#Like what do you mean what kind of coffee do I want?

[sabu123098]

1. You are a really good writer if you put your mind to it. You'd slay when writing romantic fluff scenes the most.

2. You like iced coffee more than hot coffee.

3. You're the kind of person who say they don't take shit and small compliments don't really affect you but deep down, you are jumping up and down, very happy.

4. You'd be a great lawyer. (I mean it). You're a hard worker, but even more than that, you work smartly. If you want to do something, you'll find a way to get it done no matter what.

Reblog this post to ask mutuals to tell you their weirdest theory about u

[dollishsz]

BATBOYS GENERAL HCS DURING DATING ── .✦

a/n: my posts are barely getting engagement so it would be nice to reblog + like + cmmt tysm! Also

I’m so tired because I don’t know what I want to do with myself when like writing because I don’t have much ideas yk, (I do have a lottt of ideas just don’t want to like spam and idk how to like execute it correctly so ya) but I’m so grateful I’m back!

(Tags: batboys general hcs + fem!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments: Dick will compliment you constantly, but they’re the slightly extra kind. “You look like you just walked off the cover of a magazine… Or like you’re about to rob a bank with your style, and I’m here for it.”

Date Nights: Dick is a hopeless romantic mixed a romantic flirty person. He'll plan elaborate date nights that are almost too perfect. You're having a candlelit dinner on a rooftop... until a mosquito swoops by, and you both spend 20 minutes trying to catch it.

Awkwardly Adorable: Dick tries so hard to be smooth, but when it’s just the two of you, he ends up tripping over his words, saying things like “I love you… like… in a non-creepy way… I mean, I know that sounds creepy but—“, “you know dick, you could’ve just told me you loved me no need for all that extra yapping.”

Sharing Food: He can’t resist sharing his food with you but will dramatically defend his fries. “No, you can't have any. This is the last one. You’ll be fine. It’s called 'the sacrifice of love.'”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Cute: Jason might be brooding and grumpy on the outside, but once he gets comfortable with you, he’s a sucker for giving you the best hugs. They’re just not as soft as you expect, because, well, he’s Red Hood and that’s not very 'soft' in his book.

Love Language: He definitely has a love language of throwing sarcastic remarks at you to show affection. “I’m just saying, you look so good, I might actually let you live longer than five minutes without me.”

Meme Sharing: Jason will share the funniest memes with you, and he will laugh harder than anyone else when you send him a reaction meme. You two could spend hours going through meme after meme while ignoring his patrol responsibilities.

Late Night Conversations: He’s always the first to text at 3 am just to say, “I’m not okay. Also, I think I might’ve made pasta in the Batcave, but it’s 80% burnt and half of the 20% is missing on the ground in other words, it’s fully burnt. You in?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Puns & Dad Jokes: Tim is the king of puns. You might be mid-sentence talking about something serious, and he’ll sneak in, “Well, that’s egg-sactly what I was thinking.”

Organizing Everything: Tim will have a notebook just for your relationship. He organizes things like "future plans," "annoying habits to change," and “how we can both pretend to be normal in public.”

Overthinking: Tim might send you long, thoughtful texts about nothing and everything, then panic and delete them. Later, you get a short text that says, “Hey, I like you. It’s cool. Let’s go save Gotham.”

Netflix & Research: On date nights, Tim is all about watching a documentary on some obscure topic. You wanted to watch a rom-com? Nope. Tim says, “Let’s learn about the history of ancient pizza ovens.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Fiercely Protective: Damian will go full boss mode in a relationship. If someone even looks at you wrong, he’s ready to challenge them to a duel. You’ve never seen someone challenge a guy at the coffee shop to a sword fight over a latte until you met him.

Literally Shakespeare: He has this bizarre habit of reciting random Shakespeare quotes when trying to express his feelings. “My love for you is like a tempest, crashing and relentless. Also, I think you forgot to add sugar in my coffee.”

Jealousy: He’ll get jealous of even the smallest things. That random guy who offered to help you with your grocery bags? Damian’s glaring at them from across the parking lot, preparing his “You’re not worthy” speech.

Tenderness: Don’t be fooled by his brooding exterior. Damian will get you flowers (in his own way) — like a very dramatic single red rose that he purchased with the least amount of emotion possible, but you know he spent an hour picking the perfect one.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Grumpy But Loyal: Bruce is that partner who takes a long time to warm up to things, but once he’s in, he’s in 100%. He’ll still be grumpy, though. If you show up in a bat-themed shirt, you’ll get a raised eyebrow and a grunt that could probably level an entire building.

Affectionate In His Own Way: Bruce will bring you your favorite coffee without asking because he’s been paying attention to your usual order for the past six months. But if you say anything about it, he’ll act like he’s annoyed. “I’m Batman. I don’t do things for people.”

Overprotective: He’ll put the Batcomputer between the two of you if he’s feeling protective, even if it’s completely unnecessary. Someone bumps into you? Bruce is already three steps ahead, tracking their life history and figuring out their deepest secrets, just in case.

Romantic, But Quiet About It: Bruce can’t show his love through words, but the way he gives you his jacket when it’s cold speaks volumes. Of course, he acts like it was an accident. “I didn’t want you to catch a cold, that’s all. I’m not a softy, don’t read into it.”

GENERAL TRAITS FOUND IN THEM ── .✦

Matching Outfits: They’ll all pretend like they’re too cool for matching outfits, but one day they’ll catch themselves accidentally twinning with you, and neither of you can ever act normal again.

In Public: They’ll all act like they don’t care if you hold their hand in public, but if anyone tries to grab your hand instead, they’ll give them a glare that could freeze a person in place.

Batman’s Turtleneck: Every Batboy secretly loves when Bruce wears his iconic black turtleneck and glasses. They all think Bruce looks like a mysterious intellectual, and they might just start commenting on it to mess with him. Bruce is too focused on Gotham to care.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ ᴡ ɪ ɴ ɢ ⸻

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Dick’s obsession isn’t born from malice or control—it’s born from love that he can’t let go of, love that consumes him and twists into something far more dangerous. His inherent empathy and need to protect mutate into suffocating possession when it comes to you.

You’re someone he meets while working as Nightwing—perhaps a civilian caught in the crossfire or someone aiding him on a mission. Your kindness, your bravery in the face of danger, captivates him. For someone like Dick, who has spent his life saving others, your ability to stand tall despite the world’s darkness becomes a light he can’t ignore.

But then the cracks begin to show.

You start noticing him everywhere. If you casually mention a favorite café, he’s suddenly a regular there too. When you run errands, he just happens to cross paths with you. At first, his bright smile and boyish charm disarm you. "What a coincidence," he says, as if he hasn’t been planning these encounters for days.

You come home one day to find an item you mentioned in passing—a book, a scarf, something small. There’s no note, but you know it’s from him. He swears it’s just a friendly gesture, but the way he watches you when you thank him says otherwise.

For Dick, these actions feel natural. He’s always been attentive to those he loves, always ready to go the extra mile. He doesn’t realize—or refuses to acknowledge—that these gestures aren’t innocent anymore.

When you’re hurt—even slightly—it awakens something primal. The fear of losing you mixes with the ghosts of everyone he’s lost before, and he can’t bear the thought.

Dick isn’t one to stalk in shadows; he convinces himself his obsession is protection. He keeps tabs on you, memorizing every detail of your routine. He tells himself he just wants to ensure your safety, but when you start to notice him everywhere—at the coffee shop you frequent, outside your workplace, even at your doorstep—it feels deliberate.

You confront him, but his response is calm, disarmingly charming.

“I’m just looking out for you. You mean too much to me.”

And there’s that vulnerability in his voice that makes it hard to push him away completely.

Dick’s obsession grows insidious. He’s subtle, using his charm and resourcefulness to insert himself into every corner of your life. A coworker who’s been bothering you suddenly transfers to another department. Your apartment’s locks mysteriously upgrade overnight, and Dick is the first to offer to show you how they work.

When someone flirts with you, the shift in his demeanor is terrifying. The usually affable, kind man becomes something colder, his jaw clenched as he watches from the sidelines. Later, the person who dared approach you ends up in a minor but suspicious accident.

“Don’t you see?” he tells you, his voice laced with desperation one night when you question his behavior. “I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”

Dick doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. His obsession is rooted in his fear of abandonment, his compulsion to save everyone he cares about. But in trying to protect you, he becomes your greatest danger.

"You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.” He leans on you emotionally, making you feel guilty for trying to push him away.

"I’m doing this for us.” He convinces himself every action, no matter how bad, is for your benefit.

When you try to leave, it shatters him. Dick isn’t someone who handles rejection well when it comes to people he loves. He pleads at first, his voice breaking with emotion. But when you insist, you see the darker side of his devotion.

“I can’t let you go. Don’t you see? I need you.”

His obsession becomes suffocating. He starts isolating you, not out of malice, but because he genuinely believes the world outside is too dangerous for you.

The most chilling part of Dick’s obsession is his duality. By day, he’s the same charming, selfless man everyone admires. But with you, behind closed doors, he’s desperate, controlling, and unrelenting.

He’ll kiss your forehead softly, whispering, “I love you,” as if nothing is wrong.

But then he’ll cage you in with his presence, ensuring you can never leave.

In his mind, he’s your protector, your savior, and your soulmate. He would go to any lengths to keep you safe—even if that means keeping you locked away from the rest of the world. After all, he’s lost so much already. He won’t lose you, too.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ��ɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[violetren]

I know its technically A definition for empathy but I don't think spotting/recognising emotions in others is in and of itself always empathetic. Sometimes its just situational awareness.

For that reason I do think Weiss got a lot of her early practice dealing with Jacques' temper and learning to recognise what level of drunk her mother was. On the less traumatic side her family butler whom she seems to have known most of her life is all seven dwarves at once and there was probably some learning curve for learning which voice is angry/happy/dozy and so on, and whether its sounding that way because its directed at you or something situational.

So in that sense yes, kinda, Weiss's awareness of the emotions of others does come from how she had to survive and navigate her family.

Where it goes beyond awareness and into empathy I do think happens around the time she gets to Beacon. She takes the first step long before team RWBY is a thing in her life just by deciding to go to Beacon, and deciding she doesn't want to be her father's version of a Schnee.

Jacques is a coward and an asshole and has grown complacent in the wealth he married into, but he did manipulate, and cajole, and worm his way into being head of the richest family in Remnant that we know of. At some time in his life he was likely similarly capable and practiced at noticing emotions as Weiss, in order to manipulate them. Although I don't think Weiss has fully realised her skill, she has already decided to avoid doing things like her father and so is already disinclined to use her skill to manipulate in the way he would.

