an f!reader with 90's marshall an age-gap around 1-2 or no age-gap, your choice, and the reader was just having an amazingly bad day, while her boyfriend just ruins it even more for her. after their biggest ever argument, reader just ends up wanting to break up with him, in which he agreed and she just stormed off somewhere private and dark but calm for her to listen to music and cry, but then there's marshall spotting her in the corner all by herself. and him, as her best friend, of course wouldn't let the little lady be alone. n then she just kind of started aggresive at first, but moves on to give up and cry while cuddling marshall after a bit more of interacting with the silly blonde guy. he always have great advices for cases involving love, especially for reader, but when it comes to him actually falling for reader? now that's a special case. he'd sometimes give an obvious advice that led to giving hint that he wants reader be with him. (ex: "maybe u can date someone blonde hotter than him." something like that) YOU GET ME YOU GET ME????????? SPECIAL SONG INSPIRATIONAL: TREAT YOU BETTER 🔥🔥🔥🕶️🕶️ ANYWAY, THAT'S ALL OF MY PROMPT, THE REST IS UP TO U, EITHER ENDS UP WITH SMUT OR FLUFFFF 🤭

eminem - friends to lovers

fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Y/N and Marshall are best friends. Y/N goes through a rough breakup; and her best friend is there to help her.

warnings: cursing, smoking

A/N: first request! I hope you like it. if there's any feedback you have let me know!

Y/N pulled into her driveway, sighing after a long day's work. She’d had a terrible day, truly one of her worst. She’d requested a raise from her boss, which she was denied; later, she spilled coffee all over herself and her car on her lunch break. She’d botched her presentation and possibly lost the deal of a lifetime. Her coworkers seemed to be extra annoying, and most of all, her boyfriend, Jack, couldn’t let her relax for one day. She’d received the seventh passive aggressive text from him just as she was turning the key to her front door. 

“Why haven’t you gone for groceries yet? I thought you were going to get me my favorite sour candies.“ 

At this point in her day, she just needed some peace. Maybe a facemask, some ice cream, and a movie. However, just as she’s setting her bag down on her desk, she hears an irritated sigh behind her. She turns to look at him, displeased as ever. 

-Why are you being so bitchy today? All I asked for were my sour candies.

She felt a surge of rage through her body. How dare he call her that? 

-Bitchy? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve clearly had a rough day, so can you just lay off my ass and let me relax for a bit?

-Why the hell do you need to relax?! All you do is bitch about your job and sit on your ass all day doing nothing and making jack shit!

He’d begun to scream in her face. At this rate, it’d take only one more syllable out of his mouth to make her go catatonic. 

-At least I have a job! And I’m not just some squatter mooching off his girlfriend and sucking the life out of her! 

She knew she’d struck a nerve. He’d recently lost his job—one that he’d really loved. She saw his face contort from rage to hurt to a mix of both.

-Is that how you really feel? Fine! Then I’ll go and suck the life out of someone else since I’m such an inconvenience to your life!

-Yeah! You should! Get the hell out, Jack! And take your shit with you!

He’d looked a bit shocked. By the end of the night, he’d been packed up and moved out. Y/N sat down on her couch and popped open a bottle of vodka. She decided to text her best friend in search of some comfort. He’d texted back almost immediately. 

“I’m sorry to hear that you guys broke up. If you want, I can come over and bring your favorite chocolates and stuff.”

She’d smiled at the message. She told him to come over as quickly as possible. When she put her phone down, the feeling of grief hit her like a truck. It washed over her, covering her from head to toe. She felt the tears flow down her cheeks freely. She suddenly wanted to sink into the couch and not come back out. She didn’t regret her decision, but she’d certainly mourn the loss of a loving figure in her life. 

Just as she began to allow her thoughts to wander, she heard a knock at her front door. She opened it and saw her bleach-blonde best friend. He had a wide grin on his face as he held up the Walmart bag full of snacks and skincare. They were watching a movie, a random one; at least, to Y/N. She couldn’t pay attention; she was too busy thinking about her breakup and the thousand other things overwhelming her at the moment. She’d excused herself, telling him she was going to the bathroom. Instead, she decided to go to her spot. In her backyard, there was a small hill. On the other end, there was a pond with ducks and trees, and she always had it to herself. She sat down near the pond, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket. She lit it and inhaled. 

Just as she was about to light her second cigarette, she heard footsteps behind her.

-Hey.

-Hi.

-You feelin’ okay?

He asked as he took the cigarette out of her hands and hit some himself.

-Kind of. I just don’t really know what I’m feeling. I’m not regretting it, but I’m sad.

-I get it. But the best way to get over things is to move on. Don’t keep thinkin’ about that shit, or you’ll get caught up in it and things’ll get worse.

She realized he’d been right (like always). He looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

-Let’s go back inside and just chill, yeah?

-Alright.

She laid down in her bed, Marshall quickly following suit. She looked around her room, beginning to think about the weight of what just happened. She felt the tears pricking her eyes again. Marshall felt her tremble and heard a sniffle, so he just held her close and whispered reassuring words to her as he stroked her hair. 

-Look, you don’t need a guy like that.

They both sit up.

-Oh, yeah? And what kind of guy do I need?

She asked, keeping up the silly banter their friendship always maintained.

-I don’t know—maybe a hot blonde guy that actually cares.

She giggled and hit him on the shoulder; she thought he was joking, until she looked him in the eye. She saw that he meant it. Y/N froze for a second; did she really want her best friend? Did he really want her? She didn’t really have time to answer since he’d already had his hands pulling the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss...

[savannahsdeath]

Can we get something where Ellie is injured and when reader takes care of her she feels embarrassed bc she doesn't want to seem weak. But then she like starts crying about "not being strong enough" and just have some cute fluff from reader <33

AHHHZHSBHX i love writing fluff sm like its so comforting !!

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: minors safe i think?? blood, crying

writers note: its kinda short n all but omghauzb i love ellie sm i need to give her a biiiiggg hug and just never let go like😓🩷my poor baby:(

you intensively listened to the sharp ticking of the clock, waiting for something that'd break the cycle. for someone, actually. for your precious girlfriend ellie, which had a patrol somewhere around jackson. you stayed quiet, listening intently for any signs of her. the sounds of the clock in the background seemed to taunt you, like a reminder of how much time was passing and you had to wait even longer to hear news from her.

it was something about midnight when she finally came knocking on the door, completely soaked in freezing rain. her hair was wet, her face drenched, she looked miserable. you rushed to get a towel to help her dry her hair and body.

when you were done you wrapped your hands around her. she hissed and you instantly pulled away, giving her a pout of pure worry and concern. your eyes inspected her body, without effect. your hands reached out for her top, wanting to take it off and look for any injuries, but she firmly gripped your wrists.

"babe, stop." she said, and maybe you'd listen to her, if her voice didn't sound like begging. and if she begged, she was hiding something.

you freed your hands and rolled her shirt up, revealing a nasty wound on her side. it looked like bullet scratch and it was a miracle - a few millimeters to the left and the shot would pierce her waist.

ellie mumbled a quiet 'fuck...' as her attempt to hide it from you failed. she did her best to look unfazed and pretend to not be in pain, knowing it'd only add to the embarrassment.

ellie sighed and pulled your hands away from the wound, pushing you back. she took a deep breath, the pain evident on her face, and rolled her shirt back down.

"it's fine, i'm fine." she falsely reassured, her shaky voice betraying her attempt to sound tough. she forced a weak smile, trying to play down your worries, but you could tell she wasn't okay.

"ellie, you're bleeding!" you shook your head, your eyes darting back and forth from her wound and her face.

you dragged her to the bedroom, taking a first aid kit from the bathroom on the way. she stayed silent as you softly but forcefully sat her on the bed and started preparing everything.

"this will... sting a bit." you warned her before looking at the disinfectant. you knew it'll do way more than just 'sting a bit'.

ellie avoided looking at you, hating how vulnerable the whole situation makes her feel. she gritted her teeth as you started cleaning the wound, trying to maintain her composure as best as she could. you could hear her breathing get heavier as the pain began to set in, but she was too proud to let you see her cry.

as you continued to work, she looked away from you, ashamed that you had to fix her mistakes. she knew she should have been more careful and hated how weak she appeared in front of you.

