#I'm not good at romance but I'm trying to figure it out

[lareinedulune]

La Reine Du Lune Fic Masterlist

X-Men and Wolverine Logan Howlett x Reader

Shades of Grey

After life has left you wounded and alone, you decide to apply to teach at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngers. There you meet the older, wiser Professor Logan Howlett aka The Wolverine and while your attraction to him is undeniable, you know love and romance isn't for you. Your mutation has left you too damaged and unlovable a thing. Logan may have a different opinion. While you navigate your new life and friendship with Logan, one of the X-Men, once a friend to all. may become a threat to you.

This story takes place a year post the end of "X-Men: Days of Future Past", after Logan has returned to his new, kinder future, a thriving school and a whole new world to get used to. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Love Goes On Series

Part I: Loves Goes On

Original Trilogy Era Logan is travelling from small town to small town through Alberta with no real purpose other than survival until he meets a young waitress in a dive bar who opens his heart, and uncages his animal within.

Part II: Loves Goes On... and On

Logan, Laura, Wade and Vanessa are all settling into their new lives in Vancouver, when Logan's and his reunited love's lives are thrown into a tailspin.

Part III: Loves Goes On... and On... and On

The last part of the trilogy - where Logan and his love try and figure out their future when things get complicated.

Deadpool and Wolverine Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett

The Muck-Sprout and His Undaunted Knight Crusader WIP

Falling through a magical portal at the height of an alien invasion was not on Wade Wilson's Bingo Card when he and Logan had woken up that morning, nor was them ending up in another time and place. Nevertheless, in search of a way home the pair must traverse the land where adventure, intrigue and danger awaits!

Logan's Christmas Carol

On Christmas Eve, Logan is visited by three spirits.

When I'm With You WIP

A series of stand alone prompt based chapters of Wade and Logan in love and making their way through this crazy life together.

(Another) Rockies Honeymoon

Logan and Wade are newly married, and Logan wants to take Wade somewhere secluded and peaceful for their honeymoon so the two of them can be completely alone and not have a care in the world.

Anything For You

Wade's certain the only thing that will make Logan truly happy is to get him his family back, even if that means losing Logan forever.

How to Properly Defrost a Wadesicle: And Other Life Lessons for J. Logan Howlett

Wade runs amok, and Logan has to save him.

Sparkle and Shine

After a couple years in his new universe, Logan has a family. He loves Wade, he loves his daughter Laura, and he even loves his dog. Therefore when the big wibbly wobbly timey wimey ball of timelines and the multiverse collide with the present, and Wade suffers the consequences - there is nothing that'll stop Logan from getting his Wade back.

Promises in the Dark

When a particularly difficult job sends Wade into a deep depression, Logan is there to comfort him.

Rock(ies) Honeymoon

Logan and Wade had reached a place of deep love, understanding and attachment to each other, when a dangerous mission came their way and threatened the peaceful life they'd worked so hard for.

A Shove in the Right Direction

Laura is tired of both Logan and Wade having their heads so far up their respective asses and decides to give them both a good hard shove in the right direction.

Photographs

Logan finds photographs of Wade before he was changed.

First Date

Logan and Wade go up against The Russian Mafia on a mission to rescue victims of a human trafficking ring, during which a few revelations come to light. Participating in a violent massacre together constitutes a first date, doesn't it?

Spartacus Agron x Nasir Barca/Pietros

A Place Between Love and War

Agron and Nasir are offered a reprieve from strife and struggle from a most unexpected source.

Mond Söhne (Sons of the Moon) WIP

Stolen from their homelands after betrayal, Agron and Duro find themselves in the House of Batiatus and their true nature quelled and tethered. But, the machinations of Spartacus would seek to free them and wreck havoc upon Rome, for Agron and Duro were wolf-kind and sons of the Moon. The beasts within could not be caged forever.

An AU Werewolf fic.

The Arrow's Mark

Nasir takes an arrow meant for Agron.

Fickle Gods

The gods are often cruel, merciless and fickle, but what if for once they gave Pietros and Barca their favour.

Before and After

Vows spoken in times of triumph and times of defeat.

Coming Home

My contribution for the Nagron Fic Exchange 2021! I wrote for SubtextEquals, whose prompt was: post battle comforting each other.

When a band of errant Romans threaten the peaceful life Agron and Nasir have created for themselves East of the Rhine, there is but one course of action for them to take.

In The Lap of the Gods Series - Spartacus/The Old Guard

Part I: In The Lap of the Gods Crossover Fic with The Old Guard Fandom

Lost for over two thousand years, Agron and Nasir awaken to a whole new world of strife and violence, having been gifted by the gods with the ability to heal from all wounds.

Joe, Nicky and the others begin to dream of two men, a hulking beast who speaks an ancient Germanic tongue, and the slight but strong, darker man who holds his heart. Knowing the two are in great peril, they go in search of their new brothers.

Part II: In the Lap of the Gods II: The Fall of the Wolf Slayer Crossover Fic with The Old Guard Fandom

Prequel to my previous tale "In the Lap of the Gods".

Life for Agron and Nasir east of the Rhine is not without hardship or strife, but at least they are together. That is until a seemingly unstoppable force threatens their peace and their very lives. The appearance of dark stranger with a beguiling smile, reminding him too much of Castus, sets Agron on edge, but this stranger may be their only hope.

Marwan Kenzari and Luca Marinelli Cinematic Universe Crossover Fic Daan (Hartenstraat)/Paolo Guerrisi

The Fathers of Saar and Italia

I couldn't help myself! I have taken Luca Marinelli's Paolo from "Il Padre D'Italia", and Marwan Kenzari's Daan from "Hartenstraat" and done what all fans are compelled to do - match them up as must be done in light of the awesomeness that is The Old Guard's Nicky and Joe.

So here it is, a little slice of life for the sweetest pair of single dads out there.

The Old Guard Joe x Nicky / Yusuf Al-Kaysani x Nicolò di Genova

The Moments In Between

It was not always death, violence and blood. There were moments in between where peace and love reigned for Joe and Nicky.

A series of romantic one-shots.

Psychopomps

Joe and Nicky escape to their Maltese paradise, but not all is as it should be or as it seems.

Time Rolls Ever On

There were cities in the world they visited more than once, where they made history, made a difference, and made friends. One such city was New Orleans, Louisiana - where Andy likes to stir up trouble, Booker finds what he didn't know he was looking for, and Joe and Nicky make time for romance.

Of Monsters and Miracles

Booker sucked in a large, deep breath, “When Merrick had you and Nicky. When Dr. Kozak was working on you, did they… did they take semen samples?”

Joe was taken aback and felt some new emotion gnaw deep in his gut. “What?” he gasped.

“Joe, you have to see where I’m going with this.”

“I… I don’t know, we were in and out of it a lot. There were so many drugs in our system, we died many times. I have no specific memory, but maybe? I don’t know. She took a piece of everything else. Why? Why?”

“Because I have Nicky’s son with me,” Booker said after an eternally long pause.

In The Lap of the Gods Series - Spartacus/The Old Guard

Part I: In The Lap of the Gods Crossover Fic with the Spartacus Fandom

Lost for over two thousand years, Agron and Nasir awaken to a whole new world of strife and violence, having been gifted by the gods with the ability to heal from all wounds.

Joe, Nicky and the others begin to dream of two men, a hulking beast who speaks an ancient Germanic tongue, and the slight but strong, darker man who holds his heart. Knowing the two are in great peril, they go in search of their new brothers.

Part II: In the Lap of the Gods II: The Fall of the Wolf Slayer Crossover Fic with the Spartacus Fandom

Prequel to my previous tale "In the Lap of the Gods".

Life for Agron and Nasir east of the Rhine is not without hardship or strife, but at least they are together. That is until a seemingly unstoppable force threatens their peace and their very lives. The appearance of dark stranger with a beguiling smile, reminding him too much of Castus, sets Agron on edge, but this stranger may be their only hope.

Schitt's Creak David/Patrick

Soft Launch

A Post-Script to each episode of Season 5.

The Surfers and the Alien

David finds out a devastating secret from Patrick's past.

Meet the Parents... For Breakfast

While David and Patrick are enjoying breakfast with the Brewers the morning after Patrick's birthday party, Alexis shows up unexpectedly and drops a bombshell that brings up memories for David he's tried very hard to forget.

Hearts On Fire

In which David learns how far Patrick will go to prove his love for him.

Hard Work Is Its Own Reward

David enlightens Patrick to his new discovery about their relationship.

Versailles Philippe x Chevalier / Philippe Chevalier de Lorraine x Philippe I duc d'Orléans

Bless Me Father

Philippe convinces his Chevalier to follow him on a quest for answers to the questions that torment his very soul.

To Save His Prince

Post-Series 3.

Plagued by violent nightmares of war, Philippe is spiraling into a hopeless depression and drowning in a well of sorrow from which he cannot emerge from alone. The Chevalier feels his love slipping through his fingers more and more each day. But, with the help of his dear Liselotte, he conspires to save the love of his life.

High Light In The Darkness

Set just after the finale...

Philippe returns to his rooms late in the evening, having been in counsel with the King, and as expected his Chevalier is waiting there for him. The time had come for them to reunite with more than just a kiss.

When The Angels Descended From The Heavens To Slay Dragons

Post-Series 3. In which our dear Chevalier de Lorraine is a hero.

"The Chevalier would have thought the King would’ve learned his lesson about throwing a party in the middle of the garden with all of the court present when there was unrest with the peasants and not have them be surrounded on all sides by the royal guard.

But alas, that was not the case."

[needfantasticstories]

Zelink post-BotW Fluff: Swimming Lesson

TW: none

Link loved the squelch of saltwater sand between his toes. He couldn’t believe Zelda hated it so much, but he didn’t mind carrying her into the water as she laughed and yelled at him to put her down, to the delight of her students. 

Every day he learned more about the princess. Like him, she wasn’t the same person who began a century long pause on life. Yet while he rested and healed in safety, she battled to hold back the full might of Gannon to save what remained of their beloved land.

And he’d never let her forget her strength. He had faith in her.

Link saw her smile and ignored her halfhearted protests. He ran into the cool wave, turning her back towards the spray so it would not splash her eyes. 

She gasped and laughed along with the gang of children running beside them, giggling and diving into the waves. 

They shouted instructions to her, deftly swapping roles of teacher and student, “Pinch your nose, or breathe out! In one, two, three!” they instructed her. 

She held her nose tightly in one hand and held Link’s shoulder in the other.

Link plunged down into the wave. Beyond the thin, swirling veil of white foam shone sunlight spears piercing a world of sapphire blue. 

They came up, and she gasped for air. She struggled to catch her breath as Link moved her to his back.  He walked just beyond the shallow waves near the shore, then followed the shoreline in the calm, gently pulsing water. 

Zelda laughed as she memorized the shape and color of each coral from above, whispering their Sheikah names to herself, connecting them to her texts, Link guessed. 

The water-sure children paddled and dove nearby, and led the pair further into the calm bay.