Then team RWBY does come on the scene. It's around now that I think Weiss starts to become cognizant that she has a skill, and its because for the first time she's actually kinda bad at it. She doesn't have as much experience with the more positive end of the emotional spectrum and so can be suspicious of it, waiting for the more common negative emotions she is used to and still responding to them when they aren't there. Which she gets berated for, she is called cold, she gets told she isn't helping, she gets told to loosen up and give people chances.

So now Weiss sorta knows she has a skill, and has some people to model positive uses of it. She sees that it can be more than just an observational skill for survival it can be a tool to build community, provide comfort, nurture others. Now Weiss has the puzzle pieces she was missing. Now she actually starts to behave empathetically. Now its about emotions and feelings, helping to acknowledge or nurture, instead of behaviour signals to identify and brace against. And once she starts I do think the fact that she knows loneliness and pain help her develop this at a slightly faster rate than some, because where others might flounder she can always reach for what she wishes someone had told her, but that only gives her a small leg up when it comes to comfort. She still has to do the hard yards learning to share and cultivate more positive emotions, and learning how to actually start a dialogue with someone who is going through it. And bit by bit she does.

When it comes to talking about Weiss I think there is a lot of talk about her walls coming down, and sometimes it can feel like kind of a passive thing, where the rest of team RWBY came in and slowly dismantled them, and I don't love when that happens RWBY helped, but Weiss still made choices, she had agency in the process. Weiss chose to practice kindness, and in doing so started honing her empathy. It's there from the moment she decided to follow Port's advice and went off to get Ruby a cup of coffee. She ultimately chose to embrace her emotions even if it risked making her more vulnerable, because it was an emotionally richer and more fulfilling way to be than what she had known. In doing so she began to achieve that initial driving goal of reclaiming what it means to be a Schnee back from her father.

Its not as much as a conscious choice as I am maybe making it sound like. I don't think she woke up one day and thought "I'm gonna put my skill points into understanding instead of manipulating" I think its more like the seed was there, it just finally found the conditions that would allow it to sprout.

And ultimately, yeah OP is right Weiss should be recognised more for her emotional awareness and empathy, because whether she knew she was doing it or not, she put in the work to develop her empathy. She could have refused to open herself up and turned that observational ability into something maladaptive and manipulative, the fact that she didn't is one of the most beautifully compelling things about her character.

Weiss is so deceptively emotionally aware and empathetic it needs to be recognized more. She was the one who first recognized when Blake was spiraling back in Beacon and called her out for it. She was the one who was there to be Yang's shoulder to cry on in Mistral and help her understand why Blake felt the need to leave. She was the one who saw how the way they treated Ruby was hurting her in the Ever After. The more you look for it the more you see it. Both on and off the battlefield Weiss is always the one there to support others sight unseen because she knows hurt and loneliness.

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 2

Summary: Your rivalry with Remus continues as you spend a night out with his friends at Sirius’ concert.

CW: Alcohol Consumption, mentions of vomit (briefly), references to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x reader

Chapter 1

—

A few days later and you were finally settling into your new home. And as far as roommates go, the boys were pretty good ones.

James was usually out early in the morning at the gym or Rugby training and he’d often return with coffees for everyone. Sirius was a natural born entertainer and always had a joke or a silly anecdote to amuse you with when you returned home from work.

It was just Remus that hadn’t warmed up to you yet. However, you had no idea why. You’d done everything you could think of to win him over. You cleaned up the kitchen for him before he got home from his lectures, you left extra for him when cooking dinner, you even offered to do his laundry when he was too busy studying for upcoming exams. But still, nothing. No matter what you did, you were greeted with a cold disinterest and one word answers.

By the time the weekend rolled around, you were exhausted, both from him and your long week at work. You were hugely looking forward to Sirius’ show. You figured it’d be the perfect way to unwind.

—

You were squashed into a booth next to James and a girl named Dorcas, twirling your straw in your hand.

The bar was full, thick with energy and cigarette smoke. It was dimly lit, some dive down a back alley. Apparently Sirius and his band played here every Saturday night.

“So y/n! Mary tells me you want to be a writer!” Lily called across the table, barely audible over the clattering of glasses and loud talking that filled the room

“Yeah, it’s something I’m working towards,” you replied. “Although I’ve been working on my novel for a couple of years now but it’s still not quite there yet.”

“Oh cool!” Peter chimed in. He was sitting beside his girlfriend Sybil, a hand around hers under the table. They looked positively smitten with each other. It reminded you of how glaringly single you were.

“What’s your book about?” Dorcas asked.

You sighed. “I guess you could call it a fantasy.”

“Oh is it one of those ones about wizards and magic and stuff?” James pondered enthusiastically.

“I mean, kind of? Not really.” You replied.

“Oh good,” Dorcas mused. “I don’t really like those kinds of stories. I’ve always found them to be a bit childish. I mean, the idea of wizards living amongst us? it’s a bit absurd if you ask me.”

You giggled. “Yes well, I’d say mine is more of a high fantasy. Anyway, enough about me. What do you all do for work?”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Well, I’m a primary school teacher.” Lily offered.

“Oh wow. And how do enjoy that?”

She giggled, her dimples appearing as she did. You had to admit, she was stunningly beautiful, with long auburn hair and astonishing sea-foam eyes. You understood why James had been pining after her for so long.

“I love it,” she responded. “It’s wonderful knowing you’re able to shape a young person’s life.”

“That sounds really rewarding,” you responded.

“It is,” she smiled. “But it’s far from impressive compared to what some of the others do. I mean, Dorcas here is a lawyer and Remus is studying to be a doctor!”

Eyes fell on Remus and you watched as he recoiled slightly under the attention.

As the conversation drew on, you learned that Peter was a Banker, Sybil read tarot cards for a living and Dorcas’ girlfriend Marlene played lead guitar in Sirius’ band.

“Just wait until you see her,” Mary exclaimed. “She’s incredible.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” You replied. You took another sip of your drink and realised you’d finished your glass. Upon looking around the table you saw that the others were in a similar position.

“Looks like I’m in need of a refill. Next round is on me guys!”

There was a slew of cheers from the group as you slid out of the booth and made your way towards the bar. You placed your order and then took a seat on a stool as you waited for the drinks to be made.

You were scrolling through instagram when you felt a presence beside you. Looking up, your heart sank slightly when you noticed it was Remus.

“I thought you could use some help carrying everything,” he muttered, taking a seat beside you.

“Thanks but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah well, I could use some space. The table was getting a little crowded.”

Your eyes raked over his figure, you saw the was he was nervously fiddling with his hands. It dawned on you that maybe the bar scene wasn’t really his thing so much as it was his friends’. He seemed to be a little overwhelmed.

“Okay,” you relented.

A few drinks were placed on a tray in front of you, and Remus reached out to grab his, taking a long sip. Your eyebrows raised.

“You’re drinking straight whisky? That’s pretty hardcore.”

“It’s referred to as a whisky neat,” he responded matter-of-factly (as if you hadn’t been the one to order it for him). “And it really isn’t that bad. I have a pretty high alcohol tolerance. Why? What did you order.”

“A gin and tonic.”

“Exactly my point.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him. You could help but scoff.

“Are you implying that I can’t hold my alcohol?”

Remus shrugged, taking another sip. “I’m just saying that some people have a higher tolerance is all.”

A mix of irritation and downright anger began to build in your gut. You’d had enough of him. His coldness towards you, his constant condescending remarks. Fuck it, you thought, I’m done being nice. If he wanted to start something, then so be it.

“Fine,” you challenged. “If you’re so sure about that, £20 says that I can out-drink you tonight.”

He turned to face you, a brow quirked questioningly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just shake on it, Remus.”

“Fine. It’s your funeral.”

You shook hands. Then you turned to the bartender.

“Excuse me, I’d like to change my order. Could I get a whisky, neat?”

—

The band came on around 10pm and the crowd cheered wildly.

Sirius was the first to enter, clad in black and leather, looking like a true rockstar.

His eyes twinkled beneath the stage lights. Even on the narrow bar stage, he managed to look ethereal.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The crowd roared once more, you among them.

“That’s good! We’re Snakes and Lions and we have a few songs to play for you. Is that alright?”

The crowed cheered again.

As the first notes of the song trickled through the room, you couldn’t help but stare up at Sirius. His long flowing hair, the tattoos that peaked out from under his black tank top, the way his eyeliner brought out the grey of his eyes.

A glance to Remus beside you, told you he was feeling the same way. He was staring up at Sirius like he was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And you couldn’t blame him.

Still, you felt and odd pang of jealously shoot through your gut.

You decided to push it down, instead venturing to the bar for another drink.

As the set drew on, you could feel yourself beginning to sway, not only from the music but also the alcohol in your blood.

The room began to blur in a dizzying haze and you found yourself leaning into James who stood beside you, for support.

You continued to watch Sirius perform, entranced by the way he moved around the stage, his voice baring into your very soul.

At one point, when he he introduced the band (Barty on drums, Marlene on lead guitar, Evan on rhythm guitar and his little brother Regulus on bass), he sent you a wink and you felt your heart leap in your chest. You felt like you were watching a celebrity.

Still, amidst the music, your mind continued to wander to Remus. Your bet had carried on and you continued to down drink after drink out of sheer spite.

You were determined to beat him. Determined to prove that you could hold your own, that there was a spot for you in his home, whether he liked it or not.

By the time the band finished playing, you were far past the point of no return.

—

There was a light on somewhere. It was too bright, shining directly into your eyes. You groaned and rolled over, sinking in to your mattress. You tried to go back to sleep but you couldn’t. You needed to get up and turn the light off.

As you blinked your eyes open, you realised the light wasn’t in fact coming from the ceiling but from a window.

That’s odd, you thought, I don’t remember there being a window there.

The room was blurry as you looked around. It was clearly morning, that much you could tell, and there was a throbbing pain in your head. Last night was definitely a mistake.

It was then that your gaze fell on the football paraphernalia that sat on the dresser and the framed jersey that hung above it.

You shot upwards like a bullet, your eyes widening as you glanced around the space.

This wasn’t your room. It was James.

You gasped loudly as you looked down at yourself. Fuck! You were in your underwear.

You frantically looked around the space, searching for anything you could use to cover up. There was a black t-shirt thrown over a chair in the corner.

A sniff told you it was clean and you hastily threw it on, not caring right then that it wasn’t yours.

It didn’t cover much but it’d have to do for now.

It was at that moment the door swung open. You froze, wide eyed like a deer caught in the headlights.

James just looked you up and down for a moment, balancing a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Oh good. You’re up.”

“W-what happened last night?” You blurted out in a panic.

“You don’t remember?” The boy queried, moving to place the coffees down on the bedside table.

You shook your head.

“We didn’t… ah? You know?”

“Oh no! Nothing like that! We didn’t sleep together if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair in relief.

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

James just smirked. “Oh no, it’s much more embarrassing than that.”

You looked up at him nervously, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “Shit. What did I do?”

James moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, muscles in his biceps flexing as he did.

“Well, you stumbled into my room at 2:30 in the morning complaining you were bored.”

You grimaced.

“Then you collapsed in my bed and refused to leave. Which I didn’t mind, by the way. But then you complained that it was too hot and insisted on taking your clothes off. I barely stopped you from getting completely naked. You were on a mission.”

You groaned as he chuckled at the story.

“James, I’m so sorry.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.”

“What? Mostly naked in our roommates bed?”

He snorted. “Yeah sure. Something like that.”

He gestured towards the coffee that sat on the bedside table and you took a sip, letting the warm drink sooth your aching throat.

“I’m sure you have a hell of a hangover,” he sympathised. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and then go and have a shower while I whip up some breakfast.”

You smiled up at him gently. “James, you don’t have to-“

“Stop apologising,” he cut you off. “I’m happy to. Besides, what are roommates for if not to make you meals?”

—

It was a while before you re-emerged, having showered and now wearing clothes that were your own. You weren’t bothered to dry your hair though. You resigned to let it drip down your back.

You trudged into the living area to see that the rest of the boys had beaten you there.

James was standing in the kitchen cooking what smelt suspiciously (and deliciously) like bacon.

Sirius was lounging on the sofa, half watching a random action movie that was playing on the TV, set to low volume.

You assumed that choice was made for the benefit of Remus who looked a wreck. He was sitting at the dining table, face down with his head resting on his arms.

An evil sense of satisfaction washed over you when you realised that he was nursing a hangover just as bad as your own.

“Well!” You made sure to exclaim loudly, smacking your hands down hard on the table as you took a seat across from Remus.

He flinched and groaned as he sat up, sending you an irritable look.

“Last night was fun.”

Sirius chuckled from his across the room. “For some of us more so than others.”

“Y/n definitely had fun,” James teased as he approached the table, placing a plate of bacon and eggs before you. You slapped him playfully on the arm as he walked away.

You glanced around the room as you began to eat, your brows furrowing when you noticed something odd out of the window.

“Guys, why’s the pot plant out on the balcony?”

“I’m airing it out,” Sirius said absent-mindedly. “Remus threw up in it last night.”

A delighted smirk overtook your features. “Did he now?”

The boy just groaned, thumping his head back down onto the table.

“Here mate,” James stated, placing a plate of food down beside his head. “Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

You had to admit, you did feel better after some food. And James was a bloody good cook.

Then, suddenly an idea flitted through your mind.

“Did anyone keep a copy of the tab from last night?”

“Yeah I’ve got it in my wallet, why?” James confirmed.

“Could I see it please?”

He placed the receipt in front of you on the table and you began to add up the drinks that you remembered yourself and Remus ordering.

“Aha!” You shouted after a moment, jumping up and walking around the table. Remus looked up at you, displeased.

“I beat you! Pay up!”

“What’s this?” Sirius questioned curiously.

“Remus bet me £20 that he could out drink me and I proved him wrong!” You exclaimed.

“Hey, don’t put this on me,” Remus muttered. “It was her idea.”

“It looks like you’ve been a bad influence on our poor Remus,” James teased.

“Yeah, he never usually drinks that much,” Sirius added.

You looked at him suspiciously. “Huh? Really? That was big game you talked last night.”

“Remus is all talk,” Sirius joked. “Deep down he’s really just a little softy.”

“Fuck off, all of you,” the boy groaned.

“Not until I get my £20!”

James barked out a laugh.

“Come on buddy,” he stated in Remus’ direction. “You heard the girl, pay up!”

—

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy

@navs-bhat

@shushbruv

[trevuorzegras]

some cowboy!luke for you .ᐟ

dirt road anthem — jason aldean 💿

for @wnderify & @star2fishmeg !! ⏳

cowboy!luke having his finger wrapped around your belt loop at all times. especially when the two of you are at a bar, and he gets nervous, not wanting to leave your side.

luke’s an attractive guy, so women flirting with him was a given. it was mostly tourist, women who just weren’t from around here, and most of the time, that was very clear. he would nervously look around for you, not too sure how to put his words nicely, “look, i don’t mean to be rude, but i’ve got an ol’ lady.”

in my head cowboy!luke is absolutely a pro bull rider, entering local competitions, and traveling with his manager for bigger ones in different states. for luke, it was never about the money, it was always about his love for what he did.

until luke was 13, he was forbidden from getting on any kind of bull. so he strictly stuck to horses, and then eventually when he turned 13, he was finally able to ride his first bull. he absolutely fell in love with it, just like his brothers had.

luke never liked coffee, but you always had. so every morning since the two of you began dating, he would get up, and make you coffee. you had insisted he didn’t have to do that, but he was very persistent on doing it. he claimed “i’ll be makin’ my tea anyhow.”

when the two of you go muddin’ luke thinks it’s just the cutest thing ever to see you covered in mud. mud splatters on your face, and your clothes covered. the both of you laughing as you ride back, after a long day, hands tight around his middle.

cowboy!luke buying the two of you matching hey - dudes after seeing you borrow his to feed the horses one morning. he quickly picked up how you kept them on throughout your morning, making a mental note to buy the two of you some when he goes into town again.

random dates! an absolute must with cowboy!luke. he’ll randomly decide he wants to camp in his back yard, having a tent facing the pond. the two of you just enjoying the view, weather, and each other.

luke taking you to one of his shows, watching you absolutely fall in love with the show horses. in that moment he thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

cowboy!luke teaching you how to play pool at the local bar in town. he didn’t go there often, but when he did it was always a good time. the sweet western bartenders adored the two of you, claiming you were just the cutest couple ever, behind terry, and lorelai. you later learned, through luke, they were an older couple who had been together for fourty - five years.

cowboy!luke who loves dancing on the front porch with you. music blasting through his speaker, as he grabs your hand, bringing you to the middle of the porch, before you guys began dancing. the two of you would spend forever dancing together if it were up to luke.

cowboy!luke carries a pocket knife with your initial on it from years ago. he bought it one day when he was in town looking for a new pair of boots. he stared at it debating weather or not he was gonna make the purchase. it had been pretty early in the relationship, and he didn’t know if it was good timing. he had ultimately decided to get it, and he glad he did.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. during a slow week at the imp office,blitzø convinces you that there are better ways to spend your time waiting for a new client to call on. and honestly, it doesn't really take all that much to convince you, especially when he figures out a kink you've been keeping close to the chest. requested by the wonderful @blitzsicedcoffee. 2.75k

featuring: collar kink, light pup play, dom!blitzø, oral sex (blitzø receiving), blitzø using his tail as a leash, light degradation, penetrative sex. blitzø uses terms like 'pet' and 'pup', reader has non-specific genitalia, and a prehensile tail (so could be read as an imp or an incubus/succubus).

Flipping idly through an outdated Weapons of Wrath catalogue, you’re curled up on the sofa in the I.M.P. office, leaning against the arm of it comfortably. It’s been a slow enough couple of weeks that Blitzø had decided to start having you all work in shifts, and with him holed up in his office, you had the main room to yourself, waiting pointlessly for a new client to call in.

And holy fuck, you were bored.

Even thinking that thought seems to be enough to summon your boss from his office, and you jerk upright as the door slams against the opposite wall when he kicks it open.

“Satan’s fucking taint, how does no one in this shit-slinging ring want to have somebody murdered?” he complains, tossing an empty coffee cup towards the trashcan and missing completely. It bounces off the wall behind it and the lid pops off, spilling the remains of a couple of ice cubes onto the carpet. “This is still Hell, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked,” you reply dryly, returning your attention back to your magazine, thumbing a page over idly.

He arches an eyebrow at you, irritated by your lack of similar dramatics. “Since when do I pay you to just fuckin’ sit there?”

You turn another page with practised nonchalance. You know it’s only going to piss him off further, but, well… you’re petty. “Depends. Did you have something else that needs doing?”

Blitzø groans, throwing his head back dramatically. He sighs, straightening his posture and setting his eyes on you again. He considers you for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before he says, “So… you wanna fuck?”

If you’d been drinking something, you would have choked on it.

“What?”

He grins, shrugging. “There’s no point in soundin’ so damn scandalised. It ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”

You feel your face flush. “A couple of drunk hookups does not mean I’m going to fuck you in the office, Blitz.”

“Why not?” he asks, closing more of the distance between you. You clutch the catalogue tighter against your lap as though it’s some kind of ward against bad decisions. And this would definitely be one. Right? “Ya think M&M don’t get their fuck on on the conference table every chance they get?”

“Christ, Blitz, that is so not the po—”

“This is jus’ fuckin’ adorable, by the way,” Blitzø tells you lasciviously, hooking a claw up under the choker around your neck. You’d worn it on a whim, and you curse yourself for the way your breath catches despite yourself. Your cheeks warm even more as you feel the band tighten slightly around your throat. There’s a second where you hope he doesn’t notice, but Blitzø’s eyes widen then narrow, a downright villainous smirk blooming on his lips. “Ohhh… I get it. Lil’ pup likes to play.”

You swallow, finding your voice. “Blitz…”

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he continues as though you hadn’t spoken, although his smile twitches wider at the hitch in your voice. “You like bein’ collared, don’t ya?”

You hesitate a moment even as excitement floods through you. Heat pools low in your belly at the suggestion in his voice, as the way his claws graze the column on your throat as he hooks two more in the front of the choker. You swallow again, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue as it tightens the choker around your throat. He tugs on it, urging you to stand in front of him, and you do it without thinking, the catalogue slipping from your lap to the floor. Blitzø is standing only inches from you, his tail switching back and forth behind him slowly.

His breath fans across your face, warm and tickling. “Don’t you?”

You nod.

Blitzø grins. “Good pet.”

Fuck.

You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you when he pulls you closer again, his nose skimming against yours. He’s watching your every reaction with hooded eyes, and you feel his other hand ghost down over your waist. It makes you shiver, and his smirk widens when you lean forward slightly to kiss him. Blitzø pulls back the moment your lips should meet, and he bites his lip with a cocky grin.

“On your knees for me, pup.”

Blitzø is half-hard as he palms himself through his jeans, and a soft growl rumbles through him as you tongue slides across your bottom lip. He runs a hand through your hair almost sweetly before he suddenly grabs a fistful of it, jerking your head back to meet his eye.

“What’re you waitin’ for, exactly?”

The pain only adds to the heat blooming low in your belly, and you reach up with eager fingers to unbuckle his belt. You lean forward to nuzzle against the bulge in his jeans, planting open-mouthed kisses over it until the fabric is damp with your saliva and his cock is straining against the zipper.