"i'm sorry for making you do this." she murmured, her voice barely audible.

ellie sucked in a sharp breath and clenched the sheets as you applied the disinfectant. a wave of pain washed over her, but she managed to stay silent and hold back a scream.

you finished cleaning the wound and began to bandage it, being careful not to hurt her any further. as you worked, you heard ellie sniffle as she struggled to hold back her emotions. you looked up and saw that ellie is watching you with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. her eyes were glistening with unshed tears and she was biting her lip to hold back a wail of agony and relief.

"thank you..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

"don't mention it." you said, your eyes full of sympathy for your suffering girlfriend. you gave her a reassuring smile, best you could manage as her pain hurt you too.

ellie took a deep breath, trying to compose herself as the pain subsided, but she couldn't hold back her tears any longer. she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed bitterly, her whole body shaking with emotion.

you gently wrapped her in a hug, holding her tight to give her some comfort. you whispered reassuring words in her ear, trying to calm her down.

"it's alright- sh, shhh..." you stroked her hair in an attempt to provide some solace. "i'll always be here for you, love."

her arms desperately seeked for support in your body, as her tears slowly dropped and soaked into your shirt.

"how can i keep you safe if i can't even take care of myself?" she mumbled, her voice muffled as her face was pressed against your chest.

you continued to hold ellie in your arms, trying to provide her with the comfort and reassurance she needed.

"you're always taking care of me, and now it's my turn to take care of you." you whispered, gently stroking her hair.

ellie looks up at you, her eyes full of gratitude. you feel her embrace tighten as she clings to you for support.

"my strong, amazing els." you smile, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

you held ellie for what seemed like an eternity, neither of you wanting to let go anytime soon. as you continued to cradle her in your arms, you could feel her warm tears running down your chest, now even beneath your shirt.

you felt her begin to calm down, her sobs easing up and her grip on you gradually loosening. suddenly, she pressed her body against you even tighter, almost like she was afraid of losing you after you've provided her with such comfort.

"i love you." she whispered, burying her head in your chest.

you continued gently stroking ellie's hair, unable to stop smiling at her confession.

"i love you too." you whispered back, as if you just shared a really important secret with her, hugging her tightly.

you felt her relax, her body going limp as she nestled into your chest. it felt like time has stopped, and the two of you together in the moment was all that mattered.

you pressed your forehead against ellie's, looking deep into her green eyes.

"always, forever." you added, before sharing your first kiss in a long while.

[inside-lees-mind]

I've been so obsessed with Rock Lee for the last few months after getting into Naruto and I'm so glad someone's taking requests for my favourite ninja! If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to see you write Rock Lee helping reader stretch before a work out but since reader isn't really flexible or is just not all that active, they make a lot of, ahem, suggestive noises while stretching. Love your work, can't wait to see more!!

Rock Lee Helping Reader Stretch

Warnings: Suggestive, borderline NSFW. It’s implied.

Basically: You make noises while stretching that Rock Lee’s horny brain can’t ignore.

Recently, your joints and muscles have been killing you. Maybe your half ass stretching routine wasn’t doing the trick, you figured. Even though you knew change had to happen, you just didn’t know how to stretch your muscles out properly for the extensive training you do with Lee.

Usually he shows up earlier than you, so you don’t see him stretching, but you know he’s keen on making sure he stretches properly so he’s probably stretching for a while beforehand. So you decide to show up 40 minutes before you usually would, seeing him just now setting up to stretch and warmup.

He’d clearly been out jogging prior to this. And in your mind, you know he’s done a runners stretch so isn’t that enough? Why does he need to stretch again? (Him and Gai would both scream at you for this way of thinking)

“Hi Lee.” You greet him with a small smile, already exhausted from the training you haven’t even started just by looking at his energetic, muscular self. Somewhere in your mind, you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re winded from the walk to the training grounds, and that Lee is not the reason your breath catches in your throat.

You’ve seen him like this for so long, I mean, you’re on the same team as him now. The only 4 person squad, 5 if you count Gai sensei. You’re so close to all of them, and that’s been normal. Perfectly normal. But recently, your eyes linger on Lee just a little too long.

“Oh hey y/n! I didn’t see you there!” He smiles, the white of his teeth flashing at you in the sun line. Sometimes you wonder how he’s so positive, but then again, you don’t mind it so much anymore. He literally glows though, you swear on it.

“Can I ask you a favor?” You ask, suddenly a little nervous. Your palms are sweating. You try to ignore that.

“Of course! What is it that you want to ask?” He asks, enthusiastically. His smile is almost infectious.

“My joints and muscles ‘n shit are killing me. Can you help me stretch? I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…” You move your neck like you’re trying to get out a knot or something.

Lee agrees, and decides to start simple. He has you put your arms behind your back, your hands joined together, and tells you to stretch them back as far as you can. Then do the same with the front.

After that, he has you do a similar thing with your hands joined over your head before moving down to the ground to stretch out your upper body best. Then your shoulders, elbows, and neck all separately. Then he has you get on the ground to stretch out your back.

And maybe he didn’t think too much about the position, but have you stretch your back up and lower yourself down also meant your ass was up in the air as you arched your back. You realize how embarassing the position is, and what you don’t notice is the way his cheeks flush and he pries his eyes away from your body.

“U-uh great! Let’s do legs!” He says rather quickly, helping you to get into as low of a splits position that you can, before having you lean forward. To get the best stretch, he pushes down on your body a tiny bit. And before you can stop yourself, you let out a moan.

His hands still against your back, and your eyes go wide as you freeze too. Soon you feel him move away, telling you to switch sides. And he repeats the same thing on this side. Much to your disdain, an even louder moan accidentally slips from your mouth. Curse yourself for not being able to be quiet at a time like this.

When you finally sit back up, he’s staring at you. You can’t help but gulp down any salvia you had in your mouth. Then you notice the way his hands are covering the front of his pants. When he notices where your eyes shifted, his blush intensifies and he starts stammering.

“I-I am so sorry! I didn’t mean— you were just—“ you cut his rambling off with a kiss, crawling over closer to him. You situate yourself on his lap, his hands darting out for your hips. The kiss doesn’t break until you’re both desperate for more air than you can get with your mouths connected. Before your mutual panting even halts, he smashes his lips back onto your desperately. And at this point, he’s boldly getting handsy.

You can feel the desperation and lust through his finger tips and they find their way around your body. Any curve, dip, anything, he feels for it. And soon he’s laying back on the grass, panting as a string of saliva connects the both of you even as you part.

The look in his eyes told you that what was about to happen at these training grounds should not happen at the training grounds. Your eyes told him you didn’t care the least about that, however.

[1toomanyfictionalbfs]

class of 2013

Alicent Hightower x daughter! reader (uh platonic duh yall are freaks..)

summary: "mom i'll be quiet, it would just be to sleep at night."

warnings: ANGST, mommy issues, kinda hurt comfort, reader is married to Aemond (not very relevant tho, like barely mentioned don't worry)

a/n: i'm sorry in advance but class of 2013 is so amazing and so targ-hightower kids core. I had write like the song works too well for me to not.🙏

You felt a kind of numbness, you found yourself craving the one thing you hadn't gotten in your adolescence. Your mother. Of course she was there, raising you. Though you had not ever gotten the tenderness, the warm nurture. The kind one would expect from a mother.

Allicent Targaryen had many titles, Lady Allicent, King Viserys' second wife, the queen. Loving mother never seemed to be one of them. Growing up you always felt you had a Queen mother, never a mom.

Her words alwaysed left unvarnished and direct, her attitude controlled and intimidating, the trait a learned one likely from her own father. You were always taught to hold your unpleasant emotion until you were alone, "the reputation of the Crown must be upheld." She would say.

This is what had you stood outside of your mother's bed chambers, debating if you should enter. Tears still staining your water line, pulling at your fingernails, the moon tall in the sky. Your husband was away, flying off on Vhagar somewhere. The silence of your shared room causing your feelings of seemingly constant dread and stress to heighten.