Zelda nervously wiped dripping water from her eyes.

“You’ll get used to it!” one child shouted, “Now you’ve gotta learn how to kick your legs!”

She froze, but Link pulled her down carefully. 

“This will be easy. Probably easier than your riding lessons,” he assured her quietly.

“But I broke my ankle…” she said, turning white.

“Oh," He cursed his memory loss again, "Well, easier than shield surfing then…”

“You used three fairies the first day!” She glared playfully at him.

“But you didn’t. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy her.

The children watched as their teacher, Miss Zelda, floated nervously on her stomach, arms forward and legs straining to stay flat, supported by Link’s left arm, and gripping his right arm for dear life.

“I'm not sure I should have agreed to this,” she laughed, but her smile showed both fear and excitement. 

“He’s got you! It’s okay, Miss Princess!” Kinov called as he blocked splashes from his little brother, Zuta. 

Zelda smiled at Link. He smiled back at her and offered a quick, encouraging nod. 

She kicked her legs, as hard as she could, as the students cheered. 

It had been her deal to them: if they’d spend a week learning to read Zora script, she’d let them teach her to swim. It meant a great deal more when they realized how much she did not enjoy sand.

The children laughed and cheered at her kicks as she grew more confident in the peaceful water. 

“Now swim!” they shouted, and splashed her. 

“Stop! The fish!” A girl shouted. 

Zelda slowed her kicks. She was getting the hang of the water’s buoyancy, its resistance to her movement and the flowing echoes of her motion, its wide, gentle breaths in and out. 

The kids watched the water quietly as they tread or stood in the rocking mass.  Slowly, they watched schools of fish return. 

“They’re back,” one said with a grin.

“Yay! Fishies!”  A young girl whispered.

“Are you ready?” Link asked.

Zelda wiped her eyes, smiled nervously, and gasped, “Just let me catch my breath for a moment. This water is just so… so endless…so bright…” the children did not wait for her, and dove while she scanned the silver horizon, lost in a contemplative trance. 

He hoisted her onto his shoulders to see the horizon better. It was all still new to her, this endless sea. 

Link recalled his first time seeing it. He didn’t understand who he was back then, or where he’d come from, except what the old man and old woman told him, before he really understood his history with King Rhoam and Chief Impa. 

He was just trying to stay alive long enough to recover his scattered memories, standing near the cliffs above the village. He had finished a battle for his life against a gang of blue bokoblins with a rusty soldier’s sword, a long stick, and a few carefully timed bombs as he battled high on a cliff near a shrine. 

He recalled struggling to catch his breath after the battle, still shaking from adrenaline, ears ringing. A rare fury had surged in him: the world he’d so abruptly awoken to harbored so much evil, and all because of his failure; one he couldn't even remember. 

Then, he’d turned around. Beyond the cliffs near his feet, Link saw the impossible: another world, shimmering like a mirror and made entirely of water. Only a few tiny islands, like small bowls floating precariously, darkened the giant mirror’s surface. The world’s end, he’d thought. 

Ocean, came the taste, the smell of a memory. 

He’d glided down to look closer at the mirror's cracking edge, white waves, and soon discovered a village with kind people; it was a place of healing, peace, and rest. He slept to the heartbeat of the sea. 

For the first time since he awoke, he knew he could find good in the world beyond the Calamity. 

He often returned between adventures, especially whenever he discovered a new memory. Here, he’d prayed final goodbyes to sweet Mipha, fatherly Daruk, wise Urbosa, and even the proud, lonely Revali before they faced Gannon together. 

“Wow, you’re strong, mister!” one boy said as he looked up at Zelda, the taller princess easily supported on his shoulders. The child dispelled Link’s reflections as they splashed. 

“Come see the fish!” The children begged, bored with the pair’s long gaze at the midday horizon. 

Link walked closer to them as Zelda slowly returned to the present. He wondered what she thought. Did it change her too? 

The children led them a little deeper into the water. Link guided Zelda to his arms and helped her float, as before, so she could look down into the water. He stepped carefully around the coral as swells brushed up to his shoulders. He felt a little unprepared without his Zora armor. I should get used to not relying on specialized equipment so much, he thought. 

“Come see!” The children said, and they dove below. 

“I’m ready,” Zelda confirmed before he asked. 

“Open your eyes,” he said, winking just before he dropped under the surface with her.

Schools of fish swam over the giant purple and pink gardens of coral. Kelp forests swayed in the mouth of the bay, giant fish swimming in and out. Tiny red fish darted all around them. 

Zelda made a sound of surprise, bubbles billowing, and he rushed her back to the surface. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Oh my goodness! Yes, I’m fine. Just so surprised! I didn’t see most of them from up here! I recognize the eels from my texts! Do they get very big?” She asked, looking a little nervous.

“Let’s find out,” he answered and rose up in warning before diving again. 

Tiny, ribbon-like eels of turquoise swam nearby. A yellow fish swam by, and Zelda reached a hand out to it. It puffed up like an octo balloon, and wiggled awkwardly away. 

The feel of Zelda’s soft hand gently returning to his shoulder made him feel strange: a mixture of peaceful and tense. It was oddly similar to the feeling before a fight, that queasiness, yet his body felt slower, seeking to match her gentleness. He shook it off and intentionally tensed up as he spied a new fish. He mustn’t ever be off his guard.

A child swam over and pointed toward shore. 

“Princess, I have a message for you!” Called a male voice as they surfaced. 

Link carried Zelda to shore. She wiggled down and, though she winced ever so slightly as her feet touched the warm sand, she still walked with the grace of a queen, in spite of her soaked clothes. 

“Who sent it?” Zelda asked, taking the scroll from the Hylian traveler. 

“It’s from Lady Riju. She has a request you visit at sunrise tomorrow,” the messenger read, and showed the note to Zelda.

“Very well. Can you confirm to her that we’ll be there?” Zelda said, taking the blanket Link offered and wrapping it on him with a grin. He grinned back and got another one from the children, who had followed them ashore. As the messenger left, they took Zelda’s blanket back, yelled, and chased her with it yelling “Like-like! Zelda’s a shield!” 

She ran, and for once, Link did not rush to defend her.

“Caught you!” a little boy squealed behind him and caught Link’s leg. Link recognized him as Zuta, Kinov’s little brother. The poor boy always seemed one step, one instruction behind. He must have misunderstood the others, Link realized. 

Link laughed, and tousled his hair, “You did! Clever! Now, let’s catch the teacher!” he said, and picked up the pace to chase the others, Zuta still holding his leg.

TBD (1578 words) by SkipBreaker Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Impa & Zelda (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Impa (Legend of Zelda) Summary: Who is Zelda, without a Kingdom or Calamity? Who is Link without the Champions and a clear mission?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[talldren]

That's a good point! In all honesty, I'm uncertain when this specific ending started becoming popular (THW came out right before covid, so that section of time is kind of soupy in my brain, on top of me being young at the time anyways) so it very well could have been the movie that started the trend.

Themes like the ones in THW are important in media, and probably do resonate with many people. Sometimes, friendships do fall apart! That's a very real fact of life, and of growing up! Sometimes friends move away. Sometimes friends grow apart. Sometimes friends pass away. The movie says "loss is a part of love," and it's right.

My issue comes in with how that idea is executed, I suppose. I think they had the end picked out first, and then had to figure out what needed to happen to make that ending make sense. Hiccup, as a character, needed to be treated as though he was keeping Toothless from something, because that would make the ending seem justified. Toothless, as a character, was written to be less attached to Hiccup and more horny unfufilled and attracted to the Light Fury/the wild, so that the ending would feel less like a separation, and more like freeing Toothless. However, as many people point out, these changes tend to contradict previously established character traits, and thus the whole plot feels less... I guess the word would be natural?

The Light Fury is in part a metaphor for the wild, so I know she's symbolic of a greater thing, but it still feels like the thing the movie is trying to imply is that the specific part of growing up that drove apart Hiccup and Toothless was... romance? It serves this idea that Toothless cannot have a successful romantic relationship with the Light Fury while still being with Hiccup, and that Hiccup cannot be in a successful romantic relationship with Astrid while still being with Toothless (Astrid's "I can't compete with a dragon" comment comes to mind). I've never liked the idea that friendship is somehow secondary to romance, but the way THW's plot is arranged almost makes friendship into an outright obstacle for romance, and that feels way worse.

Thank you for your input! I definitely see your point, and appreciate you playing devil's advocate for the sake of debate!

Okay, I'm sending this out into the world. This might earn me a bunch of heated arguments but I'll take the risk

I really don't like the Hidden World. It makes me angry and upset, and I feel like it spits in the face of what httyd stands for. If it sounds like a strong opinion, that's because it is

However, I would also like to hear from people who DO like it, because... honestly, I just don't get it. I've never understood narratives like THW's, where the magical thing that brought joy and purpose to the main character disappears. I understand that sometimes we lose people and things, sometimes important things, and I get that there should be stories about that reality. That's how we get audiences, especially young ones, to understand these harsh realities. But I feel like there's almost too much of that narrative now, and often it seems poorly handled. I think THW handles it pretty badly in particular

If you liked the hidden world as a movie, and like it's themes, I'd appreciate you explaining why under this post. I'd really like to try and understand what makes it appealing to some fans, and the value they assign to its storytelling. Don't be surprised if I reply with questions or rebuttals, because this is an invitation to discussion/(extremely casual and not heated please) debate. Also don't be shocked if this post randomly gets deleted, because at a certain point I think I'll get tired of it

[maxbytes]

not me imagining doof teaching max how to do different forms of physical intimacy bc he's a clueless alien from a repressed society so he's never been in a relationship and doesn't know how kissing works

[vaguely-concerned]

I was just ambushed within the turbulent halls of my own mind by some headcanons about rye ingellvar's childhood that did 15000000 points of psychic damage to me and my heart personally and also made me almost sure of how I want to play it all at the end (very very differently from how I imagined going in!). some 'oh holy fuck this changes everything' rocking my own world bullshit going on in my neurons right now I'm reeling

[booksandberries]

yknow what i wish i had more people i looked up to

[adinafay]

Will my current Durge continue their path of "my brain is horrifying mush please just tell me what to do and I'll do it" and give in to Astarion's ascension only to inevitably break up with him because he's terrible now?

Or will they grow as a person and finally stand up to Astarion for his own good so they can try to heal together?