“Oh, puppy wants to play,” Blitzø croons, releasing a breathless laugh as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. You press a kiss to the underside of the head before parting your lips, curling your tongue around it as you take him into your mouth. His head falls back as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfs him. “Fuck…”

Blitzø keeps one hand in your hair as you suck him, the other lifting his shirt so he can watch the way you gag around him when he hits the back of your throat. You whine around him when you feel the spade of his tail slip under your choker, winding around it to pull it tight against your throat. He smirks when your eyes roll back.

“You’re a good little bitch, aren’t you?” he coos, voice husky sweet as you clutch at his thighs, hollowing out your cheeks as you pull back. He moans as you roll your tongue around the head of his cock and suck, his hand tightening possessively in your hair as you take him all the way in again. Blitzø holds your head in place, thrusting his hips forward to feel the way your throat flutters around his cock. “Fuck, you’ve got a nice mouth…”

You moan around him and the vibrations of your throat makes his eyes roll back. He presses his hips forward until you choke in earnest, releasing your hair as you pull back with a cough. Drool hangs from your chin as you catch your breath, and Blitzø reaches down to smear it across your lip with his thumb. You suck it into your mouth, biting down on it lightly, and he hisses through a sharp-toothed grin.

“Shiiiit…” he wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it against your spit-slick bottom lip. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, pet?”

Your voice comes rough, your swollen lips brushing against the tip of his cock as you murmur, “Yes, Blitz.”

The imp’s smirk widens, his eyes dark and hungry with lust. You part your lips obediently, and he thrusts it back into your eager mouth with a grunt. His tail tugs on the choker again, and you’d be embarrassed at the way your tail wags behind you, but all you can focus on is the way Blitzø’s eyelids flutter as he presses his cock deep into your throat. You gag around him again before he pulls back, instead fucking himself languidly into your mouth. You curl your tongue to cradle the length of him with each slide of it past your lips, the taste of his precum downright addictive. “Then I’m gonna need to hear it, slut.”

You suck firmly at his cock until his breath hitches and he pulls back, gripping the base of his cock. He snickers deliriously, the choker around your throat so tight your eyes roll back as you blink. “Fuck me, Blitz.”

“Not good enough,” he grins wickedly, stroking himself slowly. He leans down, his other hand closing around your jaw as he brings his face down to yours. He forces your chin up, his lips a breath from yours as he growls, “I wanna hear you beg, baby.”

Dear Satan, you wanted to kiss him.

“Please,” you whimper, shifting on your knees in a vain attempt to meet his lips with yours. Blitzø pulls back just enough to leave you wanting, infuriating amusement playing at the edge of his smirk. “Please, fuck me, Blitz.”

“Hmm?” he raises a brow tauntingly, his tail tugging at the choker warningly.

“Sir,” you correct yourself, an edge of desperation colouring your broken voice. “Please, fuck me, sir.”

Blitzø grins. “That’s my good pup.”

He straightens up, stepping to the side and waving a hand towards Loona’s desk.

“Bend over it for me, pup.”

You make move to stand, and his tail tugs you back down again.

“Did I say you could walk?”

Fuck, he looks so pleased with himself. Still, you can’t help the little whine that escapes you at his tone, and you crawl across the scratchy carpet until you reach the desk. He nods and you stand slowly on shaky legs. Blitz unwinds his tail from your choker as he does, trailing the spade of it down your spine and smirking when you shudder.

“Strip.”

You feel a surge of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach even as you tug your shirt obediently over your head. Yeah, you’d fucked before, but those had been drunk and hurried and in the dark. This was stark and carefully paced, and somehow so much more exciting, and your fingers shake as you push your jeans down your thighs. You stiffen as you feel Blitzø press himself up against your back, his fingers expertly unclipping your bra as his lips find the nape of your neck.

A soft moan escapes you as he trails his lips to the side of your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh as his hands take hold of your hips, pressing his naked erection up against your ass. He shifts his hips to slide it between your thighs, and you whine, head falling forward.

“Bend over, baby,” he mutters, breath hot against your ear, and he squeezes a handful of your ass as you do as you’re told, pressing yourself further back against his cock as you brace your hands on the desk in front of you. Blitzø groans as you do, claws tearing your underwear away greedily. “That’s it…”

You hear him spit, excitement burning through you as you feel him stroke his cock against your ass, mixing his saliva with yours. Your eyes widen and you moan, a long, drawn out, throaty sound as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Christ on a stick… always so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, withdrawing only to thrust into you again. With each slow push of his hips, he slides another inch into your warmth, stretching and filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You bite your lip in a vain attempt to stifle your moans, claws digging into the edge of the desk hard enough to gouge marks into the wood. “Fuck, I’ve missed this…”

You don’t even want to think about why those words thrill you so much. You push your hips back to meet him with each thrust, and Blitzø snarls, hands clutching at the flesh of your hips hard enough to hurt. He lets you fuck yourself back on his cock, reaching up to hook his claws in the back of the choker and pull it taut against your windpipe. It makes you whine, your head forced back with the way he pulls at it.

“Bli—” you choke on his name, and Blitzø snickers headily at the eager way you ride his cock. “Fuck…”

“Such a good fuckin’ pup,” he growls, gripping at a handful of your ass. His tail winds around yours, the spade of it teasing against your thigh. He begins to fuck you again, punctuating each word with an unforgiving thrust. “So. Fuckin’. Good…”

You jump as the phone suddenly rings beside you, and Blitz curses as you flex around him.

“Go ahead, pet…” he grinds out, fucking into you hard. “Answer it.”

“Blitz—”

He tugs on the choker when you try to protest, and you moan. “Did I fuckin’ stutter, pup? Answer it.”

You whimper, reaching for the phone with an unsteady hand. You knock the receiver off its cradle, the phone clattering obnoxiously against the desk before you pick it up and shove it against your ear.

“I.M…P. Imm—ediate Murder Profession… Professionals.” you say, trying desperately to control your breathing even as Blitzø takes the opportunity to smack you hard on the ass. “How can I—hnnn – help you?”

Blitzø laughs at your tone, his voice tight with his own need, and you bump your forehead repeatedly against the desk as the guy on the other end of the line rumbles into your ear.

“I’m sorry, can I--  uhn… can I call you back?” you stumble over the words, teeth gritted together in an effort to keep your voice steady. You’re so fucking close, your whole body hot and tingling with sensation. “Blitz is… he’s a little busy at the—fuck. Look, I’ll call you back, alright?”

You slam the phone down and it bounces off the cradle, the receiving falling off the desk to dangle over the side. You moan in earnest and Blitzø groans, his hips meeting yours in a desperate, disjointed rhythm as the two of you approach the peak.

“Fuck, Blitz…” you curse as his tail tightens around yours, his claws pulling so tight on your choker you’re sure it might snap. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it, your jaw hanging slack. Every time his hips meet yours, you let out a high-pitched ‘uhn!’, and Blitzø snaps his hips forward so hard the desk begins to slide against the carpet. “Fuck…!”

“You wanna cum, puppy?” he snarls breathlessly. “You gotta ask nice.”

“Please, sir…” you whimper, so close that your thighs tense painfully, toes curling against the carpet. “Please. Please, make me cum. I need to cum, sir, please…”

“That’s a good, fuckin’ pet.” Blitzø growls and he thrusts hard, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. The feeling of his large, strong hand closing around your throat is enough to make you keen, and you all but collapse onto the desk as you finally cum, your body shaking with the feeling of it. “Satan’s fuckin’— FUCK!”

Blitzø cums deep inside you, clutching blindly at your hips as he shudders through it. You whimper with every touch he gives you as the two of you cum down, your eyes closing as you feel Blitzø bend down to press a kiss to your spine.

“Christ on a stick,” he moans quietly into your skin, smoothing his hands up along your waist and back down again. “Fuuuuck…”

You laugh quietly, breathless, pressing your forehead against the cool wood of the desk. “Pretty sure we fucked it up with that client.”

“Fuck it,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade. “They really want someone dead; they’ll call back after they’ve finished yankin’ it to that hot little whimper-y thing you do.”

“Shut up,” you retort even as you feel your cheeks warm.

When he pulls out you shudder at the feeling of it, patting you on the ass as you push yourself up. When you turn around he smirks at you, self-satisfied, and he hooks a claw in the choker and tugs you in to – finally – kiss you. He does it languidly, smiling as his tongue slides into your mouth. Leaning back against the edge of the desk for support, you wrap an arm around his neck, the other bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Blitzø braces himself on a hand beside your hip, pulling away only when your lungs begin to burn for a proper breath.

“Y’know, I’m preeeetty sure I’ve got an actual collar and leash set in the sex trunk in there,” he says suggestively, nodding towards his office.

You have to hope he doesn’t notice the way that suggestion, even after what you just did, makes you flush. “It’s still so messed up that you keep that shit here.”

Blitzø cocks a brow at you challengingly. “Does that mean you’re not interested in round two?”

“… I hate it when you’re cocky like this.”

“You fuckin’ love it, horndog.”

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. ��Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn��t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.  

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tusswrites

[untildawnss]

until dawn characters overhearing their partner say something positive about them/their relationship

okiedokie [cracks knuckles] i had a shower to wash away the sad and now i'm ready to write the good - this took a good while because i was watching a show while writing lol

this is going to be fluff, i'll find out if anything else happens while writing this. very minor angsty and nsfw mentions.

ashley

"i don't think i've ever loved anyone as much as i love ashley. i still get butterflies when i look at her."

you tossed your phone towards ashley so she could order pizza while you were busy writing an assignment on your laptop. when she unlocked it, the chat with your best friend was still open, your last text the one about ashley. "i didn't know you were a big ol' sap." ashley shifted on the couch and leaned her head against your shoulder. "huh?" you stopped typing and furrowed your brow. "what are you talking about?" - "oh, just that text about me you sent earlier." she was already scrolling through the menu, looking for your favourite pizza. "were you snooping?" - "i didn't have to. you never close your apps." you nodded your head. it was true, you never did. "i get butterflies, too. ever since we met. maybe we're soulmates." she leaned in to kiss you.

beth

"hannah, oh my god, i'm so happy to see you. did you know that i love beth soooooo much? she's the best. i want to marry her. do you think she would want to marry me?"

beth tried to interrupt your drunken ramblings. her twin sister was on the couch next to you, snoring, and you had woken up while she was trying to clear the empty pizza boxes from the coffee table. you had immediately pulled her into a tight hug and happily babbled on about beth for a minute until you fell asleep again. beth carefully removed herself from your arms and decided that she wasn't really in the mood to clean up after you and hannah, you were perfectly capable of doing that yourself in the morning. and she was only a little offended that you had mistaken her for her sister. it was kind of fun to know how you talked about her when you thought she wasn't there.