Despite your mind screaming at you to go back to your own room and cry into your pillow as you always did, you pulled your hand up to knock. After a moment you heard the steady tone, "Come." She spoke without a hint of fatigue, the kind you'd expect for such a late hour.

Taking another breath of air, you pulled the door open just enough to slip into the room. Your mother's cold eyes set on you, eyes softening the slightest bit upon seeing her youngest daughter.

She spoke your name, a twinge of curiosity and slight worry in her voice. You could not meet her eyes, you never could. Even as she was sat in her bed, hair down, and dark clothes replaced with a simple night gown. Her strong look, now the sight of a person, mayhaps even a mother.

"Mother- I-I apologies, it is so very late, It is only.." You did not know how to ask your request, not without sounding like a burden or something to be dealt with then brushed away. Imagining all the ways she would dismiss you, standing like you were a simple toddling girl once again.

Shaking hands, picking at the cuticles of your nails. Rising from her bed, hearing your hesitancy she mumbled your nail once more. "I.. need to know you love me.." Your voice timid, tears brimming in your eyes. The Queen spoke your again, her voice softer.

"Darling, you know-" Seeing your expression, and the way your lip quivered with the ache in your chest Alicent stopped her words. Reaching out to her daughter, offering the one thing you were craving. A hug.

You were quick to reciprocate, taking quick steps over to her. Tears falling down your cheeks as she pulled you into a comforting embrace. Your head resting on her chest, in the way a newborn babe might. You could feel the heat left over from her array of blankets, her inviting smell invading your senses.

A hand running soothing motions over your back, as the other held your head close as she'd missed the gentleness as well. Tears staining her collarbone, your breathing slowed. You caught yourself wondering why you'd never asked before.

The horrible stressful thoughts leaving your mind, a quiet feeling of relaxation over taking your body. Strangled sobs muffled by her skin. Not wanting to return to your cold dark room, you whispered.

"Mother m-may I stay, I will be quiet it would only be for the night. My chamber's are so quiet and I believe if I am alone.. I may do something reckless.. just to sleep. I do not want to be alone." Pulling your head from her chest looking up at her.

"Yes my daughter." She spoke, and you lied your head back on her shoulder. Getting a glimpse of what looked to be tears in her own eyes.

[takumi-sumino]

I've seen a couple of people do stuff like this, so I'm gonna take a stab at it. My thoughts on every character so far! (Long post, so the opinions are all under the cut)

Darumi

She feels like an audience insert of sorts, with her immediate mention of death games and her outfit looking like something a stereotypical "2020 danganronpa cosplayer" would wear.

She's a bit unhinged from what we've so far, but she also seems like she'll be a lot of fun to watch on screen, and isn't that what's most important?

Definite and overwhelming red herring for something, however. Unsure for what yet, but she screams red herring to me.

Also, the fanart of her has been spectacular. Keep it up, lads.

Eito

I'm sure we've all seen *the scene*, so there's that. If that's not out of context somehow and consensual, then- yay? Good for the yaoi fans.

I immediately liked him when I first saw his design, he just *looks* nice. I'd let him hold my drink at a party. I've read somewhere that he becomes Takumi's closest friend, and I dearly hope that that's true, because that means we get lots of Eito content.

I'm also unbelievably excited for that one ending where he inevitably goes off the deep end and does something absolutely horrific. There has to be one. Manifesting it. I love watching my favourite characters commit atrocities.

Gaku

Can I just say how different he specifically looks in his two different outfits? I didn't even recognise him when his sprite of him in the uniform was revealed. His casual outfit is so silly, and his uniform looks the most like he's about to beat my ass. The gattling gun also helps, probably.

That aside, I don't feel that strongly about him. He's probably a nice enough guy, nothing else to say about him.

Hiruko

She's actually drop dead gorgeous. One of the best casual outfits.

Moving on, I think she's the one who's the leader of the squadron? She seems to have experience with facing the enemies, and she's still alive, so I admire the heck out of her for it. She also has an axe that is bigger than her; you can have all the gattling guns or scythes or floating knives in the world, but nothing bests a good old-fashioned ginormous axe.

Ima

Goofy face, what's he looking at me like that for?

This guy has a bit of a reputation, I know, but I'm choosing to have faith.

A sister complex is not inherently sexual or romantic (although it often is) and I find complicated and toxic family relationships in media quite interesting.

I am, however, almost entirely leaning on Uchikoshi here. Clover and Snake's sibling relationship was extremely well written, and I'm hoping that even if he does feel romantically inclined towards his sister, it's just as well written. I'm choosing hope.

Also, his weapon is phenomenal. I might need to make a weapons tierlist at some point.

Kako

She's a cutiepie, and I haven't missed the fact that she and her brother have angel/devil symbolism with their weapons.

Apparently, the two of them are a bit younger than many of the other students, so that should be interesting- Takumi I know is 17/18. Apparently, they're still in Junior High, so 14/15? I wonder if there'll be any split because of the age groups?

I want nothing but the best for her and I hope she gets it. And doesn't die too many times.

Karua

Likely the one this story revolves around, and one of the more mysterious characters.

I'm curious about her, but I don't really feel anything that strong about her. I am fairly certain that Takumi will tear apart reality itself for her, so she'll probably be a pretty nice character. And hopefully, NOT a twist villain.

Kurara

Absolutely wild to have a masked character in a game that Uchikoshi is writing, I'm sure that has never happened before.

She's filthy rich and has a tomato for a head, I- really don't know what to say about her. Her weapon is hilarious to me, "rich girl above all rich girls" and has a shovel for a weapon. I respect the grind, at least.

I'm sure in true Zero Escape fashion, we'll unmask her in one timeline and use that information in another.

Kyoshika

I genuinely have nothing to say about her- I learned she existed a couple days ago? Had never noticed her before, honestly.

She has a cool outfit in any case.

I just remembered there's a 10 image max on the app, so I'll continue this in a reblog

[loveanddeeptrash]

Safe Return

Zayne Prologue

2.7k words

Tags: angst, anxiety, panic, paranoia, fluff and comfort, sin incoming, more angst incoming

A/N: I had this idea when Sylus first came out, a long time ago. But since I decided to start writing fanfiction again, I decided to just post everything I had thought to myself. The idea lowkey came to me in a dream, so I'm just trying to remember how it went haha Especially since the main story never told us how the boys would have reacted after this plot point, it was just swept over, and you know for a fact those boys would be very concerned over us.

I decided to break this series into smaller bits, or else I'd take ages in posting haha.. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think~

Edit: 14.06.25 Changed imobile to immobile smh

| Next- WIP | Xavier | Rafayel | Masterlist |

Loud and heavy breathing littered the air around you as you clutched your jacket and blindly hurried down the street. You weren't quite running but you weren’t walking either; you needed to get home. Away from all the lights, away from all the sounds. If there were no electronics then it would be better, that way he wouldn't be able to watch you.. But your home wasn’t a safe place, he already knew where you lived and was already able to keep an eye on you long before you two met. Home wasn’t safe either then, he could look in on you easily.

Everything was blurry and surreal, nothing was registering in your mind as your hand dragged against a wall while you made your way.. Somewhere. But where? In this day and age every place had some sort of electrical or digital apparatus, anything could get hacked into and become the new eyes for him. You didn’t even know where you even were, but outside felt too exposed and your delirium was only building the longer you didn’t lock yourself away. And then you remembered, Zayne! His place didn’t have a lot of electronics, he was always more of a strict minimalist and his decor showed it - but he was your boyfriend and you felt safe with him.

Something touched your shoulder and you screamed, instinctively turning around and punching whatever it was that startled you. It didn’t help that the something had grabbed your fist and rendered you immobile, another yell leaving your lips as you kicked at him to get away. They groaned and you booked it, stumbling out of reach and away from whoever it was now that you were free; however strong arms managed to wrap themselves around your waist and lift you off of your feet. You heard a voice, but you were too strung up to even recognize it or hear what they were saying. Yet there was only so much flailing one could do before giving up, and you eventually calmed down and relaxed. It was only then that you heard a familiar voice trying to calm you down.