[elizabeth-mitchells]

if you guys have watched the new hunger games movie can you help me figure out something pretty please

[leofrith]

🫵🏻 KARLACH KISSER

[andromedaskies]

Forgot how much I hate the planning stages of fics

[acid-ixx]

if you guys are interested, send in an ask or comment!

will anybody be willing to hear out neglected child reader who was another one of zeus's bastard children. you're out there chasing for your stepmother (hera's attention), whilst zeus just lets you run around without his care, clearly too wrapped up in his affairs. your other siblings aren't as good to you, too, thinking another half-deity isn't worth their time—

so you'd give up, pretty much choosing to bestow the mortal world with your presence instead; because if you can't be loved by your own family, then let yourself be worshipped by passionate mortals instead.

how about romancing telemachus? what if you both learn what it's like navigating through his godly favor with athena, and you with your own powers? what if you have odysseus and penelope be the actual parent-figures you always wanted? their overprotectiveness skyrockets every time you propose to being elsewhere in ithaca, to the point you forget that it's you who has the godly powers to oppose, but how could you when a darker side of them appears every time you allow yourself to be disrespected within their palace?

how about in another place? what are you to many of the great warriors, if not for a forgotten, yet mysterious and whimsical deity? why is your name muttered in all the regions? surely, with just how much you deny your god-like origins, but still manage to capture the hearts of hundreds of suitors, you'd gain quite the infamous name despite your closed-off attitude.

imagine enough attention was garnered on your presence, that that's what was needed for them to finally notice you? but you're not quite the same child who used to pull on their robes, or look at them as brightly as the sun— no, now you deny them of any of your love. your mother, hera, finally sees you and urges you to return to olympus away from the prying eyes of many suitors and back into the domain of safety. she calls you her baby, fuzzing over you even when you openly and spitefully try to rip her hands away from fixing your 'messy' robes. zeus isn't any better, now he calls you sweet names and pretend like he hadn't actively bashed on you for your weakness back when you were begging on his throne for just a sliver of attention? he wants you to sit in between his throne and hera's? you're significantly smaller than him, he's gigantic in nature, and it doesn't help that he treats you like you could be easily squashed by him (which is every damn right possible, and it's intimidating and makes you want to cry).

and there's the issue with the others, too. so many of them used to deny you in favor of focusing on their own domains. now apollo wants to carry you off in one of his chariots to ride off the skies with him while he plays his lyre to you? artemis wants to teach you the way of the hunt under the dark, gloomy skies you used to wish under for a moment of their time? aphrodite used to spitefully shut you out of her own doors, but now she invites you in her room to gossip and play pretend while she coos and braids your hair?

and all the other gods, now wanting to take you away from the underserving - as they say it - mortal realm? that the people who built sculptures of you, who held you more lovingly more than those you grew up with, aren't worthy of your divine presence?

what a joy to be a being looming between the lines of mortal and divine, right?

a/n: this concept is better off and more coherent in my head i swear. now i don't often diverge from my main fandom, but the similarities between this and the yan! batfam is quite hilarious to me that ngl i want to make a crossover of it. and yes, this is me coping with the stress of having to deal with the sudden influx of hate in the yan! dc community, so i'm taking a short break from it to focus on this.

[phantasmallussion]

The Equation of Us

In which Phainon is a hopeless chemistry student who finally understands the subject by falling hopelessly in love and turning every exam into a love letter.

content: phainon x gn!reader, modern university au

word count: 1.7k

note: i wanted to make something before his banner drops, so here's an attempt. this is my first time writing phainon, so i'm so sorry if it's bad or ooc. formatted on phone, so the format might be a bit off as well.

I. Phainon is Bad at Chemistry (Until He Isn't)

Phainon is, by all definitions, a disaster at General Chemistry.

It's not that he doesn't try. He studies, shows up to classes, and even volunteers to mop the lab floor when someone drops the potassium-filled beaker again. But there is just something about acids, chemical bonding, and thermodynamics that just... won't stick.

Until you came along.

Somehow, the moment he started associating chemical principles with you, everything clicked. Like how ionic bonds are one-sided love. Or how magnetic fields reminded him of the ways you make his heart pull sideways when you walk into the room. Soon his notes are no longer filled with the complicated jargons and diagrams as was shown by his professor, Anaxagoras, on the board but is instead replaced with little doodles and analogies connected to you.

Suddenly, chemistry is Phainon's favourite subject. Not because he's good at it, but because every question feels like a metaphor for his hopeless crush.

II. A Guide to Chemistry (Written in Phainon-Speak)

(Or, a glimpse into Phainon's notebook)

He's doomed. And Mydei, his best friend, is now aware of it.

They were studying together after classes, reviewing notes and discussing lessons. But this study session has long devolved into Phainon drawing stick figures of you and him with electrons drawn between them. He has not been paying attention to any of Mydei's words for the past 15 minutes and Mydei is starting to be annoyed at the lack of response. So he turned his gaze to his silent friend and came face-to-face with a very concerning list of things.

✧ Note A: Bonding Types ○ Ionic bond: When someone gives away everything—like I would, if they asked. One-sided, but powerful. Painful and devastating, very me-coded. ○ Covalent bond Shared electrons = shared food and drinks. Strong and stable. Very couple-coded. ○ Hydrogen bond Small and fleeting, like when their hands brushed against mine once and I couldn't breathe for three minutes.

✧ Note B: Magnetic Fields Technically it is formed when charges move. But also, when they enter a room and all my atoms realign. North Pole, South Pole? All irrelevant, my compass only points to them.

✧ Note C: Activation Energy The minimum energy needed to start a reaction. For me, that's three hours of inner turmoil, two hours of Mydei pep talks, and one caffeine overdose just to text them: 'hey do u wanna study together later maybe if you're free haha'.

✧ Note D: Chemical Equilibrium When the forward and reverse reactions are equal and occur at the same rate. It's like when they flirt with me by accident and I flirt back on purpose, they get flustered and I get flustered, we both freaked out and retreated at the same time. Balance. Equilibrium achieved. Both parties suffering.

"You're gonna fail both chem and romance in the same semester at this rate."

"HEY!!"

Mydei is tired and exasperated.

But Phainon? Phainon has never understood chemistry better.

III. Midterm Examinations and the Paper That Started It All

Phainon's Chemistry Midterm Paper

(Graded by: Professor Anaxagoras Professor Cerces)

Comment (all written in Cerces' handwriting): Professor Anaxa has refused to grade this paper properly so I have taken the liberty of grading it in his stead.

Question 1: Define polar vs non-polar covalent bonds. Answer: A polar bond is like when I like them more than they like me. Unbalanced, but still connected. A non-polar bond is when we're both blushing idiots too afraid to confess. Equal, with maximum tension. (I prefer non-polar, personally) Comment: Full marks.

Question 2: Describe an exothermic reaction. Answer: An exothermic reaction releases heat into the surroundings. Like when they laughed. Or when they brushed my hair back last Tuesday and I short-circuited. Pretty sure I melted internally. 100% heat released. No regrets. Comment: Correct. Also, too much detail.

Question 3: Explain Le Chatelier's Principle. Answer: When a system is disturbed, it shifts to restore balance. If I start ignoring them (usually by accident), they start sending me dog memes. When they forget to reply, I send them stupid chemistry puns. We always shift to equilibrium, return to chaotic harmony. It's the balance of love. Comment: Scientific accuracy = ✔️ Emotional damage = also ✔️

Question 4: What is an intermolecular force, and how does it differ from intramolecular force? Answer: Intermolecular = between separate molecules = the gravitational pull I feel when they walk by. Intramolecular = inside the molecule = the feelings I try to supress but fail to contain. TL;DR: both are responsible for me being completely stuck on them Comment: Perfectly phrased. It's brilliant, but also tragic.

Extra Credit (Free Response): What does chemistry mean to you? Answer: Chemistry is the invisible pull between two elements. Sometimes reactive, sometimes dangerous. but sometimes... just right. They are the element I wasn't supposed to discover, but now that I have, I don't think I'll ever be inert again. Also, please pass me. I need this for graduation. I'll even name my next molecule after you. Comment: A+ Score. And do note that the one who graded this paper is me, Cerces, not Anaxa.

Final Score: 85/100. PASS.

IV. And The News Spreads

It starts small.

Anaxa "accidentally" leaks a few lines to Aglaea in the faculty lounge. A student nearby heard their conversation and got their hands on the original paper. An anonymous student submitted it to the school zine as a meme; it somehow passed checks and got published under the title "Chemical Bonding: The Sappy Edition". The zine was quickly stopped soon after but word still spread faster than flu season in the dorm halls.

But they weren't just laughing at it, they were studying with it. Freshmen started using it as study guides. Then came the memes, the academic forum post, and a bootleg version was reprinted under the name "Chemistry of Love 101" in a study zine.

And Phainon... Phainon became a chemistry icon.

V. The Dreaded Day (But This Time Phainon Is Ready)

Phainon walks in early with a confident stride and sit front and center. He was calm. Too calm. Anaxa side-eyes him from his position on the podium.

A few hours later, the exam papers had all been collected and ready for grading. Anaxa's hands reaches for one at random. He took a quick glance at the answer, then stared hard at the name column, and finally released a huge sigh. Today is going to be a long day.

Then, one afternoon, the results came in

Students filtered out of the lecture hall in waves, clutching their graded papers with expressions ranging from mild horror to cautious joy.

You were sitting on the steps outside the chemistry building, drink in one hand and phone on the other, scrolling aimlessly. The air was buzzing with noise and the breeze was warm. You honestly didn't expect much from today—maybe a nap, maybe existential dread. But what you certainly didn't expect is for Phainon to stand in front of you, nervously hugging a stack of papers like it contained both his future and his grocery list.

"Hey," he said.

You looked up. He was flushed, hair a little messy, expression nervous but hopeful.

"Hey," you answered, smiling. "You okay?"

He hesitated, then dropped onto the step beside you with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm about to do something dumb," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow at that. "Is it the same kind of dumb as replacing Mydei's sugar and salt bottles, or...?"

"No, like—emotionally dumb," he said, then pulled a single sheet from the middle of the stack and held it out. "Here. Read this."

You blinked. "You're... giving me your final exam paper?"

"Just look at it. Please?" he said, eyes wide and weirdly intense. "I swear it's not about the grades."

You took the page. At the top was his name written in familiar scrawl.

And right below that is what you could recognise as Anaxa's handwriting:

Grade: 100/100

Comment: I refuse to ever lay my (singular) eye on this paper again. I recommend you send these "texts" to the actual recipient instead of my grading inbox.

You snorted. "Already promising," you said, flipping the page.

What followed is less like a science exam and more like a romantic thesis disguised as academic desperation.

Some carefully selected excerpts from Phainon's finals:

"A chemical reaction must overcome activation energy. I overcame mine the day I met them."

"Endothermic reactions absorb heat. But being around them is exothermic, they make me burn and I will do so happily."

"Stability constant, K = [Products]/[Reactants]. And I am more stable when they are near."

"When I say I love them, it's not hyperbole. It's data. Proven through every beat of my heart and every laugh of theirs that knocks the air out of my lungs. They are the catalyst and I am hopelessly, irreversibly reacting."

And at the very end, written almost like a postscript, is your name followed by "will you be my equilibrium?"

You stared at the last line for a long moment, something warm and strange tightening in your chest. Beside you, Phainon was silent. You turned your head. He was staring straight ahead, hands fidgeting on his lap, as if afraid to look you in the eye.

"You really wrote all this?" you asked softly.

He let out a breath that trembled at the edges. "Yeah. I didn't think Professor Anaxa would read the whole thing. I was just—y'know—sleep deprived, emotionally compromised, and full of caffeine."