chris

"josh, chris just texted me 'can we talk?' and i am freaking out. is he breaking up with me? please tell me he's not breaking up with me. he's honestly the best boyfriend i've ever had and i-"

josh groaned. "i told him not to text you that. chris, what's wrong with you?" you heard some crinkling, the muffled sounds of josh and chris whispering and then what sounded like a slap before josh let you know that he was handing the phone over to chris now. "hey, sorry about that. josh's hand and the back of my head just had a meet and greet." - "good for you? what the fuck was that text about, chris?" more whispering. "chris?" - "yeah, sorry. so remember how you just said that i'm the best boyfriend ever?" you sighed. "looking back, i probably wouldn't have said it if i had known you were listening." chris cleared his throat. "well, actually, i was thinking that you're the best partner i've ever had and i wanted to ask you to move in with me and so i decided to send you a text to ask you to talk about it." - "can you actually put josh back on for a second?" whispering again, until you heard josh's voice. "what's up?" - "can you tell chris that i love him and will move in with him but that he seriously needs to work on the way he brings up serious topics?"

emily

"you might not like her but i love her. she's the best thing that ever happened to me and if you just bothered to get to know her, you'd know that she's actually smart and funny and great. she actually shows up for me, do you?"

emily knew that your family hated her. they saw her as a stuck-up mean girl with expensive tastes and were worried that she was just using you until someone better came along. she hated that her relationship with you was causing all these fights with your family because they thought they knew better. this was the worst fight you'd ever had with them and she'd never heard you yell like that. "no, i'm done talking. don't bother calling again until you accept that i'm an adult and make my own decisions." emily heard you swearing before you knocked on the bedroom door and walked in. you were half-dressed, the original plan had been to go out for dinner. emily was still sitting in front of her vanity, absent-mindedly twirling a blending brush between her fingers. your phone buzzed again. "i swear to god," you muttered through clenched teeth as you declined the call. "rain check?" emily asked, already putting away the brush and looking for her make up wipes. "please." she looked at you through the mirror. "i'm sorry for asking but i think i need help getting out of this dress." - "oh, so you're flirting with me? right now?" you couldn't help but smile. "if you want me to. or you could just tell me how smart and funny and great i am while i order dinner." - "i can do that."

hannah

"dear hannah, your glasses are very cute and look really good on you. you have a really pretty face and i have a crush on you."

"dear hannah, do you want to go out with me?"

"dear hannah, you were really good as juliet in the senior year play."

"oh my god, what's this?" hannah picked up the loose papers that had slid all over the wooden floor of the living room in your new apartment. "what? oh, oh no. i thought i'd thrown those away. they're so old." - "i didn't know you had a crush on me back in high school. wow, we really could have gotten together years ago." you were on your hands and knees, trying to grab the old, unfinished love letters you had never had the courage to slip into hannah's locker or bag. "what? you liked me in high school?" - "who did you think sent you all those valentines? i didn't know you liked my glasses back then." before long both of you were on the floor, reminiscing about all the near confessions you had accidentally dodged.

jess

"we'd love to go out for drinks with you guys, but i have plans with my super hot girlfriend and i wouldn't miss it for the world and she has plans with me. oops, putting our phones on do not disturb now."

you sent the text to the group chat and turned to jess. the two of you were on the couch, wearing sweatpants and facemasks. numerous candles were illuminating the living room and there was a romcom playing on the TV. "super hot girlfriend, is that right?" jess was smiling, the hydrating sheet mask wrinkling and folding around her mouth. "oh, very." you were sipping wine through a straw. "and you'd rather be at home doing skincare and watching a movie with me?" - "are you kidding me? i get to have a few drinks, hang out with my favourite person in the world AND wake up with great skin. what more could a person want?" - "you're not so bad yourself."

josh

"ugh, i know, right? he's smart, he's hot, he's kinda weird but in that cute and quirky way and when i look at him, i want to start writing poems or love songs. it's actually disgusting how perfect i think he is."

josh and you were at a bar with a group of friends and while josh had gone to get more drinks and a few others were playing pool, one of them had taken the opportunity to tease you about the way the two of you adored each other. neither of you didn't realise that josh was already on his way back to the table and heard every word you said. he stopped for a few seconds to compose himself, thinking that you'd probably be embarrassed if you knew that he heard you talking about him. the rest of the night, josh was in a, to you, inexplicably good mood but when you asked what had him smiling like that he said that he was just having fun. you narrowed your eyes and looked at him, suspiciously. "what did you do?" - "nothing, i swear." a few hours later you were on your way home, your hand in josh's while he was swinging them back and forth. "what is up with you today? i could pass out right here and now. how are you not tired?" josh's smile was as wide as ever. "it's nothing, really. i'm just happy i met you."

matt

"i wouldn't dream of breaking uncle matt's heart. pinkie promise. when we get married you can be flower girls."

matt's nieces had begged you to play tea party with them. they were extraordinarily good at offering you tea while giving you the third degree. yes, i love your uncle matt a lot. yes, i hope your uncle matt loves me, too. yes, we live together. no, i won't break up with uncle matt. you thought meeting matt's parents for the first time would be intimidating. his nieces were almost terrifying. finally, matt came to save you when they started asking about babies. you waved goodbye to the girls. "so it's when, not if we get married?" you looked at matt and your heart skipped a beat, he was smiling warmly. "well, i mean, i guess-" you sputtered. "wait, you were listening and you let them interrogate me?" - "oh, do you want to go back and tell them how many kids we're gonna have?"

mike

"yes, i know he's handsome. like absolute dreamboat, straight out of a disney movie handsome."

"oh, you better watch your mouth, that's my boyfriend you're talking about."

"oh no, he's an only child. but i think he has cousins. doubt he left any hot for the rest of them, though."

you hadn't heard mike come home and he was trying really hard to respect your privacy but the bedroom door was ajar and you were always louder when you were talking on the phone, especially when talking to your best friend whom he was due to meet this upcoming weekend. and he couldn't deny it, he was curious what you had to say about him. mike pushed the bedroom door open slowly, you had your back to him and were scrolling on your phone with your earphones in. "busy?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe and grinning widely when you jumped and almost tumbled off the bed. "what the fuck, mike? when did you get here?" you said a quick goodbye to your friend and put your phone on the bedside table. "oh, not that long ago." he crossed his arms, still grinning at you. "but go on, what were you saying about me?" mike inched towards the bed, his face now scrunched up in mock-confusion. "something about me being super hot, i think." - "i never said super hot." he put the back of his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes, feigning hurt this time. "you wound me." then, before you knew it, he was straddling you, his lips barely an inch from yours as he was running his hands down your sides, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "guess i'll have to change your mind, then."

sam

"my girlfriend just opened her own gallery and i'm super proud of her. do you have anything on the menu that's fancy and says 'i love you so much, you're gonna do great' and, most importantly, is also vegan? is champagne vegan? do you have vegan champagne?"

sam heard you whispering to the hostess as she walked through the doors behind you. so that's why you wanted her to park the car. she smiled at the hostess and rolled her eyes slightly, affectionately, pointed and you and then at herself while mouthing i'm the girlfriend. the hostess nodded and asked you to wait just a few more minutes, your table was almost ready. "you know i'm just a cog in the machine and the gallery isn't actually my own, right?" sam had sauntered over and was looking at you with one eyebrow raised in amusement. "you're still an active partner and the face of the gallery. so why bother explaining?" - "oh, i'm not complaining. just wondering if you hit your head. but now i don't feel bad about letting you wine and dine me."

[fishysaltine]

Honestly I’ve always seen Bloodbath (or the kill Zara quest) as Illario’s final desperate attempt to be swayed form his plan. It kind of reminds me of Solas and Varric’s note of him in the beginning of the game “he just needs someone to give him a different option”

Like Illario is genuinely upset about this whole thing. He thought Lucanis was dead, and we see that he was such a chronically depressed alcoholic yapper after Lucanis’ death that even though he did give the hit, he at least regretted it or it didn’t sit well with him. (I have no doubt Zara manipulated him to some extent into it, since she has her eyes on Lucanis after the Wigmaker job anyway, but neither Zara or Illario are actually explored in game). But when Illario is taking us to the boat, he makes note of saying Catarina didn’t tell him because “I would have tried to save him.” The way he says that line is in a COMPLETELY different tone than anything else he says. It’s stern and to the point, not condescending like after Illario takes out Zara and talks down on Lucanis, telling him he’s a danger and liability.

If Illario knew Lucanis was actually alive, he probably would have killed Zara earlier. And Zara obviously KNEW THIS because she didn’t tell Illario Lucanis was ALIVE for that very reason. Illario never knew about Spite. He never planned for the Ossuary. He never meant for that to happen! Zara knew that whatever Illario and she had going on would never even be close to the bond Lucanis and Illario have, and Illario would put that over power every single time.

Almost every single time.

Because he knows what he did, and he still goes out for coffee with Lucanis and the weirdo rando that saved him. And then he tries to convince Lucanis to stay away from Zara, because he knows that Zara is capable of and how not only she can, but has hurt Lucanis. (She turned his big brother into an abomination!)

WAIT A MINUTE WHO ELSE DOES THAT? Lucanis does! Except Lucanis is more direct about it. Says that Zara might come after him. Illario tries to convince Lucanis she’s in fuckass land, get him out of the situation ENTIRELY involving Antiva, the Anntam, First Talon. Yeah, there’s probably a selfish motivation, but in Wigmaker Illario is so fucking scared Lucanis is going to essentially fling himself off a cliff, there’s a genuine “heyy can you take a holiday? Can you stop being passively suicidal for me, your little cousin? Can we stop with the ‘death is my calling’ shit?”

Of course Illario can’t just go “uhh I’ll take care of it dw bro” because to Lucanis the beef with Illario and Zara isn’t merely as personal as he (and Spites) beef with her. They really just want to protect one another and get their dues.

Illario killing Zara wasn’t so much for him. I mean she kind of played him, but whatever, it didn’t necessarily affect Illario in anyway, it was for Lucanis. A way to try and appease the guilt of something that he never intended to happen to his older brother. That’s why Illario wants to be there during Bloodbath. “It’s Crow business” aka ‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING WEIRDO RANDO 1 & 2 OVER ME? I deserve to be at your side, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and back, why won’t you let me anymore?’

So Illario meets Lucanis and his rando friends on the rooftop. Lucanis asks him what he’s doing there- and Illario says he wants to go. He’s so desperate to go, to prove his alliance to his big brother cousin. But that’s not all. Lucanis has been gone for a year, and then left immediately. Killing and missions, being Crow’s is one of the main ways Lucanis and Illario bond.

Illario has never felt good enough. For his grandmother, for Lucanis, for anyone. That’s why he started this mess. Zara tells him Lucanis doesn’t think he’s good enough, he never will be, until he does the most Crow thing ever and cuts him out of the family line. Then finally, maybe, when his cousin’s eyes are glassy and corpse empty, will they be filled with approval.