“Zayne?” you softly gasped, tears already beginning to burn your eyes.

“I’m right here, I have you,” his gentle voice warming your ear.

“Zayne, I..” you hiccup, limp and tired and scared.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re alright,” he hummed, placing your feet back onto the ground as he slowly turned you around to look at you.

Your eyes were on the ground, brow furrowed as you desperately tried to remain calm. But the mere feel of his hands on you, comforting you, unwound a tight knot that had developed on your most recent trip.

The way his touch ran along your sides, making sure you were alright. The way his raspy voice wrapped around you in security as if a blanket was snug around you, promising comfort and stability. A long sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and trusted yourself to the other, your entire body relaxing as the adrenaline left your system completely. Zayne immediately wrapped his arms around you and held you to him, supporting your weight as you could no longer stand up on your own. You can’t help but press your face into his chest, his warmth and smell enveloping you even more.

You knew you were safe with him.

Nothing was making sense to you. All you could remember was somehow getting into Zayne’s car and being buckled in before you started violently shaking when he suggested taking you to the hospital. The fact that you were hyperventilating caused him to worry over you that much more, but the fact that you vehemently refused to even get checked out at an institution was weighing heavily on his mind. He had no choice but to take you to his home when even suggestions of going to yours caused you to grow increasingly nauseous. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be in his home, the man loved it when you spent time with him in any capacity, but Zayne was getting really concerned that there was something medically wrong with you.

He knew you had gone on a dangerous mission somewhere, but he wasn’t sure of the details. The mere fact that something happened on said mission that was gravely affecting you caused him to furrow his brow as he thought about what could have possibly have affected you so much. Regardless, Zayne was adamant on making sure you were ok before even asking you about it. As he drove, the doctor kept glancing at you from time to time yet each time you were simply sitting there with your eyes closed. It was only when the car neared a stoplight or anything electrical or mechanical did you react - you’d curl into yourself and try to hide away as if you didn’t want to be seen. That alerted him deeply, something did indeed happen to you on your mission and he was going to find out.

At last the two of you arrived at his house. Zayne looked over to you as his gate opened before parking in front, closing the gate behind them as he turned off the car. He sat there for a minute, watching you with your eyes closed as you tried to remain as calm as you possibly could. The man reached out to brush some of your hair from your face but quickly stilled when you flinched upon being touched; his jaw set as he retracted his hand and clenched his fist. “We’re here,” he softly explained, waiting patiently as he remained still. He didn’t want to scare you anymore so the man opted to wait and watch while you willed yourself to move.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and unbuckled yourself - eyes low as you couldn't quite look up to meet his gaze. You knew that this wasn’t being fair to him, knew that Zayne would never hurt you, but you also knew that you needed to calm down and relax before you could even process what happened. Everything that Sylus had talked to you about, all the memories and hidden meanings, made you second guess everything you thought you knew. And it wasn’t right to take it out on Zayne when all he ever did was worry about you.

Taking a deep breath, you finally looked up to see Zayne and you froze. There was a bird on the tree in front of his house behind him, and the quick correlation gripped your heart tight. You dove into Zayne’s chest and hid your face in his chest, clinging to him in an attempt to hide away from being surveilled. It helped that Zayne himself wrapped his arms around you in automatic comfort, perplexed and confused as to why you reacted that way. He tried to turn to see what had you so spooked, but his attention was quickly stolen when you spoke. “L-let’s go inside. Quick!”

Zayne ushered you in and locked the door behind him, arms wrapped around you as you had refused to separate from him as you two entered. He could only see a bird fly away from a tree near his house when he tried to find what had scared you, but the man failed to see what was so scary about it. Turning to look at you again, Zayne kept you in his arms as he slowly guided you to the couch. When he tried to step away, you refused to even let him go so he was forced to sit down with you. Watching you still be scared caused the man to furrow his brow as he frowned, gently rubbing soothing circles on your back for comfort.

“What has you so scared, hmm?” his voice was soft and gentle, worried.

You didn’t answer.

“Have you eaten?” Zayne tried again, prompting you to respond with a lighter topic.

You shook your head.

“Do you want to eat something with me?” his hand felt warm against your back, comforting and centering you.

Again, you shook your head.

“So you don’t want to eat with me?” he quipped, a brow raising as he tried to lightly tease.

You stilled for a moment, unsure what to do in response.

“I didn’t know you didn’t like eating with me. I would have stopped inviting you out earlier than this had I known,” he continued, slightly smiling when he saw you begin to squirm.

You couldn’t help but peer up at him with an annoyed look - you didn’t want to talk, not stop eating with him. A heated sigh left you as you saw the amusement in his eyes, he had managed to get you to look at him. Looking away, you simply furrowed your brow in annoyance. “You know I do, I’m just not hungry right now..”

Zayne hummed in response as he inwardly preened at seeing you no longer hide away from him anymore. His hand felt so comforting on your back that you couldn’t help relax in his arms, almost melting against him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he simply asked, not trying to force you to say anything else.

You started to shake your head but soon stopped, looking down for a moment before glancing up, “Not right now, at least.”

He could accept that.

“Let me go make some tea then, you must be cold from being outside for so long,” Zayne began, trying to pull away before you quickly held him even tighter.

“No! Don’t!” you immediately stopped him, looking up at him with panic as you clung to his coat.

Zayne immediately stopped moving and looked at you, slightly alarmed that you reacted so heavily to him trying to leave you. Relaxing, the man reached up and cupped your face in his hand - bringing you closer. “What’s going on? Why don’t you want me to leave? The kitchen is close by so I won’t be far,” he inquired, worry deepening the crease between his brows as he looked at your face. He needed to know more to understand why being separated was a bad idea.

Your mouth opened but nothing came out, closing it before trying again. “I.. Listen..” you sighed when your words began to jumble, annoyed with yourself as you let out a breath in anger.

“No electronics,” you finalized, looking up at Zayne.

“No electronics,” he repeated, puzzled.

“No machines either, anything that could connect to the internet,” you finalized, feeling a lot better now that you had said that.

He paused for a moment as he regarded you, trying to understand a little more on why, but he nodded in the end, “Alright, nothing connecting to the internet,” Zayne surmised, looking away as he thought for a moment, “I think I still have a kettle I can use for the water.” Looking back at you, his brow rose, “Am I allowed to make tea now or did you want to come with me?” The man watched you as you mulled over your thoughts, patient as you finally reached your conclusion. With a nod, the two of you got up and went to the kitchen.

His house always looked so clean, so proper, the sparse decorations never made the place look empty. The white walls and tall windows always made the place feel bright with a refined touch to the design. You had noticed before that he didn’t have a lot of electronics cluttering the area, so in hindsight maybe staying with him would keep you safe for a moment longer. A light smile fell on your lips, looking down at the marbled top on his kitchen island as your thoughts continued. Zayne would definitely protect and take care of you if you’re in trouble, which you weren’t necessarily in, but if you could only just explain how you feel right now, you knew that he would make sure you were safe.

You watched Zayne keep busy in his kitchen, grabbing things for tea and snacks to go along with the drink. He grabbed sugar, cookies, fruits, and even some savory crackers to munch on as perhaps you wanted something salty instead. It was sweet seeing him care for you so well, it made you feel warm and content inside. Yet you look out the window and curl into yourself a bit more as you simply want to relax and feel safe. You didn’t notice Zayne would glance back at you from time to time, making sure you were alright while he prepared snacks with the tea.

“How have you been?” he inquired, stealing your attention from whatever was on your mind.

“I’m fine,” you immediately responded, fooling no one.

Zayne hummed at that, making sure the tea steeped before turning to face you, “How do you really feel?”

Words caught in your throat, blinking up at him before looking away, “I’ll be fine..”

The man stared at you silently for a moment longer, brows furrowing for a moment before looking down at your hands. You twisted and turned your fingers, twirling your thumbs together for a moment before catching yourself. Glancing up at him, you noticed that he saw you twitch, so you hid your hands behind your back. “So,” you switch your weight to your other hip, looking up at him once more, “What's on the menu today?”