You traced the margin of the paper with your finger.

"But I meant all of it," his voice was firm although he still wasn't looking at you. "Even if i flunked, i figured i should try telling the truth, just once."

You reached into your bag and pulled out a red pen of your own. Phainon blinked as you uncapped it and scribbled something at the end of the paper, then passed it back to him.

He read it. Paused. And nearly fell off the steps.

Beside the black ink of his own handwriting is your newly added words written in red.

"will you be my equilibrium?"

Grade: 100/100

Comment: Yes. Always."

[plutotheplum]

Felt Good About You

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: delivering a revised manuscript to your editor turns into something more.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, post-time skip, oral sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, handjob, p in v

wc: 4.8k

a/n: i'm afraid i have the fattest crush on akaashi

also on ao3!

“The romance isn’t working.”

You groan when your editor pushes your manuscript for this week’s chapter towards you. You didn’t need any more bumps in the road, not when you were already running behind on deadlines, with the publishing company breathing down your neck to get the next volume out.

“The romance is fine, Akaashi” you mumble, flicking through the pages of the manuscript to skim through his notes.

“If it was fine, I wouldn’t be here,” he replies dryly.

Akaashi was as blunt as ever. Most of the time you appreciated his honesty, he was the reason for such success with your manga after all, but sometimes he managed to get on your nerves.

“It’s an unnecessary subplot,” he continues, flipping through a couple of pages to show you a few of the panels you had drawn, “there’s just no plausible progression between the two, no chemistry.”

You glare at him. He was really starting to get on your nerves. Akaashi rolls his eyes when he sees your glare, reaching out to flick your forehead.

“You’re already behind on the scheduled publishing date,” he reminds you, crossing his arms over his chest, “and I get the short end of the stick because I’m your editor.”

“The higher-ups love you,” you retort.

You stare pointedly at the small stash of awards that were tucked onto a shelf in his office, the small trophies and plaques a clear display of the company’s commendation for his work. 

“Not enough to let me work in the literature department,” he mutters bitterly.

“I’m right here!” you protest, an exasperated expression spreading across your face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi murmurs. 

He taps your manuscript a few more times before giving you a stern look.

“Get me the revised version by tonight, otherwise you’ll miss out on this week’s issue.”

You curse him under your breath, giving him one final glare as you gather the pages of your manuscript into your hands. You had come into his office thinking he’d been fine with the story, but now you had somehow ended up with more work than before, and an even tighter deadline.

- 

A few hours later, you end up finding yourself outside Akaashi’s apartment. Guilt had won out in the end, and you figured that it wasn’t fair to let him take the blame for your tardiness. Revised manuscript clutched against your chest, you ring his doorbell.

You can feel your throat dry when he opens up the door. His hair is damp, towel slung around the back of his neck. He’s wearing an old volleyball shirt with sweatpants, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him looking so domestic. 

Akaashi stares at you blankly, clearly not expecting you. Usually you would’ve just emailed the revised manuscript over to him, not show up outside his door.

“I felt guilty,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing at the awkwardness in the air, “and- and I ordered gyoza so it should be here in a few minutes.”

“Right,” he says after a moment, “you didn’t have to.”

You stare at each other for a moment longer until he sighs, opening the door wider to let you in.

“You’re just as bad as Bokuto,” he informs you.

The mention of the pro-volleyball player makes a smile spread across your face. You had met Akaashi’s volleyball friends a few times when they had enlisted your help in throwing Akaashi a surprise birthday party - which had maybe ended up in a disaster - as well as when you had wound up to a few of their games.

“He’s a sweet guy,” you reply, handing him your manuscript.

Akaashi only hums in response, walking over to his desk. He hangs his towel on the back of his chair before sitting down. You watch as he slips his glasses on, examining the pages of your now edited work.

“I thought you’d try and fight me about the romance,” he murmurs, his pen making a few adjustments here and there. 

“Figured it wasn’t worth it,” you sigh, slumping on the couch in his living room, “you were right, as always.”

He peers over at you, his eyes narrowing as he watches the sulky look on your face. Despite your random bouts of laziness, even Akaashi had to agree that you were a good mangaka whose popularity had built up a loyal reader base. 

“Look,” Akaashi says, setting his pen down, “if you’re that hung up about cutting those scenes, start drafting it now.”

Your gaze shoots up to meet his eyes.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Akaashi was dedicated, sure, but he wasn’t exactly one to take on extra work. Sometimes  you felt as though he would’ve been right at home in the literature department, editing novels instead of volumes of manga. It was like he worked with you out of obligation, not enjoyment, despite the friendship you had built up over the years.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing his glasses up a bit further to sit better on the slope of his nose, “I’m serious.”

You don’t get to dwell any longer on your editor’s change in mind, the sound of the doorbell piercing through your conversation. Akaashi waves you away when you move towards the door, grabbing the delivered containers of gyoza himself. 

He sits down beside you on the couch, handing you one container whilst he takes the other. For some reason, you’re feeling more on edge than usual. The brush of his arm against yours has heat rising to your cheeks, body growing taut with the way your stomach is swirling with nervousness.

It was no secret that Akaashi was one of the most handsome men in the office, and you had maybe developed a tiny crush on the man, which was now inflating into something that was not so tiny, and much, much harder to control the more time you spent with him. 

“You okay?” Akaashi asks, peering over you.

You don’t trust yourself enough to reply which is why you stuff a gyoza into your mouth and nod rapidly.

Silence lapses over you both as you eat, but you can feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. You pretend not to notice, trying to engross yourself in the taste of the gyoza and the tang of soy sauce.

Akaashi slouches slightly, his body relaxing as time passes. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop, his thighs spreading as he gets more comfortable.

“Instead of adding romance as a subplot, why don’t you make it into another story altogether?”

You blink over at him, surprised. 

“I don’t have time to write another manga,” you say, shaking your head, “I’d have to find another publisher if I wanted to write something that was purely romance.”

“Shonen manga in the romance genre exist,” he replies, running his hand through his hair, “or you could just self-publish.”

You’d been hoping to avoid the topic of self-publishing. Sure, you knew of it, participated in it even. It’d been used as a creative outlet, to get out some ideas that you couldn’t work on when your success as a mangaka had grown. Besides, it wasn’t like you could tell Akaashi that you had drawn up stories that were, well, inappropriate. 

“But that would be too much work,” you sigh, trying to stop his train of thought.

Akaashi stares at you thoughtfully. The more you spend time with him, the more you begin to regret your choice to come here. Emailing the manuscript to him would’ve been the smarter choice, but you just had to feel sorry for the guy.

“I did read one the other day that had a similar art style to yours.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel your composure slipping. There was no way he could know that you self-published stories that were practically panel after panel of porn. Maybe he enjoyed it? One thought leads to another and you find yourself imagining Akaashi with his hand wrapped around his cock, his head tipped back as he strokes himself.

“What was it about?” you manage to grit out, trying to see through the haze of your indecent thoughts.

“About a couple,” he says simply, “they ended up fucking.”

You can feel the hope swirling in your mind fade. Akaashi definitely knew. 

“Didn’t know you read that sort of thing.”

“I’m a man, aren’t I? Sometimes porn just doesn’t cut it. The story was pretty great too.”

He thought the story was great? You can’t help yourself from perking up, the compliment making you feel warm. 

“I just find it so strange,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

You swallow harshly, mustering up a smile with your trembling lips, “why’s that?”

“The author’s note,” Akaashi says, “the little bunny avatar was the same as yours.”

So, you had messed up. You spy the front door from the corner of your eyes. If you walked, you’d get there in about ten steps, but if you ran, you’d get there in about three - maybe two - strides. Sure, you wouldn’t ever be able to face Akaashi again, but you think you’d be fine with it. Report filed to the higher ups stating creative differences and you’d be able to find a new editor, no problem.

“It’s all probably just a coincidence,” you say nonchalantly, “plenty of people like bunnies.”

“Some of the dialogue was similar to yours, distinct writing and all that.”

You grit your teeth. The man didn’t know when to let go.

“Like I said, coincidence.”

“Right,” he says, nodding along, “a coincidence. Was it also a coincidence that the couple that had sex was a mangaka and her editor?”

You scramble to your feet when he says that. Letting out an awkward laugh, your cheeks heated with embarrassment, you decide that this is the best time to take your leave.

“Have- have a good night!” you say, voice pitching.

Determination has Akaashi’s eyes gleaming and now you’re bolting, feet nearly tripping over each other as you dart towards his apartment door. It seems as though fate isn’t in your favor tonight, Akaashi’s hand curling around your wrist as he catches onto you before you can open the door. You squeak when he slams his hand against the wall, right next to your head as he pushes you up against the door.

“Classic scene,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your meek expression, “you always use it.”

“Fuck off, Akaashi!” you snap, pushing at his chest.

It’s a struggle, but you reach back behind you, hand grabbing blindly for the door handle. He doesn’t let you reach it, catching your wrist and pinning it against the door.

“You sure?” Akaashi asks, his eyes darkened, “or maybe you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, mouth opening before closing again. There’s nothing left in you, no retorts, no words to get yourself out of this situation. He lets out a sigh when he feels your body relax, his hand on your wrist loosening as he lets go. You stare up at him, biting your lip nervously.

“You should’ve said something,” he says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

“And embarrass myself?” you mutter, picking at the wool of your sweater.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, his hand smoothing up your hip and settling on your waist. Your eyes widen, arousal shooting through your body as he presses himself closer, his other hand finding your waist. Akaashi squeezes gently and you bite back a whine, eyes drooping slightly as he just squeezes and pets at your sides.

“It was good,” he says hoarsely, “the story, the details, the sex… came to it a couple of times.”

“You- you liked it?” you whisper, voice airy.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, his eyes meeting yours, “liked it… like you.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, your heart thudding in your chest. You never dreamt it’d come down to this, but you find yourself grateful for Akaashi’s observational nature.

He takes his glasses off, placing them into his pocket. Akaashi’s lips drag across your cheek, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He kisses the corner of your mouth, lips brushing against yours gently. 

“Kiss me, Akaashi” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says softly, “yeah, I’ll kiss you, baby.”

A contented sigh escapes you as he slots his lips over yours, kissing you gently. The heat between you begins to grow, his hands slipping under your sweater to feel your bare skin. You gasp into his mouth, his hands surprisingly warm.

Akaashi smiles against your lips, his hand running up your back as his kisses turn hungrier, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. You let him lick into your mouth, tugging at his hair desperately. Rocking up onto the tips of your toes, you deepen the kiss, pulling him impossibly closer. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, groaning when your nails scratch his scalp fleetingly. You bite your kiss-swollen lip as he drags his lips down your neck, landing heated kisses to your skin.

Akaashi kisses the pulse of your throat, his lips finding their way back to yours. Soft pants fill the air, his smile hazy as he peers down at you. You smile back, head tilting to the side to let him kiss your cheek again.

“You’re such a dork,” he whispers, his eyes twinkling.