But Lucanis is right here (with two randos)! And Illario asks him to involve him, just looking for that smidge of approval. And Lucanis says no. Ok. Cool! Maybe he just wants you safe. Fine, whatever. But you’re capable- at least you think you are.

So you ask the damning question. “You think I’m not good enough?”

And your cousin, your big brother, simply says: “Are you?”

While surely a good natured jab from Lucanis as siblings do, had Lucanis’ answer been anything even close to praise or more concern, I think Illario would’ve been fine to step out of the way. ALL he needed was Lucanis’ mild assurance/approval. Just a ‘oh no, you’re good enough. I just don’t want you getting hurt is all’

But he doesn’t say that. He simply feeds into the very insecurity that sent Illario to selling him out, the very one that Zara told him but he never quite believed until the words came from Lucanis’ mouth. ‘You’re not good enough to stand by my side anymore.’ And potentially ‘I’ve replaced you with rando 1 & 2, I don’t need you anymore’

So then he doubles down. No more playing nice cousin or big brother little brother. If Lucanis doesn’t want Illario by his side anymore- fuck it, Illario doesn’t need him. Lucanis saying Illario isn’t good enough isn’t just a blow to his ego, or self confidence/self esteem, it’s a flat out rejection. So he takes the kill from Lucanis, and essentially tells him to get the fuck out of dodge or else, and then tries to strong arm first Talon.

Lucanis never quite gives Illario “the different option.” Illario throws their bond away not because he necessarily wants to, but because he thinks Lucanis’ threw it away first, and that he’s just folding onto a frayed rope (not even mentioning how Illario crosses out Lucanis’ name in the family line, showing how he just… almost doesn’t exist. He’s gone to Illario. Illario’s so hurt by everything he just wants Lucanis gone at this point, come hell or high water.)

Lucanis quite literally says that the only way Catarina would be proud of Illario is if he kills her, and if that extends to Lucanis, so be it.

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 13

“So,” you said into the phone as you looked out the window. There was a hint of a coy smile on your face. “When do I get to see you again?”

You heard Jason chuckle on the other end of the line before saying, “Obsessed with me already, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, as you sat on the window sill. “But, seriously, it's nearly been a week since I saw you.”

Two weeks ago, Jason asked you to be his girlfriend officially, which was great. He was everything you had hoped for in a boyfriend; attentive, kind, sexy, and overall just a good guy. The only downside was that he worked a lot and was a bit secretive about a few things. It did raise a couple of red flags, but it wasn’t enough for him to put you off. 

“Look across the street, sweetheart, ” Jason said into the phone. 

You did and saw him there. He waved at you with a big grin on his face, and in his other hand, he held up a bouquet of roses. Happily, you told him to come over and started down toward the entrance of your building. Embracing him, you gave him a big kiss on the cheek, before taking his hand to lead him up to your apartment. 

“You really didn’t have to get these,” You said as you shut the door behind you. Putting the roses up to your nose you took in the smell, before pulling a vase from one of the cabinets. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Don’t thank me, please. Your smile is thank you enough.” He winked at you as he took the flowers out of your hand. Damn, you thought, you wondered what planet he had come from to be so perfect. Jason started unwrapping the roses and cutting their stems for you. “Have you eaten yet? I could order something for us if you like.”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You said, looking up at him. He was so beautiful. All you wanted to do was pull him into you. “How was work?”

You didn’t know what his work was exactly, but, from what little he told you, he worked in trade. After a few moments, he answered, “It was work. You know what they say, sweetheart, another day, another dollar.”

“Another day, another dime, you mean.” You mumbled as you put the cut roses into the vase. You admired them, fingers reaching out to feel the soft petals as you carried the vase into the living room to place in the center of the coffee table. “They look perfect.”

You turned to Jason, who was suddenly standing behind you, and put your hands on his chest. You asked for a kiss and he shyly complied. Looking at him, you would have never suspected that a man who looked like he could be in Blackgate and run it could be so cute. When you went in for another he had started to pull away but stopped short when he noticed you moving. 

He quietly said, “Oh,” before leaning down to meet your lips again. 

Jason was a sweet kisser, you realized. He was attentive to all the smallest details—he never dared get too close, waited for you to pull away and initiate, and, finally, always studied you for anything you might give away with a look. Touching his cheek, you thanked him again for the roses before urging him to take off his coat. 

“Make yourself at home, babe,” you said, taking his coat off his shoulders. “You know the saying, mi casa es su casa.”

Jason sat awkwardly as he watched you run about your apartment. First, you cleaned the coffee table, then you made him a cup of coffee and followed that up with fluffing up his pillows. You were pushing books out of the way, and he realized that you must have been in the middle of organizing your bookshelf. 

 You were setting down a glass of water for yourself, when Jason said, “Sit down, I came over here to hang out, not to watch your ass run about.”

If he had been any other man, you would have smacked him for talking to you like that. You hated to admit it, but you liked his rough tone and the way he hit the spot next to him for you to sit. When you sat, he inched a bit closer to you with the hesitance of a teenage boy on a first date. It was astounding how he could be so virginal one minute and the next ooze fuck boy charm. 

After a second consideration, you decided to give him a bit more than he would have anticipated. You were sitting turned toward him, leaning against his arm that was slung on the back of the couch, and slowly reached up to touch his chest. As you did, you moved your face closer so he could kiss you again as his hand slid down toward the belt of his pants. 

Jason caught your wrist. “What’re you…” He cut himself by pressing his lips to yours. 

Your tongue darted across his bottom lip, encouraging them to part. When he let out a gasp, you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You felt Jason’s grip on your wrist tighten and you took that opportunity to press closer to him. His lips were chapped, and you could taste the tiny bit of cigarette still on them. He was getting you addicted to the flavor. 

Jason said your name when you parted briefly for a breath, and you couldn’t help yourself. You took your hand from him to cup his cheek before pulling him to you. Jason welcomed it, moaning into the kiss, and that’s when you stopped. 

“Jason,” You whispered against his lips. You didn’t want to give him too much. Instead, you pressed gentle kisses into his neck. As you did so, you noticed him slowly trying to pull a decorative pillow on his lap. You smiled against his neck before moving your nose to bump against his. “I need to finish re-organizing my bookcase, would you like to help or watch my ass do it?”

“I’ll…” He could hardly begin his sentence. You watched as his eyes flickered down to the pillow in his lap. “I’ll watch.”

“Okay.”

Getting up, you picked up book after book, striking up a conversation with him like you hadn’t just given him a hard-on. After a couple of deep breaths and thinking about literally anything else, Jason managed to calm down. He eventually started to engage in the conversation, finding himself liking you more and more with every word you spoke. 

His eyes looked around at the books on the floor, taking in the titles that gave him hints of you. Right at his feet was an old copy of Persuasion. Upon first glance, he could tell it was slightly old and well-read. The corners of the paper-back were a little furled, the spine was severely creased, and the pages had started to yellow. Picking it up, he opened it to see his own handwriting on the title page. 

Could I persuade you to go out with me? - JT

Jason couldn’t help but cringe. He was going to put the book down before something slipped out from the pages. A picture of the two of you fell onto the pillow on his lap. It was a homecoming photo. In it, he was wearing a black tux that Alfred had tailored for him and you were in a sparkly blue dress. The smile the two of you had was bright and sweet, and Jason remembered you quietly urging him to kiss him. He could remember that from under the bleachers, he could still hear the sound of music and his heart thumping in his chest. When you leaned in to kiss him, Jason felt his hands shake slightly from the nerves. 

“Wasn’t I a cute kid?” Your voice cut through the memory. He looked up at you before nodding in agreement. 

“Who’s…uh, who’s the kid? He looks familiar,” Jason asked as he handed you the picture and book. 

You took it with a smile, admiring the photo before putting it back into the book and shoving it on the shelf. “That’s my first boyfriend. He’s a Wayne kid which might be why he looks familiar. His paper was in the newspaper for a minute after he died.” 

Jason was a little hurt by the way you talked about him like he was some indifferent topic in a long conversation. It reminded him that, to the people he once knew, he was gone. Jason knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less, and had told himself a million times that you weren’t going to be stuck over some little high school romance. Life would move on after his ended, but he didn’t want to be an offhand comment or little article.

Jason suddenly needed to move and picked up some of the books on the floor. “Where do you want them?”

“Um, romance books are going on the second shelf and history books on the third,” You said as you slid another book in place. As Jason put up the books, you asked, “What’s your favorite book?”

“I know some assholes might say it's girly, but I like Pride and Prejudice,” Jason admitted. “It was the first book I picked up at the local library. How about you?”

You smiled before tapping the rough spine of Persuasion. “Looks like we both got a taste for romance.” Jason’s heart fluttered and he smiled at you. 

Maybe the half-agony and half-hope hadn’t been something only he had felt.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Could I pls get a part two of “the encounter”? I really enjoyed reading it and I love their dynamic. Even though they just met 🤭. They truly are made for each other. Then Bucky’s last line you hit me with!! Oooh that got me.😫

The Encounter - Part 2

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Fingering. Metal arm kink. Choking, momentarily.

The first thing Bucky noticed was warmth.

Not the kind that came from sunlight streaming through the window, though that was beginning to peek through the curtains. No, this was something softer, cozier, and undeniably human.

It took him a second to fully wake, his senses slowly coming online. That’s when he realized he wasn’t alone. Y/N was curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, one hand lightly fisted in his henley, like even in sleep, she didn’t want to let go.

He blinked down at her, his metal arm tucked protectively around her shoulders while his other hand rested near her waist. He didn’t remember falling asleep like this, but he wasn’t complaining.

Her steady breaths were the only sound in the room, and for a moment, Bucky just stared. The way her hair fell messily across her face, the faint curve of her lips, the way she seemed so completely at ease despite who he was, what he carried.

It was surreal, but in the best way.

She stirred slightly, her brow furrowing before her eyes fluttered open. It took her a second to orient herself, and when she looked up at him, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," he replied softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N blinked a few more times, her gaze darting to where her hand still gripped his shirt. "Guess I wasn’t kidding about not letting you be alone."

He chuckled quietly, his chest vibrating beneath her cheek. "I didn’t mind."

They stayed like that for another moment, the morning light casting a soft glow around them. But eventually, she pulled herself upright, stretching as she sat back on the bed.

"I should make some coffee," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"Coffee sounds good," Bucky replied, though he made no move to get up, his gaze following her as she rose from the couch.

Y/N padded toward the kitchen, barefoot and still wearing the oversized t-shirt she’d changed into the night before. Her hair was a mess, and she looked half-asleep, but to Bucky, she was mesmerizing.

He got up and followed her, leaning against the doorway as she busied herself with pulling out a coffee pot and rummaging through cabinets.

"You just gonna stand there and watch?" she teased, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Maybe," he said, his lips twitching into a small smirk.