He hid a quick smile before turning back and bringing over the dishes of snacks he had prepared. “Chamomile tea, prepared just the way you like it. I’ve also prepared some cookies to go along with your drink, some oranges I’ve peeled for you, and some chicken flavored crackers if you wanted some salt,” Zayne explained, placing your mug in front of you. It was quite a spread. You smiled at his generosity, looking up at him with a warm smile. “Thank you Zayne, I appreciate it.” The man returned your smile, hand clenching as he restrained himself from reaching over and touching your face.

Back in the living room, the two of you sat on the couch next to each other as you both sipped your tea. The peace and quiet you felt wasn’t at all uncomfortable and you soon relaxed into the cushions of the white couch, a sigh escaping with some of your concerns. “I needed this, thanks Dr. Zayne,” you chirped, looking over at him from behind your mug. The man tilted his head as he regarded you and simply placed his mug back down on the coffee table in front of you two. You stilled when the man before you leaned in and reached over to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your skin. The moment stopped, staring at each other as neither one moved or said another word.

“Of course,” Zayne merely whispered, eyes staring deep into yours.

Your cheeks felt warm, the intensity threatened to spill over if you weren’t careful. Try as you might, you couldn’t even will yourself to look away. There was something about the way Zayne was looking at you that didn’t make you want to pull away, it didn’t even register that you were slowly inching closer to him as time went on. His eyes were mesmerizing, the flecks of green in his hazel eyes beckoning you to trust him. Zayne promised peace, he offered safety, you knew deep in your heart that this man would do anything to make sure you were fine. You just needed to tell him what happened and he’d fix every problem for you - so you turned and looked away from him.

Hiding once more behind your mug, you drank your tea as you contemplated what to do or how to even explain what happened. You didn’t see the disheartened look he had as his hand slowly slid away, looking down at his palm as your thoughts ran. Closing your eyes, your mind was still a mess when your mouth opened. “This is going to take a while,” you began, looking over to see that Zayne was still looking at you patiently. He nodded in response and went to grab his tea while he waited for you to continue. Furrowing your brow, you finished your tea and set your mug down before turning more towards him.

Star and Moon borders made by: Cafekitsune

© Picca Shimon 2025

This is my only account, I only post here and AO3. I do not permit reposts or translations of my work.

[igetnosleep]

The Night We Met

Second attempt at angst might try again with the next one. I'm glad you all liked "Finally home" I guess you people were rabid for something soft..makes me feel like I hold power here lmao. Also this is connected to "Finally Home" and "Comfort" since those kind of inspired me to write this...Strangers to Lovers cause I like that shit.

So canon typical violence (it's RE so not surprising) and happy reading!

You didn’t like Leon.

Maybe it was the situation or the fact that you couldn’t bear to separate yourself from him after you managed to escape Raccoon City but you didn’t want to stay away from him.

You’d so happen to meet the stupid blonde when you nearly bludgeoned him with a rusty pipe in the darkened halls of the police station. Too many fucking rooms too many of the undead trying to crawl through the windows, not enough sleep in your system to get through the night that seemed never ending.

All of this happening in the span of a day or two.

You’d seen your friend die in front of you by one of those..things. Now here you were with a man you’d just met who was supposed to be a cop.

“Come on, aren't you a cop?!” You hissed hearing the groans and shuffling through the halls as he held your hand like he was trying to guide you. You’d be kicking and screaming if it didn’t mean certain death. Leon only shrugged, looking to the side almost nervously under your scrutinizing gaze, “It’s my first day.” 

You blinked, staring at him, “The fuck did you just say?” you whispered a bit too quietly, too calmly for his liking. Leon didn’t need to turn around to see your face; he could feel your piercing gaze against his temple, almost debating if you should take him out with you.

“I said-”

“I know what you just said.” 

“Then why did you-” 

“Leon, I'm going to hit you if you don’t shut up.”

He promptly kept his mouth shut until you deemed it okay.

Leon didn’t have survival instincts like you’d expect him to. Always eager to help, always sticking to the rules, you’d even tried to reason with him but he wasn’t swayed, if it weren’t for the fact that you were in the middle of the apocalypse, you’d admire him, but you’d almost hit him before you jumped at the sight of the man on the other side of the jail cell turn into a bloody pulp by the..whatever it was as it walked away.

You never considered yourself kind, some of the things you did while finding a place to hide out would be considered heartless. You accepted that you’d never get into heaven, your tongue having spewed more blasphemy in your life time that you were sure that Saint Peter would smile kindly before pushing you down into the lake of fire before disinfecting his hands and going back to his post.

Leon believed in an afterlife. He liked to believe that his parents were somewhere better, somewhere kinder than the life that they were given. Something more peaceful than the death they had lived.

“You speak from experience?” You asked him, earning an expression you could only read as shame from him, you could picture the dog ears pressed against his head. The way he looked like he wanted to cry maybe it was him missing home, you didn’t blame him, you wanted to go home too. You sighed not imagining that this was how you’d spend the apocalypse squeezing the hand of a rookie cop in an attempt to tell him that it would be okay?

The halls of the police station and the foreboding dread in your gut, Leon was a good distraction from the constant stream of fear. You’d squeezed his hand and tried to imagine something better than whatever was trying to kill you at the moment.

You didn’t like Leon, you found him cute, like a puppy it was hard not to look at him and forgive him right away. His face was soft, eyes wide and hopeful. All he had to do was look at you a certain way and you wanted to pet him. You obviously wouldn’t because hello you just met the guy. He felt soft too, healthy and still had his baby fat.

He reminded you of a golden retriever, maybe even a labrador. Dogs were nice to think about. Now imagining him with dog ears made you smile a bit. A small bit of peace one he gave you while he was flattered by the attention you gave him he never admitted it though. With cheeks tinted red “That would be embarrassing.” the rookie cop thought to himself.

Leon liked you. Maybe more than he could admit at the moment. Maybe because he latched onto you faster than a baby chick would to the first thing it saw. He liked the way you latched onto him recalling the way Marvin side-eyed him reminding him to keep his head on a swivel. “Just because you found someone doesn’t mean you can have your head in the clouds, understand?” a quick “Yes, sir.” from him and he pulled you along with him.

Was that the selfish thing to do?

Drag a civilian along with him?

You were pretty, yes, he would never deny it, the way you did things the hard way because it was the only thing you could think of at the moment. But it did make him smile when he bothered you about it.

You looked cute when you pouted, cheeks tinted red in embarrassment. “Shut up. It was the only thing I could think of.” you whined as he laughed. 

Why’d he have to look like a ray of sunshine? Why’d he have to make you feel..happy?

You didn’t like Leon.

You didn’t.

You don’t.

“What did you do before this?” he asked curiously while you were stuck in one of the rooms waiting for the undead to pass by, his voice cutting you out of your thoughts. You looked up from the ground humming in thought.

“Tax fraud.” 

“Seriously?”

“No, you big goof. I was a barista, worked in a coffee shop, over…somewhere.” 

He noted the way your hand waved dismissively down the street from the police station right he noticed it from the fence. He fumbled around with his gun for a moment pretending to check the magazine while he pondered, maybe if he’d been here just a week early. 

Maybe he would have met you, how would you look when you smiled or laughed at a joke. 

He pushed the magazine back into place, shaking himself out of his thoughts. A weight settling on his shoulder had him tense, turning and looking over at you seeing you lean on his shoulder. Leon relaxed a small smile playing on his lips as he admired you. 

You leaned on him, your body relaxing just a moment as he offered his shoulder, he was thoughtful, you liked that about him. His hand came up to your back and gently rubbed circles between your shoulders. “You’re doing great.” he hummed, leaning his forehead against yours, you could only glare weakly as he was using those stupid puppy eyes on you. You poked the soft pudge hiding under the bulletproof vest. “Shut up.”

A small bit of silence left you two relaxed momentarily forgetting about the shuffling and the random thumps and bumps against the door.