“Shut up,” you whine, pushing at his chest.

He grins, his hands grasping yours. Akaashi pulls you away from the door, his arms wrapping around the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. You laugh, legs wrapping around his waist, lips pressing against his as he carries you to his bed.

Akaashi lays you down on his bed and you watch with half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt off. He might not have played as competitively like he did in highschool, but you had been there when he had played with his friends. It’d been entrancing to watch the way he had set the ball for his friends, the ball curving through the air cleanly for the spiker to hit.

“‘s not fair how good you look,” you grumble, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, crawling onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Akaashi says, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater.

You lift your arms for him, letting him pull it off of you. His gaze fixes on the swell of your breasts and you flush, looking away.

“You’re shy now?” He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he kisses your jaw.

“You’re such a jerk,” you huff out.

Akaashi smiles and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to be truly angry with him. He’s patient more than anything, caring and always honest. You’ve never met a man like him, never met someone who could quell your worries the way he could. It makes you want to never let go.

His body settles between your thighs, his nimble fingers pulling your bra free. Your nipples pebble in the cold air and Akaashi leans forward, his hot, wet mouth enveloping a hard bud into his mouth.

You whine brokenly, back arching slightly as he sucks your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He groans as you run your fingers through his hair, his mouth suctioning around your breast for a few moments before he pulls off with a pop.

His mouth finds your other breast, kissing the side of it, mouthing at your skin. You can feel his tongue caress the underside of it, laving across your breast before he bites gently at your flesh, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours. 

“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he whispers against your breast.

You shake your head, mewling when his hand slides up, his fingers pitching at your spit-coated nipples. He rests his head between your breasts, watching you contentedly as you writhe under the onslaught of his touches. 

“A- Akaashi,” you whimper, hips bucking, “want- want more, please.”

“So polite, baby” he coos, his hands groping at your breasts. 

He pulls away from you and you whine, lifting your hips for him when he peels your pants off. There’s a moment of silence and you’re anticipating the feel of his mouth on your body, only for him to let out a low laugh. 

“Bunnies til the end, huh?” Akaashi asks, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

Your brows furrow, not quite sure what he’s talking about until you prop yourself on your elbows and see that you’re wearing a pair of bunny-patterned panties.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, slumping back down onto the bed and slinging your arm over your eyes.

“They’re cute,” he smiles, prying your arm away from your face, “just like you, baby.”

Akaashi grasps one of your legs, bringing it to his mouth as he runs his hand along the length of it, kissing the sole of your foot and then your ankle. A soft hum leaves you, watching as he kisses up your leg, his kisses feather-light.

You run your fingers through his hair as he kisses the little bow on your panties, his nose pressing between your clothed folds to breathe you in.

“Pussy’s soaked through,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling back to look at your dampened panties.

“‘s your fault,” you slur, trying to push his face back to where you want it.

“All my fault,” he agrees, his tongue licking up over your panties, “guess I’ll have to take care of you then.”

You nod, trying to stop the little twitches that shoot through your body. Akaashi lets his mouth latch onto you, trying to suck the slick that’s soaked through the fabric of your panties.

“A- ah!” you pant, fingers fisting his hair as he squeezes your hips, his face nuzzling deeper between your thighs.

Akaashi’s lithe fingers pull at your panties, dragging them down your thighs. You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

“Always so pretty, baby” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds to expose your pussy.

He moans when he sees the translucent strings of arousal that cling to your folds, his tongue darting out to lick up the little strings. You whimper when he kisses your clit gently, watching as he rubs the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit. Thighs twitching, you shift, trying to tilt your hips a little higher so you can feel his mouth on you.

“Ask for it,” Akaashi says, his cheek pressing against your thigh as he stares up at you.

“‘m not- ‘m not asking for it,” you retort, glaring at him.

“Bet it’d feel good,” he whispers, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

You whine when he just keeps his tongue there, saliva dripping from the tip of it and onto your pussy. He makes an obscene noise, gathering some more saliva, spitting on your cunt.

“All you gotta do is ask,” he coaxes, his arms wrapping around your thighs, “clit looks so achy… makes me wanna kiss it better.”

“P- please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Akaashi smiles up at you, his eyes twinkling.

You’ll have to get him back for his teasing later, but right now you can’t wait.

“Please lick my pussy!”

You squeal when he latches his mouth onto you again, his tongue lapping over your wet pussy. He groans and you tug at his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as he laves his tongue over you greedily, letting his tongue dip into your hole before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Legs kicking out, you let out a strangled noise as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Akaashi lands the filthiest kisses to your clit, alternating between sucking and little pecks, while he’s sunk two fingers inside of you. They curl up inside of you, grazing your sensitive spot perfectly. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, your wanton noises filling his bedroom.

Akaashi presses his face deeper, his fingers crooking. The feeling of his mouth in tandem with his fingers has you whimpering and whining, airy noises spilling from your lips at his ministrations. You might not ever be able to go without him ever again.

He holds you in place as you thrash, the overwhelming feeling inside of you building and building. Akaashi slips his fingers out of you in favor of devouring your cunt again, licking through your velvety folds, his tongue swirling before he presses it inside of you. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls. 

You blink down at him dazedly. There’s a light flush covering his cheeks, his mouth glistening with your wetness. He opens his mouth to say something else but you ignore him, pushing his head so that his lips are flush against your cunt. Akaashi lets out a muffled laugh against your pussy, his tongue licking over you again.

Hand squeezing at your breast, you bite your lip, losing yourself in the caress of his tongue. He laps over you, again and again, pressing sloppy kisses to your clit. 

“Gonna come,” you whisper, feeling the softness of his hair under your palm, “gonna come, ‘kaashi.”

He tilts your hips a little more, rising up onto his knees with your legs slung over his shoulders. You squeal again when he shakes his head, tongue dragging from side to side before he plunges it inside of you, his thumb pressing against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs squeeze tightly around his head as you come, loosening after a while when twitches rack through your body. Akaashi squeezes your thighs, lets your legs slip from his shoulders as he kisses your trembling thighs. 

“Good girl,” he whispers.

Akaashi kisses your cheek and wipes the stray curls of your hair away from your face. A soft sheen of sweat covers your body and he hums, smoothing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts.

He lays down beside you and you curl up beside him, eyes catching on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Need some help?” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him.

You smile, kissing his jaw gently as your hand slides past his navel, disappearing into his sweatpants. The weight of his cock is heavy and hot and Akaashi moans softly when your hand curls around his length.

“Ask for it, ‘kaashi,” you whisper, voice lilting.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters.

“Use your manners, Keiji.”

His eyes widen when you use his name and you grin, landing a soft kiss to his cheek as your breasts squish up against his bicep. You squeeze around his cock and he lets out a soft whine, his hips bucking.

“Fuck- fuck hah-,” Akaashi grits out, “stroke my cock, baby, hm? Please?”

You hum softly, beginning to move your hand. His thick cock twitches as you stroke him, your wrist rotating.

He pants softly, his head turning to meet yours. You smile, running your fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands out of his eyes. Affection bursts inside of you, heart fluttering as the flush on his cheeks deepens.

His brows have drawn together and you smooth your thumb over them, peppering soft kisses over his face, leg slinging over his as you pull down his sweatpants to free his cock completely. Akaashi’s cock has filled out, pre-cum smearing across his abdomen. You caress the head of it, giggling when he lets out a broken moan as you rub your thumb against the tip.

“You look so handsome,” you say, stroking his cock a little faster.

Akaashi smiles and you dip your head, kissing him. He groans, his hips chasing after the feeling of your hand around him as you kiss. Your hand tightens a little, squeezing at the tip of his cock. Pre-cum wets your hand, soft gasps escaping Akaashi as you let your tongue slip into his mouth.

“Keiji,” you whisper, lips brushing over his, “Keiji, will you fuck me?”

You squeak in surprise when he manages to grab onto your waist, lifting you up and placing you on his lap. His cock is snug between your folds and you whine, dragging your hips along the length of it, biting your lip as more pre-cum leaks from him.

“Sit on my cock, baby” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your thighs.

You nod, shifting a little so that you’re up on your knees. Akaashi watches as you grip the base of his cock, moaning when you rub his cock against your pussy, letting it catch on your clit. Akaashi’s head tips back as you sink down, whimpery, little noises leaving you as your pussy swallows up his cock.

It’s so thick inside of you, fitting so snugly that you clench around him. Akaashi wraps an arm around your waist, bringing your front flush against him. He lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, his arms tightening around your waist. You can feel him move, his feet flat against the bed as he bends his knees.

“K- Keiji!” you wail when he begins to fuck up into you.

Akaashi grunts, holding you against him as he moves his hips, rutting up into you. His hands grope at your ass, gripping your ass tightly as he moves a little more forcefully. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck, pressing sloppy kisses against his skin as you smooth your hand over his hair. 

“Is this- fuck,” Akaashi grits out, “is this what you imagined when you drew up those panels?”

You nod, too far gone to cling onto the remnants of your stubbornness. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, “imagined me fucking up into you, huh?”

“Y- yes!” you cry out, body squirming when he lands a heavy spank to your ass.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

A soft mewl leaves you at the praise, your hips swaying back lazily to meet his thrusts. The sound of his hips slapping into your ass echoes through his room, your wetness leaking around his cock and coating his balls.

Your body rocks against his, your hand gripping at the sheets beside his head when he adjusts his grip on you, planting his feet a bit firmer against his mattress to thrust into you harder. You gasp at the sensation, sinking your teeth into his shoulder when his cock hits deep inside of you.

Akaashi hisses at the feeling of your teeth, spanking your ass again before you clench around him with a scream, body shuddering on top of his as you come. 

“Baby, baby, you gotta let go,” he rasps.

You shake your head stubbornly, pushing your hips down so that it swallows his cock all the way to the base.

“Inside, Keiji.”

He groans, his hands kneading at your hips roughly. You can feel the twitch of his cock, a satisfied coo leaving your lips when he comes, spurts of his hot cum filling you up. Akaashi’s hips stutter, thrusting into you unevenly as his cock jerks, more cum flooding your pussy.

You both pant, chests heaving. Akaashi rubs his hand along your back and you emerge from the crook of his neck, a drunken smile on your face.

He laughs hoarsely at your expression, cupping your cheek to guide you into another kiss while his cock softens inside of you. It’s a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind, losing yourself in the heat of his body as cum leaks from your pussy.

“How long have you known?” you ask, tracing the slope of his nose.

“About a month,” he murmurs.

“A month?” you scoff, hitting his chest, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Akaashi grins, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss across your knuckles.

“That would ruin the fun.”

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “it was hardly fun, Keiji.”

“But you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he whispers.

You laugh when he flips you onto your back, moaning softly when you feel his cock beginning to harden again inside of you.

“Put- put your glasses on,” you whisper, head tipping back as he rolls his hips into you.

Akaashi reaches over to dig his glasses out from the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, pushing them up to sit comfortably on his nose.

You clench around him at the sight, biting your lip as you give him a pleased smile.