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed amused by his puppy-dog attention.

"Do you want anything to eat?" she asked, setting the coffee to brew.

"You don’t have to—"

"That’s not what I asked, James," she interrupted, turning to face him with a raised brow.

His mouth opened, then closed. There it was again—that no-nonsense attitude he was quickly coming to appreciate.

"Okay," he relented, lifting his hands slightly in mock surrender. "What’s on the menu, Doll?"

"Hmm," she hummed, tapping her chin dramatically as she turned back to the fridge. "How do you feel about eggs and toast? Simple, but effective."

"Sounds perfect," he said, his voice soft but sincere.

As she moved around the kitchen, Bucky couldn’t help but watch her with a kind of quiet awe. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just cracking eggs, buttering toast, pouring coffee. But there was something about the way she moved, the ease with which she took care of things, that left him feeling… grounded.

"Is this weird for you?" she asked suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression curious but not unkind. "Being here. Letting someone… take care of you, even if it’s just breakfast."

He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edge of the counter. "A little," he admitted.

Her gaze softened, and she turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs with a practiced hand. "Well, get used to it," she said lightly, though there was an undercurrent of meaning in her words.

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his chest felt a little tighter, a little warmer.

By the time she placed a plate in front of him at the small kitchen table, he couldn’t hide the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

"Thanks, Doll," he said, looking up at her.

"Anytime, hun," she replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

They ate in companionable silence, the kind that felt natural and easy. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could have something like this. Something simple. Something good.

As they sat finishing their breakfast, the soft clink of forks on plates and the warmth of the coffee filling the quiet, Y/N found her eyes drifting. She hadn’t really thought much about it before—hadn’t wanted to make him feel awkward, or worse, judged—but now, in the gentle light of her kitchen, she couldn’t help her curiosity.

Her gaze fell to his left arm, the metal glinting faintly in the sunlight filtering through the window. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t noticed it before, of course. But the night had been so easy, so natural, that bringing it up then would have felt… wrong.

She tapped her fingers on her coffee cup, weighing her words carefully. "Hey, Bucky?"

He looked up from his plate, his face softening at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, Doll?"

She hesitated for a second, her fingers fidgeting with the handle of her mug. "I’ve been meaning to ask… about your arm."

Bucky froze ever so slightly, his fork hovering midair. For a moment, she thought she’d made a mistake, that she’d crossed a line she shouldn’t have.

"I mean," she added quickly, trying to smooth over the moment, "it doesn’t bother me. At all. I just—well, you don’t see something like that every day, you know? And last night, I didn’t even think about it, because… I guess it just felt like it didn’t matter. But now, seeing it in the daylight..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "I’m just curious. If you’re okay with talking about it, that is."

Bucky finally set his fork down and leaned back slightly in his chair. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable. She started to feel a prickle of nerves crawl up her spine, but before she could say anything else, he let out a soft breath, one that sounded almost relieved.

"You’re not scared of it," he said quietly, almost like he was stating a fact he hadn’t quite wrapped his head around yet.

"No," she said firmly. "Why would I be?"

That seemed to throw him for a loop. He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Most people… they look at it and see a weapon. Or a reminder of… bad things."

Y/N tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made his stomach flip. "I don’t see it like that," she said after a moment. "I see something that’s part of you. And last I checked, you’re not a bad person, Barnes."

His lips twitched into a faint, almost bashful smile. It wasn’t often someone spoke to him like that—like he wasn’t a walking list of regrets and sins.

"It’s not something I think about much when I’m around you," he admitted, his voice softer now. "That’s… unusual for me. I guess I forgot it was even there."

"Forgot, huh?" She smirked, leaning forward slightly, her chin resting on her hand. "I must be pretty distracting, then."

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You’ve got no idea, Kitten."

They both laughed softly, the tension in the room dissolving. But Y/N wasn’t ready to let the conversation drop entirely.

"So," she said, her tone gentle but curious, "how did it… happen? I mean, if it’s okay to ask."

Bucky’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a faraway look in his eyes. He hesitated, the fingers of his right hand brushing lightly over the edge of the table. "It’s… complicated. I lost my serving in a war. A mission gone wrong. And then… stuff happened." He wasn’t in any rush to elaborate that it happened to be World War 2…

Y/N nodded slowly, her expression open but careful not to push.

"They gave me this," he continued, gesturing to the arm. "Made me… stronger. More useful to them." The bitterness in his tone was sharp, but he softened it quickly, glancing at her. "But it’s not theirs anymore. It’s mine."

"Damn right it is," she said without missing a beat.

That made him smile again, a real one this time. "You’ve got a way of making things easy, you know that?"

"I like to think so," she said with a wink.

For a moment, they just sat there, a quiet understanding passing between them. Bucky wasn’t used to this—someone seeing all of him, scars and all, and not flinching. But with Y/N, it felt… easy. Natural.

"I think it’s kind of badass, actually," she said, breaking the silence.

His brow arched, a teasing glint in his eye. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "Not to mention useful. I mean, I bet you could open a pickle jar like nobody’s business."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "You’re something else, Doll."

"And don’t you forget it," she shot back, her grin widening.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like maybe, just maybe, he could let someone in. And Y/N? She made it feel like the easiest thing in the world.

"You know," she began, her voice playful, "there are definitely some perks to having an arm like that.."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Is that so, doll?"

Y/N felt a flush rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. "Well, yeah," she said, her voice a little softer now. "Last night, when you held me—it was just so… different. And not just because of the arm. You know, it's like… it's not something you expect to feel, someone so strong, so capable of… everything, holding you like that."

Bucky’s gaze grew more focused, his eyes searching hers. He knew what she was referring to, the way his metal fingers had traced over her skin, the way he’d held her so gently it was as if she might shatter. He’d felt it too, the way she’d melded into him, trusting him with every inch of her.

——-smut——-smut———smut——-smut——-smut——-smut———

"What would it feel like?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Inside of me, I mean."

Bucky's eyes darkened, the question hanging heavy in the air. He knew what she was referring to, the curiosity in her voice unmistakable. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It's… it's not something I would know," he said, his voice thick with restrained emotion. "I’ve never…uh, used it for that before."

Y/N blinked, surprised by his admission. She'd always assumed that with his past, there would have been someone who'd shown interest in the novelty of his enhanced body. "Oh," she said softly, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

Bucky's eyes searched hers, and she saw a flicker of something—desire, maybe, or hope—before he spoke again. "No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, Doll," he said, his voice low and gruff. "If anything, you made me realize how much I want to find out."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. "You mean…?"

He nodded slowly, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. "I’ve never had the chance to explore that part of myself, not really. Not like this. But with you, it feels right. Like we could figure it out together."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, a feeling of acceptance and excitement. "Okay," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "We can take it slow."

Bucky squeezed back, his grip firm but gentle. "I'd like that."

They finished their breakfast in comfortable silence, the air between them charged with possibility. After they cleared the dishes, Bucky offered to help with the chores around the house. Y/N watched him move, the metal arm performing simple tasks with surprising grace. It was fascinating to her, the way it blended so seamlessly into his everyday movements.

As they worked side by side, she found herself watching his reflection in the kitchen window, the way the light played off the arm's surface. She felt a strange thrill, knowing that soon she'd be the one touching it, exploring it. The thought made her pulse quicken, a thrill of anticipation mingling with a gentle warmth that spread through her body.

They moved into the living room, the sun casting patterns on the floor through the half-closed blinds. Bucky paused, setting down the book he’d been dusting, and turned to her. "You know, I’ve been thinking," he said, his voice gruff but steady.

Y/N looked up from the couch cushion she’d been fluffing, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "What about?"

He took a step closer, his boots soundless on the hardwood. "How about now?" He held out his metal hand to her, the digits flexing slightly. "We can start with this, if you want."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she took his hand, her skin cool against the metal. She felt the faint hum of the machinery within, the pulse of power beneath the surface. It was alien and fascinating, but it was also just Bucky. The man she’d grown to care for, whose past she knew in broad strokes but whose present was painted in vibrant detail by the moments they shared together.

"Okay," she said, her voice shaky. "Show me."

Bucky led her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. His flesh-and-blood hand cradled her face, while the metal one rested lightly on her waist. He kissed her, slow and tender, as if reassuring them both that this was just another part of their relationship.

Y/N felt her nerves melt away as she kissed him back, her hand moving to cover the metal on her waist. She slid it up, feeling the contours of his arm, the coldness of the metal against the heat of her skin. Her thumb traced the seam where metal met flesh, and she gasped when she felt his arm tense beneath her touch.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice breathless.

"No," he murmured, his eyes closed. "It feels… good."

Encouraged, she continued her exploration, her hand sliding under his shirt to the bare skin of his shoulder. His breath hitched as she touched the spot where the metal ended and he began again.

"I want to see it," she whispered against his lips.

Bucky pulled away, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he reached back and tugged his shirt over his head, revealing the full extent of his mechanical arm. It was a work of art, a testament to the twisted science that had made him into a weapon.

Her gaze took in the intricate indentations, the gleaming metal, the stark contrast to his muscled torso. She reached out, her fingertips tracing the lines of his arm, feeling the power that lay dormant within.

"It's beautiful," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Bucky's eyes searched hers, surprised by her words. "It's not what you'd call conventional beauty," he said, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

"It's not the arm that makes it beautiful," Y/N said, her voice earnest. "It's you. It's the strength you carry, the life you've lived, and the fact that you're willing to share that with me."

He swallowed hard, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions—gratitude, hope, and something else, something he hadn't felt in a very long time: a sense of belonging.

He leaned into her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, despite—or perhaps because of—his imperfections. His metal hand found the hem of her shirt, sliding it up gently. The coolness of his touch sent shivers down her spine as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp.

Y/N’s heart raced as she felt his hand caress her bare shoulder. It was an alien sensation, but it was also James—his touch, his care, his need. She leaned back into him, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed along her collarbone.

His metal hand was gentle, surprisingly so. It was as if he’d been made to handle the most delicate of things—like her heart. It was a stark contrast to the power she knew he could unleash, and that was what made it all the more intimate.

"You’re sure?" she breathed, her voice a soft whisper.

"More than I’ve ever been about anything," Bucky replied, his voice a gruff rumble against her skin.

With a tremble of excitement, she reached down and took his metal hand in hers, guiding it up to her chest. The coldness of the metal sent a shiver through her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she held his hand there, pressing it against her, feeling his heartbeat sync with hers.

As they kissed, Bucky’s metal fingers began to explore, tracing the curves of her body with a precision that sent a thrill through her. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he was learning the map of her by heart. Y/N's breath hitched when his thumb brushed against her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, the coolness of the metal sending a jolt of sensation through her.