Ada was someone you didn’t trust, she spoke to the point but in circles, never willing to give you a straight answer. In all honesty, if it were any other day if it didn’t feel like the world was ending, you’d be fawning over her like some sort of moron.

For fucks sake she was wearing heels during a zombie outbreak you internally felt yourself putting her on a pedestal practically forgetting about survival and choosing to trust this woman who looked like she was coming out of a fashion catalog.

Noticing your staring Ada, snapped her fingers at you and you stood in attention feeling your face burn in embarrassment. Great, now you look stupid in front of the pretty lady.

Leon didn’t hide his admiration for her, you couldn’t blame him, she had an air of confidence, independence, a person who you wanted to be with but couldn’t attain.

She was mildly amused by your poor attempts at flirting “You’d have better luck telling Leon those jokes of yours.” She hummed as you helped bandage her leg. You only looked confused “What do you mean?” “Come on, you're practically clinging to him giving him those eyes,” She gestured vaguely to your face, you’d still stared at her confused, she rolled her eyes staring at you in disbelief “You’re telling me you don’t like him?” You snort hearing it echo through the sewer “No.” she didn’t seem amused with you.

The train leading away from the city was melancholic and frankly bittersweet, you made it. Somehow you survived just when you were about to leave a note or something for someone to find on your corpse. Leon looked somewhat satisfied relaxing as he just leaned on your shoulder as the train went on towards an unknown location.

His hand gripped yours, fingers interlacing, a nap sounded perfect at the moment. His body was screaming for rest and you felt like a small piece of heaven. Your thumb swiped over his knuckles. “Go on. I’ll wake you up when we stop, okay?” He couldn’t say no to that.

The woman, Claire, stared at you from the corner of her eye. A clear need of an explanation was visibly wanting to pry you for an explanation.

“We met in the police station.” She deflated sitting down on the ground next to…Sherry? Her name was? Yeah she introduced herself to you almost enthusiastically in her tired state, fell asleep like a rock to the insistence of you and Claire. “Sorry we arrived in the city together and we got separated. I thought something happened to him.” She admitted their relationship, acquaintances, “Something almost happened, I almost hit him with a pipe.” Claire felt bad that she laughed at that.

The train stopped a few hours later and once you all reached civilization it was time to go your separate ways. Claire was looking for someone and whatever happened down in Umbrella she looked determined to investigate it. 

You understood why but after everything, you just wanted to suppress the memories and go on with your life and you agreed to take in Sherry. Claire looked like she felt bad but you waved her off, “I’ve got like five cousins her age. She’ll be fine.” you assured the redhead as she hugged you, she didn’t look like she was the maternal type anyway, she was younger from what you gathered about her talking about her brother. 

She should be able to find him without worrying about the safety of someone else.

A brief glance around your shoulder saw Leon looking exhausted, the mental fortitude he had to not break down crying was worrisome. You couldn’t blame him. You felt the same, what do you do in that situation now that you had to look after someone, you couldn’t cry or scream. No, Sherry wouldn’t react well to a breakdown. 

You offered your hand to the little girl and she hesitantly accepted as Leon led the way with a hand on your back as you managed to find a military base ahead.

Looking back, a part of him wished he had been more vigilant, maybe he could have protected you and Sherry. Instead you were both dragged off somewhere with blindfolds over your eyes. He fought against the men screaming at them to bring both of you back only to get a whack to the back of his head and he was out like a light. 

Leon woke up after the men had separated from both of you. Heart pounding his breathing erratic as a man in front of him commended him for making it out of Raccoon City alive. “Rookie with a hell of a first day.” wearing a crooked smile that made his stomach turn. 

Where were you? Were you okay? Did they hurt you?

They made him an offer. An ultimatum. They didn’t really give him much of a choice.

You had been sitting alone clutching Sherry close afraid of the men surrounding you, hands close to their weapons and their eyes wandering staring trying to get a read on you. Your leg bounced the heel of your shoe clicking against the ground, you were sweating bullets, heart beating rapidly. 

You tried to calm down. Nothing was working.

When you saw Leon again after what felt like hours you practically ran up and hugged him, his arms wrapping around you squeezing you so close you almost missed the way he was shaking. His face buried in your neck fingers curling around your shirt wrinkling the already ruined fabric. He only pulled away to kiss your shoulder whispering apologies into your skin. “I’m sorry.” 

It was like you blinked and he was gone, gone to whatever new hell they’d introduce him to. The government relocated you and Sherry, not together I’m afraid. 

You tried to live life like normal but nothing got rid of the nightmares. Dates ran away from your screaming like roaches to sudden exposure to light. New forms of comfort taken from scalding hot showers and wrapping yourself in blankets galore. You nabbed a pitbull from some dumpster. It didn’t seem to matter.

A part of you wanted Leon back. Someone who understood you, someone who'd give you a shoulder to cry on at the moment. You were ashamed to admit that you needed him so bad. It was only one night. One fucking night he didn’t sleep with you. Not like that anyway. Why did you feel so strongly for that dumb blond?

You didn’t like Leon.

You didn’t.

You didn’t.

Six years later you saw Leon again.

Standing at your door looking different from the rookie cop you met that night.

A frozen look of shock on your face as you stared at him.

Your mouth felt dry, your blood went cold.

Oh fuck.

You liked Leon.

[wantondoe]

Birthday Sinner

Hello you dirty sinner~ (<- Did you like that, you mommy's little who-) Today's my birthday so I wanted to write something to celebrate that! I thought this would be wholesome!

Plot: You celebrate your birthday with the Hazbin Hotel characters :D (comedy) / Warnings: cursing and sexual themes, but still SWF imo (naturally) / gender neutral reader / CONTAINS SPOILERS

!! By now I've mostly written comedic stories, let me know down in the comments (or somewhere) if you have any requests. Also, I'm still pretty new to the app so please excuse my clumsiness. Anyway, enjoy! (Or don't, if you're a masochist) !!

The day before your birthday

You were casually spending an evening in the living area with the rest of the staff. You were passively scrolling through Voxtagram, when Charlie asked something.

"So, someone's birthday is coming up, huh?" Charlie spoke with a slightly hesitant voice. You raised a brow.

"Very subtle", Angel commented sarcastically.

"Aaand-", Charlie continued, "we, we were all wondering..." she awkwardly paused, seeing if anyone else would try to ask about your birthday plans. "WE WERE ALL THNKING-"

"We were thinking about throwing you a birthday party", Vaggie finished Charlie's sentence.

"Guys, that's so sweet, but... I'm much too old to celebrate my birthday... I was just planning on having a laid-back day in my room", you answer, putting down your phone.

"That sounds sad", Angel pointed out. "Come on, it'll be your birthday, toots! Loosen up a bit!"

"Angel's right", Husk agreed. "You should do something special for your big day, kiddo."

"Honestly, I've just gotten too lazy to think about throwing a party. My birthday isn't a big deal anyway..."

Nifty jumped on the sofa with you, her singular eye glowing. "Birthdays are the best! How old are you going to be?"

Alastor emerged from the shadows, his lean figure appearing behind you. "Nifty dear you should never ask someone about their age!"

"Dammit Alastor, don't sneak up on me like that!" you jolted. "Guys, I really appreciate your offers, but I don't need a huge party... Good night everyone!" That being said, you made your way upstairs towards the bedroom.

After you were gone, Charlie spoke again: "Guys, I think we should throw her the biggest, craziest birthday ever!

Birthday morning:

Today you'd spoil yourself. You'd sleep in, take a hot bath, eat a luxurious breakfast, and perhaps go on a refreshing walk in Cannibal Town.

Sitting up on the bed, you stretched your arms before walking to the bathtub. You carefully placed a fluffy towel on a stool next to the tub before sinking into the hot water. You closed your eyes, feeling the water around relaxing every muscle of yours. Finally, some relaxing alone time-

A slight frown formed between your brows as you heard Angel and Vaggie yell something in the aisle. You tried to brush it off, but it sounded like chaos emerging. Vaggie yelled something at Angel, and then there was a sound of silverware hitting the floor, followed by Angel's high pitched scream.