“Knew you had a thing for ‘em.”

He grabs at your legs, moving them so that they’re pressed against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders.

“Use this as inspiration, baby,” Akaashi smirks, “I’ll even edit it for you.”

[krems-chair]

I'm always interested in analyses that portray a romanced Solas as a predatory hee hee trickster god manipulating a young and impressionable Lavellan into falling for him and if that's your world state go ahead and live your truth b/c it's frankly none of my business, but I sincerely think there are those who forget that for a lot of people, a romanced Lavellan is (with all due respect to my own Solasmancing Inquisitor Rielle Lavelllan) batshit crazy. Having her boyfriend turn out to be a wolf god is honestly the least of her problems but oh boy is she unafraid to become one to fix this mess.

This is a woman who woke up in a dungeon with a glowing hand, figured out she could fix the world, and thought "fuck it, it's not like I'll have anything else better to do if Corypheus sticks around. Also. Everyone here kind of looks like they want to kill me, so maybe I'll stick with the protective powers that be for a minute." And then all of five seconds later she gets her hand snatched by a sketchy elven apostate who knows exactly what to do with her shiny new powers and cannot stop himself from having a Mr. Darcy level hand-flex after he lets it go (in my heart and soul this happens just out of the camera's gaze) and goes "hmm maybe there's something to be said for this world saving thing."

This is a woman who brought an entire fucking avalanche down on herself and three of her closest friends (and I do mean closest as in physical proximity, she doesn't know these people who are looking at her like she's Thedas' Next Top Idol) because even if it killed her it was the proper middle finger to send to the wannabe god bringing his army tap-dancing down the mountain pass towards her on the one night she had scheduled off to celebrate finally taking a W.

This is a woman going Take 2 Electric Boogaloo on waking up with no idea where she is and learning she was successful in spite-dragging herself up a different fucking mountain in a blizzard. Except now everyone is fighting wait nope now they're Kumbaya-ing a song Andraste's Herald should really probably be familiar with whoops, oh thank God, time for a side convo with the same apostate who's been trying to turn her entire life into a history class only for her to dive in headfirst (much to his initial abject horror) and get that good good discourse she needs since she can't go around arguing with everyone else like she wants to. "The orb is ours." You know what? Of course it is. But if they need the world saved from an elven oopsie, who better to right things than an elf? Fuck it, we ball.

This is a woman who misses being close to nature and goes positively feral at Skyhold, yeeting herself over balconies and banisters and turning the ancient fortress into her personal parkour playground because she's got energy to work off and shit to do, and if the path of least resistance to hunt down everyone she needs to talk to is coincidentally the same path that will absolutely wreck her knees by the time she's sixty, that's just how it has to be.

This is a woman who finds herself back at Haven with a man she's found it possible to be unfetteringly unabashedly herself with and thinks, "hey, maybe there could be more than the flirations we've exchanged over heated discussions and philosophical deep-dives, maybe I can have just one smooch as a treat." And when she feels her slowly unfurling passion reciprocated only to be shut down? She resolves herself to fight for this fledgling love and all the fade tongue that comes with it. This is a woman who gets the tiniest glimpse of what a retirement plan might look like after this whole saving the mortal world thing and buys all the way in.

This is a woman who has Grey Wardens to save from themselves, an empire trying to self-cannibalize, and still finds the time to go rescue a spirit because she, as a fellow comrade caught up in this mess, knows damn well that no innocent deserves to suffer if she can help it while she's got this insane amount of power she never asked for. And if that happens to lead to the man she feels safe enough to nap on the library couches with confessing at last the feelings she knows he's been smothering beneath his all-too-collected surface? Yeah, she'll take that W.

This is a woman who gets absolutely blasted head-over-ass into the fade and goes "honestly things were going a little TOO well." This is a woman who sneaks a peak at the closest fears of the companions she's come to know and love and goes "not on my fucking watch." This is a woman who sees that the man she forces herself to learn the old language for, her vhenan, fears being alone more than anything in the entire knowing world and resolves herself to ensuring it never comes to pass.

This is a woman who gets the opportunity to shape the government of a straight up country and runs around collecting wooden fucking halla in a palace full of elven servants with no time to dwell on that particularly cruel irony because out here it's scheme or be schemed. This a woman who collapses against a balcony railing after putting out some of the sickest literal and metaphorical dance moves The Game has ever seen, resigned to bear her ever-increasing burdens alone, only to find her heart and his horrible horrible hat extending a hand, promising her that if he is not alone, then neither is she.

Like, do you feel me here?

And then he dares to think something as sudden and damning as the truth is enough to keep her away? The queen of tough conversations and tougher choices? No, no, dear readers who have made it this far into my descent into madness.

Inquisitor Lavellan is a master-class in encouraging the odds against her to fuck around and find out. She is a rift-mending false-god-bashing politcally savvy terror upon all of Thedas. Solas (and all of the living breathing world) is lucky she took time out of her busy schedule to notice the way his smile softens when talking about spirits or appreciate the fluidity of his form when they're obliterating venatori out in the field. This man cradled her cheeks in his shaking hands, looked into weary and wide eyes and called her beautiful, and had the audacity to steal her heart before trying to peace out and take it with him.

If she's got to track down a real god this time and frog march him into the fade to reclaim both her heart and the future she fought for because all he wants to do is launch himself like a meteor towards achieving his greatest fear, if she has to spend hours lecturing him on the sheer audacity of his ass while spirits float by and realize they're grateful they never had the chance to take on a body and subject themselves to a verbal lashing this brutal, if she has to do cartwheels around him while dropping all sorts of sweet nothings in the language she is now quite proficient in until he gets it through his luminous gleaming skull that when she said "var lath vir suledin" my girl meant it? Then that's what she's going to do.

"I wish it could, vhenan."

Oh it's going to, buddy. Buckle up to get wrecked, to get absolutely loved and cherished you fool, because Inquisitor Lavellan is not the Dread Wolf's prey, she's his hunter.

[nocturnebite]

Someone Like You ౨ৎ

(Its always been you) - bestfriend!enha (ot7) x fem!reader

synopsis: You’ve had enough of bad dates and bare-minimum effort. But when your best friend shows up for you in their own soft, thoughtful way… you start to wonder why you’ve never looked at them like that. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to. fic notes: friends to lovers || comfort & fluff || soft confessions || bad date recovery || dreamy slowburn mutual pining || emotional support kings wc: about 800ish per member (5.7k total)

ash's notes: heyy back again! this one was so fun for me to write, i'm a sucker for friends to lovers troupes.. especially when it's "they knew all along". get me a man like this PLEASE.. enjoy :3

౨ৎ Heeseung - You always know

The door clicks softly behind you as you slump inside your apartment, heels dangling from your hand, mascara slightly smudged from the stress of the night. Another date gone wrong. Another charming-on-text loser who spent more time talking about himself than asking a single question about you. At one point he even took a call at the table. You’d sat there swirling a straw in a watered-down drink, wishing you were literally anywhere else.

You drop your bag by the couch and sigh into the quiet. It hums back at you with the same kind of hollow loneliness you’ve gotten too used to.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen before you even think about it.

you: had another trash date lol sorry if im bothering u just rly bummed out

You don’t expect a reply right away. But before you can even toss your phone aside, it buzzes.

hee ౨ৎ: open the door

You blink. Then look up.

Another buzz.

hee ౨ৎ: i was already on my way. figured something was up

Heart hiccuping, you shuffle to the door, unlocking it slowly—and there he is. Hoodie half-zipped, hair tousled like he just left in a hurry, one hand clutching your favorite takeout and the other carrying a fuzzy blanket you've been trying to steal from him for weeks.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten,” Heeseung says, stepping inside like he always belongs here. He doesn't wait for an answer, just sets everything down on the coffee table and opens his arms.

You melt.

Your face tucks into the curve of his neck like it’s muscle memory. He’s warm and steady and smells like laundry detergent and vanilla and home.

You mumble, “You really were already on your way?”

“Mmhm,” he hums against your hair. “Just had a feeling.”

You don’t even question it. He always knows.

You eat curled up on opposite ends of the couch, his long legs tangled with yours under the blanket. He doesn’t ask about the date. He doesn’t need to. He just listens while you vent, eyes soft, gaze focused on you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Eventually, you’re lying with your head in his lap while he scrolls through movies on the TV.

“Something comforting,” he murmurs, already queuing up your favorite. “The one with the sad girl who finds herself and the cottage with the vines—”

“That’s a romance,” you whisper, half-laughing.

Heeseung just smirks. “Exactly.”

As the movie plays, you watch him in the flickering light — the soft shadows against his jawline, the slight smile when a familiar line hits, the way he rests his hand gently over your arm like he wants to keep you tethered here with him.

And somewhere between your chest aching and your heart warming, it slips out.

“Why can’t the guys I date be more like you…”

Heeseung flinches.

The remote fumbles in his hand and clatters to the ground with a sharp clack.

Your eyes widen. He stiffens. “Oops—uh. Sorry.” He leans down too fast to grab it, smacking his head lightly on the table and cursing under his breath.

You blink at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just—clumsy.” He clears his throat, setting the remote back carefully like it might explode again. His ears are glowing pink.

You stare at him, heart thudding.

He doesn’t look at you. Just leans back against the couch and mutters, “Want me to rewind the movie?”

You pause. “No. I’m good.”

He nods, quiet.

But the atmosphere has changed. Charged. He’s still close, still comforting, but his posture’s too stiff now, too careful, like he’s thinking too hard about breathing near you.

Later, when the movie ends and you both sit in the hush of the credits, you speak again.

“I just…” you whisper, watching the glow from the screen reflect in his eyes. “I wish I could find someone who treats me like you do. You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Heeseung freezes.

Then turns to you slowly, expression unreadable. His voice is low.

“Then why don’t you date me?”

You laugh, confused. “What—”

“I’m serious.”

You blink.

His eyes are locked on yours. No teasing. No smirk. Just honest, vulnerable silence.

“You’re serious?” you whisper.

He nods once. “I’ve always known it was you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. And then—flutters.

His fingers inch toward yours, tentative, until they’re brushing lightly, and when you don’t pull away, he laces them together.

“I didn’t think…” You breathe out. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“I do.” Heeseung smiles softly, then leans forward until your foreheads touch. “I have. Every time I showed up for you, every night I stayed over just to keep you company, every moment I wished you’d look at me like that…”

You do now.

And this time, when he leans in — slow, careful, trembling with hope — you meet him halfway.

౨ৎ Jay - The way you look at me

You’re already in tears by the time you leave the restaurant.

Not the dramatic, mascara-running kind. Just the quiet, aching kind — the ones that slip out even when you don’t want them to. This one stung a little more than usual. The guy didn’t just talk over you — he insulted your interests, made snide jokes about “emotional girls,” and scoffed when you said you wanted something real. It left you wondering if you were asking for too much.

You don’t text Jay.

You don’t have to.

The second your key turns in the door, the smell hits you — warm, comforting, something buttery and spiced — like childhood and safety all rolled into one.

You step inside and blink.

Jay stands in your kitchen in a dark t-shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a striped apron tied lazily around his waist. He looks up like he’s been caught red-handed.

“I was gonna text and say come over,” you mumble.

“I figured you’d need something sooner,” he says simply, stirring the pan once before lowering the heat. “So I let myself in.”

Your chest tightens.

There’s a pot on the stove, steam rising lazily from it. A pan of something golden browning beside it. Plates already set. A candle burning low.

“You made—” Your voice cracks. “You made the pasta?”

“The one you said reminds you of your mom’s.” He shrugs, trying to seem casual. “You sounded tired last time we talked. Thought you’d need it tonight.”

Your throat feels too full to respond. You cross the kitchen slowly, eyes burning in that way that says thank you without the words.

He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, stepping behind him, letting your arms wrap around his middle as you press your face into his back. He stills, surprised—but only for a moment. Then one of his hands reaches down to cover yours.

“You’re not asking for too much,” he says softly, like he’s already guessed the thing you didn’t say.

You don’t speak. You just hold on tighter.

Dinner is quiet, the way it always is when you’re feeling raw and Jay is being careful with you — soft glances, gentle hands when he passes the parmesan, a million unspoken things in every motion. Afterward, he makes tea and sets up the couch for a movie night without asking.

“You pick,” he says, stretching across the cushions to pass you the remote.

You curl under the throw blanket and sigh, not even looking at the screen.

Jay turns his head toward you. “Wanna do nothing instead?”

You nod.

So you sit. Shoulder to shoulder. Familiar and close and quiet.

After a while, he gets up and starts tidying the kitchen. And that’s when you catch yourself watching.

The way he moves—careful, confident, focused. The way he takes his time with everything. The soft hum in his throat as he dries dishes. The way he set aside the last bite of garlic bread because he knew it was your favorite.

And suddenly, something slips out.

“I wish the guys I went out on dates with were more like.. you.”

The sound of ceramic shattering on tile cuts the air in half.

You jump.

Jay freezes mid-motion, staring down at the cracked plate on the floor like it betrayed him. “Shit—sorry.” He crouches quickly to clean it, not looking at you.

You rush to help. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s—” He’s already sweeping the pieces into his hand, face turned so you can’t see it. “It’s fine.”

But his hands are trembling.

You blink. “Jay?”

He doesn’t answer.

You touch his wrist lightly. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He finally looks at you, and it’s like the air has changed again — his expression unreadable, jaw tight, eyes searching yours for something you don’t quite understand.

You try to laugh it off, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, that was kind of a weird thing to say.”

Jay finishes sweeping and stands slowly, leaning against the counter like he needs a second to think.

Then you say it again, more quietly. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

He lets out a breath — sharp, disbelieving.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Why not?”

“Because…” He looks at you like you’ve cracked something in him. “I’ve been trying so hard not to say it first.”

The silence that follows is thick.

You stare. “Say what?”

Jay steps toward you, then stops — unsure, unreadable.

“That I’m in love with you,” he says quietly. “That I’ve been in love with you. That every time you cry about some guy who couldn’t see how lucky he was, it kills me because I’m right here. And I’ve been here.”

Your lips part, but you can’t speak.

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes wild and warm and terrified. “I know you weren’t ready. And I never wanted to make you feel like you had to see me that way, but tonight—” His voice softens. “Tonight you looked at me like you finally saw what I’ve been trying to show you this whole time.”

Your heart thunders.

You had looked at him that way. You’d always admired him — his calm, his kindness, the fire in him that always warmed you up when you felt too cold. You just never thought…

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” you whisper.

Jay’s breath catches. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He takes another step.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

You look at him—really look at him—and all the times he showed up for you play in your mind like flashes of sunlight.

Slowly, you take his hand. It’s still a little shaky, but when you hold on, he steadies.

You whisper, “What if I want more too?”

He doesn’t speak. He just pulls you in and kisses your forehead, gently, reverently—like he’s waited a lifetime for this moment to finally arrive.

౨ৎ Jake - Never not you

It starts with your phone vibrating on your chest, just as your eyes are starting to sting from holding back tears too long.

You don’t check the screen. You don’t want to talk to anyone. You just stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, replaying the disaster of tonight’s date — the awkward silences, the backhanded compliments, the fake polite goodbye at the end. All you wanted was someone who’d make you feel seen. Instead, you feel lonelier than before.

Another buzz.

Then another.

Then a knock at your door.

You sit up, confused, wiping your eyes.

“Delivery?” you mumble, shuffling to open it.

But it’s not food.

It’s Jake.

He’s standing there, hair a little windblown, hoodie zipped up halfway and cheeks pink from the chill. In one hand, he’s holding a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers. In the other, a bag from your favorite bakery—the one that’s only open late on Fridays.

“I was already on my way,” he says softly. “Something told me you needed me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles.

You don’t cry, but you do fold into him the second he opens his arms.

He doesn’t say anything. Just hugs you so tight it’s like he’s holding together all the parts of you that want to fall apart.

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your pajamas under a mountain of blankets on the couch. The warm scent of baked pastries fills the air. Jake’s got your feet in his lap, his thumbs gently massaging the arch like he’s trying to erase all the tension of the night.

You’re both watching one of those cheesy rom-coms he secretly loves more than you do, though he always pretends otherwise.

“Tonight sucked,” you mutter.

He doesn’t ask for details. He just leans back, still holding your feet. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

You glance at him. “How do you always know?”

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Because if he had, you’d be smiling. You always light up when someone gets you.”

Your breath catches. You don’t respond. You just look at him.

His profile is soft in the glow of the TV. There’s a slight crease in his brow, like he’s still worried. You want to reach out and smooth it with your thumb.

Instead, you say quietly, “Why can’t guys be more like you…”

Jake stills.

His eyes don’t leave the screen, but his fingers stop moving.

You sit up a little, trying to meet his eyes. “Seriously. You’re so thoughtful. You always know what I need. You never make me feel like I’m too much or not enough—”

Jake suddenly fumbles the pastry bag in his lap and spills the last croissant right onto the floor.

“Ah..shit—sorry,” he blurts, scrambling to grab it. He drops the tongs trying to pick it up.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine!” he squeaks. Then clears his throat and tries to play it off. “Yeah. Just… butter fingers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Totally. I just… wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

You tilt your head. “Say what?”

He carefully places the rescued croissant on a napkin, still not looking at you. “That you wish guys were like me.”

Your voice softens. “Well… I do.”

The silence stretches, almost like the room’s holding its breath with you.

And then, because the ache in your chest is too much to sit with, you add, “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Jake turns to you, eyes wide.

He looks like you just told him the moon said his name.

Then, very quietly, he says, “Then… why not me?”

Your heart skips.

You blink. “Wait..what..? Are you serious?”

He nods, slowly this time. The corners of his mouth twitch up—hopeful, nervous, a little amazed you haven’t laughed him off yet.

“I know we’ve been best friends forever,” he says gently, “but I’ve loved you for almost as long. I didn’t want to ruin what we had by saying anything. But it’s you. It’s never not been you.”

Your lips part. “Jake…”

“I didn’t want to be another guy who hurt you,” he whispers, voice shaking a little. “I wanted to be the one who reminded you how loved you are. I just never thought you’d actually—feel the same.”

You swallow hard.

Your chest is doing that tight fluttery thing again. Because you do. Deep down, you’ve always known it. The way you’d light up when his name appeared on your phone. The way his laugh made everything easier. The way you looked for him in every crowd.

You whisper, “I think I’ve always wanted it to be you.”

Jake beams.

Not a smirk. Not a flirty grin. A full, radiant, stunned smile like you’ve just made his entire year.

He reaches for your hand, then changes his mind and gently cups your cheek instead, brushing his thumb just under your eye.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, breathlessly.

You nod.

And when he leans in, it’s slow and sweet and full of every unspoken thing you’ve both carried for so long. And when he pulls back just barely, lips still brushing yours, he murmurs,

“You’re my favorite everything.”

౨ৎ Sunghoon - Say something

It’s late.

The kind of late where the streets outside are quiet and your bedroom ceiling is glowing dimly with the light of passing cars. You’re curled up under a blanket in your hoodie, trying not to cry but very much failing. Again.

The guy from tonight wasn’t mean, exactly. Just… indifferent. He scrolled through his phone when you talked. Showed up twenty minutes late with no explanation. Didn’t even pretend to walk you home.

And maybe it wouldn’t sting so much if it didn’t feel like a pattern.

You don’t text anyone. You just throw your phone facedown and try to forget it.

Until, barely five minutes later, there’s a knock at your window.

You freeze.

Another knock.

You scramble out of bed and yank the curtains aside — and there he is.

Sunghoon. In his gray zip-up and a beanie pulled low over his brows, standing on your fire escape holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a very unimpressed expression.

You open the window with wide eyes. “What the—Hoon??”

“I figured he’d flake,” he says flatly, climbing in like this is something he does every day. “You ghosted the group chat. That’s never a good sign.”

You blink as he hands you one of the cups.

“I made it with that fancy cocoa you like,” he mumbles. “With the cinnamon.”

You stare at him.

Sunghoon doesn't meet your eyes. He just kicks off his shoes and settles onto your bed like it’s his.

“I didn’t get ghosted,” you say quietly, sitting beside him.

He nods. “But you are sad.”

You sip the cocoa. “How do you always know?”

He shrugs. “You always blink a lot when you’re trying not to cry.”

Your throat tightens.

Silence passes for a bit. Your room is dim, your fairy lights casting soft little shadows across his jawline. You watch him — the way his hands cradle the mug, the furrow in his brows even now. He’s always like this. A little standoffish. A little too observant. And yet always there the second you fall apart.

And maybe it’s the warmth in your hands, or the fact that you’re so, so tired of being disappointed — but the words come out before you can stop them.

“Why can’t guys be more like you…”

He freezes.

Like actually freezes.

No blink. No breath. Just wide, stunned deer-in-headlights stillness.

Then he promptly chokes on his hot chocolate.

You lunge to pat his back. “Hoon??”

“I’m good—” cough cough “Totally fine—” cough “Jesus—”

You bite back a laugh. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m great.” He clears his throat aggressively and looks everywhere but at you. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

“Mmhmm,” you say, clearly not buying it.

He shifts on the bed, suddenly tense. “You… didn’t mean that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He swallows, hard.

You lean back against the pillows, watching him over the rim of your cup. “Seriously. You’re thoughtful, reliable, good with your words—when you use them—”

“Okay—”

“You always show up when I need you,” you add, voice soft now. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Sunghoon just stares at you.

You don’t even realize how intense your gaze is until he finally looks away, the tips of his ears glowing red.

“You’re messing with me,” he mutters.

“No, I’m not.”

He sets down his cup slowly. His voice is quieter when he says, “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

You sit up straighter. “But I do mean it.”

Sunghoon finally meets your eyes, and there’s something raw there now. Something just barely holding itself together.