Alright, so that was odd. But you wouldn't let their antics ruin your peaceful morning! After you were done with the bath, you got up and carefully dried yourself. After slipping on your favorite clothes, you made your way downstairs.

Apparently, Nifty had been feeling extra productive, as she had made breakfast for everyone. There were pancakes, eggs, fruits, drinks... Everything you could imagine. They had even gotten a chocolate fountain!

"Happy birthday", the all said in unison.

"Wow, guys this is... This is amazing", you walked further into the dining area. "Is this for me...?"

"We wanted to make something special for your birthday!" Charlie clapped her hands.

"This certainly is", you take a seat between Angel and Alastor. "Thank you."

"Of course! Anything for a lovely sinner like you!" Alastor smiled, making you blush slightly.

Charlie looked smitten. "Now to sing happy birthday-"

"Don't you fucking dare", you cut in.

"I wasn't going to sing anyway", Husk admitted.

"Husk, you are a true friend", you smile at the grumpy cat demon.

"Oh, well", Charlie shrugged, "enjoy!"

Birthday, 11 am

You were craving a glass of ice water, so you made your way downstairs to the kitchen. For your surprise, you found Alastor casually standing in front of the door, efficiently blocking the way.

"Hello-!"

"Alastor, why are you blocking the door?" you stand close to him. He frowned a bit, but his wide grin remaining.

"Well, I'm afraid you can't use the kitchen right now my dear!" he explained with his usual cheerful tone.

"What? Why? The kitchen was fine in the morning!"

"My dear there's a plumbing issue!" Alastor lied effortlessly. However, the noises coming behind the door were rather unconvincing.

Vaggie behind the door: Dammit Angel I told you to use the timer!

Angel behind the door: It might still be edible, we just need to take off the burnt parts-

Vaggie behind the door: It's all burnt!

Alastor sighed at the noises coming behind the door. Soon, an intense smell of burnt food made its way through the door.

"Alastor, you lying piece of wendigo", you call him out. "I'll just grab some water-" you say, your hand reaching the doorknob.

"THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE AT THE MOMENT", Alastor rushed to say, gently smacking your hand away using his radio staff.

"For the love of all that is unholy, why won't you let me in!"

"I, uh", Alastor's charismatic persona dropped for a bit.

"You're being so weird!" you groan in frustration, marching away.

After your form was nowhere to be seen anymore, Alastor peeked his head through the door. "WHAT IS GOING ON IN THERE? Can't you two make a cake without being overly suspicious about it?"

Vaggie huffed at Alastor. "Well, you'd be welcome to make this cake, but you'd probably spoil it by using human blood anyway!"

Angel cried, holding an utterly burnt chocolate cake in his spider arms. "I did follow the recipe!"

Vaggie: "Angel, you waste of a jawline!"

Birthday afternoon

Charlie was talking on her phone in the lobby, as she spotted you. Her eyes widened and she instinctively moved to block the door.

"Not this shit again", you mutter. "Charlie, not you too! Why are you all trying to block my way everywhere?!"

"Where do you think you're going?" Charlie asked awkwardly.

"Outside, for a walk. I'm a free sinner-"

"That just won't do!" she blocked the doorway with her body.

"Dammit Charlie!" you curse, marching back in the hotel.

Charlie watched you disappear in the hotel before lifting the phone on her ear again. "Yes, dad. We need 100 balloons and a Vox-shaped pinata. Yes that was Alastor's idea..."

Birthday evening

Frustrated, you had spend your whole birthday chilling on your bed. Your eyes were already drying up from staring at your phone all day. You didn't even notice someone sneaking behind you. The last thing you remembered was something blunt hitting the back of your head before a total blackout.

You had no idea how much time had passed. You woke up, only to realize you were blindfolded. Then you panicked as you realized you were tied up on a chair. However, your panic melted away as soon as you heard the familiar voices.

Charlie: Nifty! I told you to bring them here, not to... assault them!

Nifty: Those are the same thing!

Angel: Ooh you tied them up! How kinky!

Cherry Bomb: Very sexy indeed. Am I the only one imagining them naked?

Angel: Nope.

Husk: Dammit Nifty! What if they wake up with brain damage?

Vaggie: Do we have the balloons? Also, where's Lucifer?

Charlie: Ah, dad couldn't join us, he's still recovering from the hemorrhoid surgery (if you know you know, if you don't, go read my post "Drop Dead Gorgeous"). He even had to get one of those hemorrhoid pillows!

Angel: No anal for Lucifer for a while...

Alastor: Now now, Angel, don't be lewd.

Angel: I'm bored just standing here! When is the bitch going to wake up?!

You smirk. "I am awake, Angel."

A long silence followed your statement.

Charlie: Uh, ha ha, that's great. Uh, Nifty, will you undo your... The blindfold and the ropes?

"Surprise!"

"Surprise motherfucker", Angel grinned.

You were freed from your restrains in mere seconds. You saw all your friends gathered around you. They were smiling awkwardly, wishing you happy birthday in unison. You noticed the ridiculous amount of balloons behind them and a pinata that really did look like Vox.

"You guys really went out of your ways to make this happen huh?" You couldn't deny it, it was impressive. Knowing the hazbins and their quirks, you were surprised that they had been able to put up everything so nicely.

"We just thought you should have a proper birthday, my dear", Alastor chuckled.

"You guys really won't give up huh. Thank you", you giggled. "Alright, you win. Let's party."

"Okay, so first, we got some presents!" Charlie motioned towards the pile of presents in the living room.

You kept opening the gifts, your heart fluttering as they had gifted things you had actually asked for. Then came Angel's turn.

"Happy birthday toots", Angel wished, smirking widely.

"Angel, this present is clearly the shape of a dildo", you state.

"Hey! Don't ruin the surprise!" Angel pouted. "It's not just any dildo, it has 13 different vibrating modes-"

You ripped the wrapping, revealing a huge dildo. You read the text on the package: "Hellpounder 3000, size XL." Your eyes widened as it started vibrating violently. "Angel for the love of Satan!"

Charlie coughed awkwardly while Alastor's aura got exponentially darker.

"Pretty sweet huh?" Angel winked an eye. "I promise you, it gives multiples, every time-"

"Alright!" you blush. "Thank you Angel, I can tell you really care about my, uh, well being", you wrap the dildo back in the paper.

Surprise guest

"We have one final surprise for you!" Charlie's smile widened, if that was even possible by now. "We have someone very special who's come all the way from heaven!"

A familiar serpent figure stepped from the shadows.

"Oh my Hell... Do my eyes deceive me?" You stepped closer. "Sir Pentious! It really is you!" You jumped to hug your old friend. "Look at you all dressed up in white! It does suit you! Ah, it's so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too my old friend!" Sir Pentious smiled. "I'm glad they let me visit Hell every now and then!"

"How's Heaven treating you?" you ask curiously.

"It's pretty nice, though sometimes I find myself missing Hell, especially you people", Sir Pentious responded with a longing expression.

"You're the best birthday present ever!" you hum happily, giving him one more hug.

"I resent that", Angel crossed his arms.

"Come on Sir Pentious! Let's cut the cake!" you lead the snake to the kitchen followed by the others.

Cutting the cake

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, dirty sinner, happy birthday to you", they sangs happily as you laughed softly, cutting the ridiculously large cake.

"This is my favorite cake guys!" you exclaim.

"I know my cake", Angel smirked. "Yeah, you like eating cake don't you-"

"Ahem", Alastor furrowed his brows.

Even Lucifer had joined them through a video call.

"Happy birthday kid!" Lucifer smiled through the screen. "I'm sorry I couldn't join today..."

"It's okay Lulu, how's the recovery?" you ask while the others cut the cake.

"Well, the hemorrhoid surgery was a success, but this recovery bullshit sure is painful. Like, everything I do reminds me of my ass. Trying to walk, sitting down, taking a dump-"

"That's cool, just keep talking about your ass while we eat cake", Husk muttered.

"I see it as very fitting", Angel chuckled. "You know, eating cake and talking about ass-"

"AHEM", Alastor raised his voice again.