And then, because he’s Sunghoon and horrible at vulnerability, he blurts:

“Then maybe you should date me.”

Your mouth opens. “What?”

He looks away again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

You reach for his hand before he can pull it away. “Sunghoon. Look at me.”

He hesitates—then does. And your heart cracks wide open.

“I want to say yes,” you whisper.

He blinks. “You do?”

You nod. “I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever look at me that way,” he breathes. “You’re always chasing guys who treat you like crap. Meanwhile, I’m here, dying every time you tell me about them, and all I want to do is tell you they don’t deserve you.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I was scared.” His voice rises slightly, then softens again. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But tonight… when you said that…”

He pauses, then lets out a soft breath.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad I forgot how to breathe.”

Your eyes soften. You shift closer.

“Then don’t forget now.”

He stares at you.

And then he kisses you.

It’s tentative at first — almost like he doesn’t believe it’s happening — but it grows, slow and sure and full of everything he’s held back for so long.

When you pull apart, you press your forehead against his and whisper,

“You know you can come through the door next time, right?”

He grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

౨ৎ Sunoo - If only you knew

You don’t say anything when the door swings open.

You just step inside, drop your purse on the floor, and crawl straight onto the couch face-down, muffling a scream into the cushions.

There's silence.

Then the sound of slippers shuffling quickly across hardwood.

Then:

“Oh no. Which flavor of man failed you this time?”

You peek out of the couch to see Sunoo standing over you in an oversized sweatshirt, hair in a clip, face cream still dotted on his cheeks like he was mid-self-care ritual when you texted the dreaded “can I come over”.

You groan. “The worst one.”

He gasps. “Worse than finance bro?”

“Worse than vape in the Uber guy.”

“Girl.”

“I know.”

Sunoo lets out the most offended noise you've ever heard and immediately shuffles toward the kitchen. “I’m making tea. And I’m putting on that sad cottage movie you like. You’re not allowed to argue.”

You don’t.

You just melt further into the couch and let yourself exhale.

Because somehow, Sunoo always knows exactly what to do when the world feels heavy.

By the time the kettle whistles, you’ve been tucked in with three blankets and a stuffed animal you pretend isn’t yours.

Sunoo returns with a tray of snacks, two mugs of tea, and a disgusted look on his face.

“So what did he do? Tell me everything. I’m ready to judge.”

You shake your head. “He… didn’t even try, Nuu.”

He sets the tray down and climbs onto the couch beside you. “Try what?”

“To know me. To see me. I spent half the night trying to think of things to talk about. It felt like I was trying to impress someone who couldn’t care less.”

Sunoo's eyes narrow. “Should I fight him?”

You let out a laugh — small, watery.

He leans his head on your shoulder. “You know you’re not hard to love, right?”

You stay quiet.

Sunoo reaches for your hand under the blanket and squeezes it. “Some people just don’t know what they’re holding until it’s gone.”

You glance at him, heart aching.

He’s right here. Warm and thoughtful and sharp as ever. He always has been.

And somehow, you whisper it before you can think better of it.

“I wish guys were more like you…”

You feel him tense.

He sits up, blinking, and nearly spills the tray trying to set his cup down.

You blink back. “Nuu?”

“Did you mean that?” he says quickly, voice just slightly higher than usual.

“I—yeah?”

He just stares at you, lips parted, like his brain has fully exited the building.

You sit up. “Why does that freak you out so much?”

Sunoo clears his throat, crosses his legs, and clasps his hands like he's giving a TED talk to himself. “No no I’m fine. Totally calm. Just casually losing my mind that the person I’m in love with just said that.”

You blink. “Wait. What.”

He freezes.

You gape. “You’re in love with me??”

“OH MY GOSH,” he says, loudly, throwing a pillow over his own face. “FORGET I SAID THAT—”

“Nuu!” You pull the pillow away and stare at him, heart pounding.

He groans. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out, okay?! It’s not like I planned to tell you after a garbage date like some B-list plot twist—”

“You’re in love with me?”

He falters, looks at you properly — flushed, anxious, but still so Sunoo.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Your chest tightens.

“You… never said anything.”

He gives a tiny, shy shrug. “You were always dating someone. I didn’t want to confuse things. Or ruin us.”

“But you always—” Your voice cracks. “You always take care of me.”

He smiles sadly. “Because I want to. Because you deserve someone who actually shows up when it counts.”

You look at him — really look at him — and suddenly, all the late nights, all the surprise coffee deliveries, all the “I brought your favorite just because” texts make perfect, blinding sense.

And suddenly, this feels like the only real thing you’ve ever known.

“I think…” you whisper, “I’ve been in love with you too. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

Sunoo blinks, stunned.

“You what?”

“I kept waiting for someone who’d treat me like you do,” you murmur, leaning in. “I just didn’t think that person could be you.”

“Why not?! I’m amazing!”

You laugh through a tear.

He grins, then cups your face with both hands. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but so fondly it makes your stomach flip.

Then, very softly, “Can I kiss you now?”

You nod, heart in your throat.

He kisses you like he’s waited a lifetime — careful, steady, warm. When he pulls away, you’re still smiling.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and whispers, “You’re never going to cry over another date again.”

“Because you’re going to fight them?”

“No.” He grins. “Because you’re done dating losers. You’re dating me now.”

౨ৎ Jungwon - What took you so long 

You don’t expect anyone to be waiting when you get home.

Your date was forgettable in the worst way — vague answers, barely-there eye contact, the kind of guy who asked questions only to talk about himself. You left early and walked home alone under a gray sky, the city lights blurred through a curtain of drizzle.

You don’t text anyone. You don’t want to talk. You just want the night to be over.

So when you push open your apartment door and find Jungwon sitting on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands and a small box of takeout on his lap, you stop in your tracks.

He looks up casually. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You blink. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I figured you’d need me.”

The way he says it — need me — sinks under your skin like something dangerous.

You walk in slowly, wet hair dripping onto your shirt, and collapse onto the couch beside him without a word.

“I brought your favorite,” he adds, offering the box. “That noodle thing you get when you’re upset but pretending not to be.”

You take it silently, the warmth of the container grounding you.

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t have to.

A while later, you’re curled up together under the same blanket, the food half-eaten and a soft playlist humming through the room. You’re both quiet, the way you always are when things get too heavy to name.

You tilt your head toward him.

Jungwon’s watching the rain trail down the window, his profile lit faintly by the glow of the streetlights. One arm rests behind your head, casual but close enough that your shoulders touch. Always close. Always almost.

“You know,” you say softly, “you’d make the perfect boyfriend.”

He blinks.

Then — too quickly — he shifts.

The blanket slips from his shoulder as he moves to set his drink down, knocking over a napkin in the process. He fumbles it. Misses. Swears quietly under his breath.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles. Then, softer, “Just… surprised you’d say that.”

You smile faintly. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick toward yours, unreadable. “Because you’re always chasing guys who aren’t me.”

The words land like a pin dropped in a still room.

You stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungwon lets out a long breath, then looks at you fully — not shy, not sarcastic, not teasing. Just… honest.

“It means I’ve been here this whole time,” he says quietly. “Watching you get your heart broken over and over and wishing you’d just look at me.”

Your heart lurches.

“Jungwon…”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought maybe you already knew,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “But tonight, when you said that—when you said that—I couldn’t not say it anymore.”

You don’t speak. You’re not sure you can.

“I know I’m quiet about how I feel,” he murmurs. “But I show up. I always show up for you. Because I love you. And I’ve been loving you quietly for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

You reach out, almost without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist. “I think I’ve always loved the way you love me,” you whisper. “I just didn’t realize that’s what it was.”

He exhales shakily.

And then — like gravity pulling him forward — he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, barely trembling:

“I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You whisper, “Then maybe it’s time I caught up.”

౨ৎ Ni-ki - Not just a phase

The rain has stopped by the time you make it to his place.

You’re soaked anyway — not just from the weather, but from the date that ended in a fight over whether your standards were “too high.”

You didn’t cry this time.

Not until you walked home in the drizzle and realized how tired you were of pretending the bare minimum was enough.

You’re still blinking away the sting when the door swings open.

Ni-ki stands there in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair messy from sleep, one wireless headphone still in. He blinks once. Takes in your face.

Then without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you in.

“You look cold,” he mumbles, already guiding you toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get the fluffy blanket.”

You don’t even argue. You just drop onto the cushions and watch as he disappears down the hall.

You don’t remember when it started—this instinct he has. This quiet caretaking. One second you’re friends who bicker over cereal brands and game scores, and the next he’s handing you tissues without asking. Wrapping you in the same blanket he used to cocoon himself in during movie nights. Like you’ve always belonged here, even if no one ever said it.

Ni-ki returns with the blanket and throws it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a second too long.

He doesn’t ask what happened.

He just sits beside you, legs sprawled out, staring ahead like he’s waiting for you to speak.

So you do.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for dating.”

He glances at you. “That bad?”

You nod. “It’s like… I want something real. But everyone I meet makes me feel stupid for asking.”

Ni-ki stays quiet for a second.

Then: “They’re the stupid ones.”

You glance over. “What?”

He shrugs. “For not seeing it. For not recognizing you’re the kind of person people should want.”

Your heart stutters.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His eyes are on the floor, hands fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie.

You laugh weakly. “Why can’t I just date someone like you?”

His whole body stiffens.

You blink. “Ni-ki?”

He moves too fast. Reaches for the glass on the table. Misses. Knocks it over. It clatters loudly — empty, but loud enough to make you jump.

“Shit—” He rushes to grab it. “I—sorry, sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

“What did I say?” you ask slowly.

He freezes with the glass in his hand. Doesn’t look at you.

You sit up straighter. “Ni-ki.”

He exhales hard, then sets the glass down. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

You stare. “What do you mean?”

Finally — finally — he turns to you. And his eyes are bare.

Not guarded. Not teasing. Just real.

“Because I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that this—” he gestures between you “—was just a phase. That eventually you’d stop showing up at my place with tears in your eyes. That I’d stop wondering what it would be like to be the one you chose.”

You go silent.

Ni-ki lets out a small laugh, bitter and soft. “But I never got over you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Your throat tightens. “You never said anything.”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to lose you just because I caught feelings first.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

The Ni-ki who made fun of your bad taste in ramen. Who used to walk you home in high school just because. Who showed up at every breakup with your favorite snacks and a movie cued up. That Ni-ki has been in love with you this whole time?

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same,” he murmurs.

You whisper, “What if I do?”

He stops breathing.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his — slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

“I think I’ve been trying to find pieces of you in everyone I’ve dated,” you say quietly. “But no one comes close.”

Ni-ki swallows hard. “You’re serious?”

You nod.

The quiet between you stretches — long and full of something new. Something changing.

Then he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod again.

So he does.

And it’s everything — every unsaid word, every held breath, every day he stood at your side wondering what it would feel like to be wanted back. His hands are gentle. His lips are soft and searching. And when he pulls away, his voice is the quietest it’s ever been.

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispers.

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