"Damn, no Hellpounder 3000 for Lucifer anytime soon", Angel mumbled while moving to the side to grab some drinks.

"Well, I see you have your hemorrhoid pillow", you giggle. "It's gonna be fine, Lulu. Maybe next week Charlie can pick you up and bring you here to spend time with us!"

"Oh that would be just lovely. I'd be so pleased to get a visit from out hemorrhoid-ridden king", Alastor said, his cheery voice dripping with sarcasm.

You smiled at Lucifer and Alastor started bickering on the phone. You walk over to Vaggie. "Vaggie, I know none of this party would've succeeded if it wasn't for you. You truly are the backbone of this hotel and our little group of misfits. Thank you", you hug the fallen angel.

"T-thank you", Vaggie smiled shyly, feeling good that her effort was recognized. "That means a lot."

...

The party was going well. Everyone found their ways to keep themselves entertained. Vaggie and Charlie were eating snacks and talking with Lucifer on the phone, Alastor was enjoying a whiskey at Husk's bar. Nifty ran around the hotel with balloons, her manic laughter echoing in the hallways.

Even Fat Nuggets, Angel's adorable pet piglet had joined then. The pink piglet sniffed on the empty plates. Noticing the piglet's hunger, Charlie cut a piece of cake and placed the plate on the floor. "There you go, piggy."

You sat on the sofa with Angel as Alastor passionately beat up the Vox-shaped pinata.

"Oh my, he's really beating the shit out of that pinata", Angel raised an eyebrow.

"Even blindfolded, he manages to hit the right spots", you take a sip of your drink.

"That sounded hot", Angel said casually as you choked on your drink.

"Angel for fuck's sake!" you curse.

Alastor hit the pinata one final time before the candy fell out. Nifty was blissfully jumping around, catching the candy.

"Oh, aren't those two cute?"

You and Angel watch Alastor and Nifty interact. There was almost something daughter and father -like about the way the two interacted.

You noticed Sir Pentious in the opposite corner of the room, trying to flirt with Cherry Bomb.

Sir Pentious: So, if you were in Heaven... Would you open your heavenly gates for me?

You giggled with Angel at Sir Pentious' adorable attempts to flirt.

"Well, I must say this party turned out well. I feel like we've all been busy with the Hotel lately, so much so that we haven't gotten together like this for a while", you speak lazily.

"Yeah toots, your birthday was the perfect excuse to spend some quality time or whatever shit", Angel mumbled back, clearly intoxicated from the alcohol. "And I mean, look, we got Sir Pentious to visit too..."

"Man we are getting sentimental as fuck", you mumble, watching your friends enjoy the party. "It's like... We are having a deep conversation."

"So deep", Angel nodded with a suggestive tone. "You know toots, you should really give that Hellpounder 3000 a chance."

"Alright, I will", you rolled your eyes. "Man, this has been one of the best birthdays I've ever had."

Extra

It had been two weeks since your birthday. Charlie had decided to throw a casual family dinner at the Hotel, mainly because Lucifer seemed lonely. After all, Lucifer had been unable to join your birthday, which had left his pride wounded.

You were setting the table with Angel and Nifty as you saw Lucifer's car driven by Charlie enter the Hotel's front.

You walked closer to the window with Angel and watched the father and daughter struggle.

Charlie, trying to Help Lucifer out of the car: Dad, just take my hand!

Lucifer: It hurts too much! I can't do this...

Charlie: Come on dad, we made your favorite food! Here, let me carry your apple cane-

Lucifer, holding his butt: Charlie! CHARLIE! I think I popped the stitches! My hemorrhoids never leave me!

Charlie: Dad come on, walk along with me-

Lucifer with genuine panic in his voice: No! NO! We forgot my hemorrhoid pillow! I can't go anywhere without it! Please we have to get it-

Charlie: Okay, relax dad! I got the pillow, see? Now let's go!

Angel turned to look at you. "Well, this will be an interesting dinner."

"Poor Lulu tho", you chuckle as you glance through the window, seeing Lucifer being carried by his daughter. "We love our short king."

[taeaura]

hi !! i love your writing for Tommy and how in depth you get , i thought i was crazy for how much i loved to analyze him and the Hewitt family dynamic , but it makes me ecstatic to find other people who love tcm 03/06 too !!

do you think you could do a blurb on an autistic reader with Tommy (or the whole family) and how he works out navigating their habits ? maybe they have unique ways of completing certain tasks , they don't like to walk using their heels , have sensory issues , get overstimulated easily , etc;

it's pretty heavily implied that Tommy has some kind of intellectual stunt or disorder , and a lot of people think it could be/include some form of autism , so maybe he's a bit relieved to find someone who's neurodivergent like he is ?

sorry for the ramble , and if you do answer this ask , tysm !! 🖤🖤

Hi!! Thank you so much! I love this ask - I’m autistic myself so this blurb was fun to write lol (and a little self-indulgent)

I actually hc that Thomas has autism, or definitely some form of neurodivergence, which I've mentioned in a previous post somewhere..anyway!

I'm so sorry this took so long I keep forgetting I have a Tumblr account lol

_____

When you were "accepted" forced into the family, you somehow fit right in with Tommy - The big lug needed someone like him to keep him company, that's what his momma said at least. 

He's an observer, meaning he noted every quirk and peculiarity you had. He noted the way you avoided walking on your heels, especially up the stairs; The way you were always adjusting your clothes to prevent them from irritating you. Even how you flinched at unexpected loud noises (there's a lot of them in the Hewitt house, unfortunately..) Thomas did similar things; He'd always fiddle with the straps of his apron when he didn't have something to physically concentrate on. He liked routine, which he soon learned you did, too. 

Even in the mental minefield that was the Hewitt house, where speaking your mind too often or too loudly would end poorly, Thomas (and his momma) could tell you were justice-oriented. Firm in your beliefs, with strong opinions to match. You couldn't express them too often at the old farmhouse, but you couldn't hide your facial expressions when Hoyt spewed his bullshit at the dinner table. 

--

When it came to things like chores, Thomas (and his family) always found you doing things...a bit differently. They noticed you were very hesitant to complete certain tasks, especially in the kitchen. You helped momma wash dishes, but you'd shiver and grimace at certain leftover textures. You'd have to immediately wash them off, which made Luda Mae sigh and shake her head - thinking you were just being dramatic. (She has no idea what sensory issues are)

--

At times when the stimulation is too much: Hoyt's yelling at Tommy to clear out the "guests", glass and bones are breaking, everything seems as if it's being blasted full-volume in your skull. Your clothes are hugging the wrong places a bit too tightly, and a bit too loose in others. Sweat is sticking to your skin like glue and your head is pounding. You feel like scratching and ripping your skin off just to crawl out and cry; Thomas is always there for you.

The lights were too bright but if you turned them off, the room would be way too dark. Hen's stolen baby was screeching and the kettle was howling with her. You tried to control yourself - One wrong move in this house and everything went to shit. Soon enough, the tears started flowing; Quietly, but lord did they sting. You felt the rod in your stomach churn and the agony in your head worsen. You needed to scream but nothing ever came out. You clawed at your head, grasping it in your hands. Whenever things got bad, you'd resort to some form of destruction. And Thomas, poor Thomas, knew that feeling all too well.

Thomas would always drop everything and go straight to you when things got overstimulating. He comforted you and you comforted him. Sometimes you'd sit outside on the porch, other times you felt safe in his (or one of the guests) room. Tommy had a somewhat-working record player that he'd play if it helped you feel better. He let you rest when you needed a nap, taking on all the extra chores you needed to do. He watched over you to make sure nothing harmful happened, and he'd watch you draw when everything else wasn't enough. For him, his mask was his comfort. He liked the pressure and the knowledge that he was hidden. He thought about making you your own, but he got too nervous to get to it.

The family would never understand overstimulation like you and Thomas do. They're traditional, which often means they think you're being dramatic. Unfortunately, you'll have to live with it if you want to live under the Hewitt roof. But, at least you have Tommy, right?

_____

.🫀.