With a soft groan, Bucky’s hand grew bolder, his metal digits curling around the softness of her breast. He applied just enough pressure to make her back arch, her head falling forward against his shoulder as she gasped into his mouth. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt—cool and firm, yet tender in a way that seemed almost impossible. Her skin grew hot against the metal, a stark contrast to the chill it emanated, and she could feel the heat of his arousal pressing into her through their clothes.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as they searched hers for approval. She nodded, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants, and he took the cue to continue. His thumb flicked over her nipple, sending a wave of pleasure through her that made her tense up. She felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down her spine, the metal now a delightful source of arousal rather than a curiosity.

Bucky's metal hand slid lower, the coolness of it sending a shiver through her as it reached the waistband of her panties. He paused, giving her one last chance to object, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him, her breath hitching as she felt his metal fingers skim the sensitive skin of her stomach.

Her heart pounded in her chest as he hooked his thumb under the elastic, his touch feather-light. The anticipation was agonizing, a delicious torment that had her squirming against him. Then, with a sudden, bold move, he slid his thumb over the fabric softly, catching her clit.

Y/N’s eyes flew open, her gasp echoing in the quiet room. Bucky watched her face, his own expression intense, as he applied gentle, rhythmic pressure, his metal digit moving in perfect harmony with her body's response. She felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her core, her muscles tightening around his touch.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his voice strained.

Her only answer was a nod, her eyes never leaving his. She was lost in the sensation, the coldness of the metal a shock against her heated flesh. It was as if every nerve ending in her body had been set alight, and she could feel herself growing wetter with every pass of his thumb.

His human hand began to unbutton her shirt, his movements deliberate and precise, as if he was unwrapping a present he’d been longing for. His eyes never left hers, the connection between them a tangible force that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. She shivered as the cool air hit her skin, and his eyes darkened further, a low growl escaping him as he took in the sight of her exposed breasts.

The metal hand slid down further, slipping under the fabric of her panties, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. He touched her with the same tenderness he’d shown her heart, his fingers exploring the slickness that had gathered between her legs.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes dark with both intrigue and need. Lasts nights adventure was so fast that he hadn’t had time to properly revere her body like this.

Y/N nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into his touch. His metal thumb circled her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her core, while his flesh and bone fingers teased her entrance.

"Look at me," Bucky instructed, his voice thick with desire.

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his. The intensity of his gaze was like nothing she’d ever experienced—like he was peering into the very depths of her soul. She felt a shiver of vulnerability, but also something else—an empowering thrill at the thought of being the one to stir such raw need within him.

Bucky watched her, his metal thumb slowing its movements as he slid a finger, the one next to it, into her. The coldness of the metal was jolting, but the way he stretched and filled her was everything she’d been craving. She moaned, the sound a soft symphony of pleasure that had him biting his bottom lip to keep from groaning himself.

"Does it feel different?" she asked, her voice breathless.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yeah," he said, his voice strained. "You’re hot..and tight.."

His metal thumb began to move in a slow, deliberate circle again, while his flesh finger dipped in and out of her, the combination of cold and warm driving her wild. She felt herself getting wetter, her body responding eagerly to his unyielding attention. His eyes never left hers, the connection between them growing stronger with every touch, every shared breath.

The metal digits slid through her slickness, the coldness sending a jolt of sensation that made her toes curl. She felt a strange thrill at the thought of him being fascinated by her body, her reactions. It was as if she’d given him a piece of her that no one else had ever seen.

"It's… incredible," he murmured, watching her face as he played with her arousal. "You’re so responsive."

Y/N could only whimper, her eyes never leaving his.

His fascination was intoxicating, making her feel more alive than she’d ever felt before. With every stroke of his metal thumb, she felt herself getting closer to the edge, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He slid another finger into her, the coldness of the metal sending a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature. Y/N’s hips rolled into his touch, her eyes never leaving his as she watched the raw desire play out across his features. And when he finally slipped his thumb into her mouth, the taste of metal mingling with her own arousal, she knew she was lost.

Bucky groaned as he felt her warmth tighten around his digits, the wetness coating his hand as he worked her closer to climax. His own arousal grew, his human hand clenching the couch cushion beside her, his metal one never still against her skin.

But he didn't want it to end yet.

With a deliberate slowness that was almost cruel, he withdrew his metal thumb from her clit, watching the disappointment flicker in her eyes. "Patience, Doll," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered, "I want to hear it."

Y/N's eyes widened, understanding dawning. He slid his metal fingers into her, deeper but slower this time, and she gripped the couch cushion in response. The coldness of the metal was a stark contrast to the heat of her body, but it was a delicious dissonance that only served to drive her desire higher.

He began to move in earnest, his hand a silent symphony of pleasure.

The sound of his metal fingers sliding in and out of her filled the room, a wet, slick sound that was somehow erotic and intimate. Each stroke was measured, deliberate, as if he was conducting an orchestra of desire.

Y/N’s moans grew louder, her hips moving in time with his hand. She could feel the pressure building, her body coiling tighter and tighter around the cold steel. She’d never been so acutely aware of the sounds her body made during intimacy, but with Bucky’s metal hand inside her, it was all she could focus on.

Bucky watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth parted on a silent scream. His own arousal grew, his cock straining against his pants. He curled his metal fingers slowly, feeling the way her walls tightened around him. It was a dance, a delicate interplay of sensation that had them both on the edge.

The sensation of his metal digits hitting that spot inside her was like nothing she’d ever felt before—a jolt of cold pleasure that sent her spiraling closer to the brink. Y/N’s nails dug into the fabric of the couch, her hips bucking against his hand.

"James..," she moaned, his name a prayer on her lips. "Don’t stop."

He wouldn’t have for the world. The way she responded to him, the way she trusted him with every part of herself, was a heady feeling. His metal fingers curled slowly, the coldness of the steel a stark contrast to the heat of her core. The way she gasped at the sudden intrusion sent a bolt of electricity through his own body, and he watched with rapt attention as her pupils dilated and her breathing grew more ragged.

He could feel her tightening around him, the way her body was begging for release. He swiped his thumb over her clit again, the slickness of her arousal mixing with the metal. It was a sensation he’d never felt before, but it was one he craved more of—the power to bring her pleasure, to be the one she leaned on, the one who knew her body better than anyone else.

Y/N’s eyes flew open, her pupils blown wide as she stared at him, her breath coming in short gasps. "James," she breathed, his name a plea.

He took that as all the permission he needed. His human hand slid up her body, his thumb brushing over her nipple, teasing it to a peak. He watched the way her eyes rolled back, the way she moaned his name. And with his metal hand, he curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made her entire body shudder.

The sensation was exquisite, a blend of cold steel and warm, yielding flesh that sent her spiraling. It was as if he’d found a secret button that no one else had ever touched, and he was playing it like a maestro. She could feel her orgasm building, a crescendo that seemed to echo in the very air around them.

Her breath grew more ragged, her moans more desperate as he continued his relentless assault. The coldness of the metal was a stark contrast to the heat of her desire, the frigid digits sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. She felt the first tremors of release begin to build in her belly, tightening her muscles around his hand.

And then, without warning, Bucky’s human hand shot up to wrap around her throat, his thumb pressing gently against the pulse point. It was a move so sudden, so instinctual, that she didn’t have time to react. His metal hand stilled within her, the sudden pressure from his human hand sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins that only heightened the sensation.

Her eyes went wide with shock and pleasure, her breath hitching as he began to apply a gentle squeeze. It wasn’t enough to cut off her air—just enough to make her feel the power in his grasp, the control he had over her body. Y/N’s pulse raced under his thumb, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared up at him.

The look in his eyes was intense, almost feral—a predator claiming his prey. But she didn’t feel afraid; she felt safe. This was James, her James, who’d been nothing but gentle and caring since they’d met. And now, as he held her in this delicate balance between pleasure and pain, she felt a thrill of excitement that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Y/N reached up and grabbed his wrist, not to fight him, but to hold him there.

She wanted this, needed this.

His grip tightened slightly, a question in his gaze, and she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You’re sure?"

Her only answer was a whimper of pleasure, her body arching into his touch. The pressure was just enough to make her feel deliciously vulnerable, to remind her that she was his, that he was in charge. And with that, she felt the last of her inhibitions melt away.

Bucky’s metal fingers began to move again, his human hand keeping her firmly in place. The rhythm grew faster, the pressure building until she was a quivering mess of nerves and need. She could feel her orgasm approaching, the tight coil in her belly unfurling like a snake ready to strike.

And then, it hit her. Her body convulsed around his hand, her legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through her. She threw her head back, her eyes screwed shut, as she moaned his name, the sound echoing through the room. The coldness of the metal against her sensitive skin only heightened the sensation, making her climax more intense than she’d ever felt before.

Bucky watched her, his gaze dark with desire as he felt her body shudder with release. He didn’t stop, though—his human hand kept its firm grip on her neck, his metal hand still moving within her, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure. It was as if he was worshipping her, claiming every inch of her with his touch.

And when she finally went limp against him, her breathing ragged and her heart racing, he pulled away slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. The metal hand retreated, the coldness leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her neck. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice filled with concern.

Y/N nodded, her eyes still closed. "More than okay," she breathed. "That was…" She couldn’t find the words to describe it.

He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and rough with his own desire. "You’re incredible, Kitten."

They sat there for a moment, the quiet of the room the only sound between them. Y/N felt boneless, her body still humming with pleasure. And she knew, in that moment, that she’d never felt more alive.

"Thank you," she whispered finally.

Bucky’s arms tightened around her. "For what, Doll?"

"For showing me," she said, her voice still shaky. "For letting me in."

He kissed her hair. "You’ve been in, Doll," he said.

They sat there for a while longer, basking in the afterglow of their shared intimacy. It was a moment of pure connection, a bond that went beyond mere words.

——————————————————————————————————

I hope this lived up to the first part, hun! 🫶⭐️

Requests Open!

[princessniquane]

HIM (Yunho's POV)

Yunho/reader

Tags: librarian!Yunho, pining, bad flirting, mention of stalker!Seonghwa, supportive friend Mingi, a bit of angst

There she is again

“Gosh she’s so pretty,” Yunho says as he watches you walk inside the library. 

“Why don’t you ask them out?” Mingi suggests.

“I can’t,” he says.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. What if I’m not their type?”

Mingi laughs at his best friend. “Are you crazy! Of course you’re their type! You’re everybody’s type Yunho! Come on man.”

Yunho sighs. Grabbing the overdue books and taking them to the back. He contemplates on how he should ask them out. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to ask you out but he is.

He knows how kind and caring you are from the little interactions you both had. He goes to your coffee shop every morning for breakfast and he knows you volunteer from one of his friends, who also volunteers at the same hospital.

He can’t really describe it, but he just likes you and wants to get to know you. He doesn’t want to be weird about it, but he’s also freaking out! He’s never felt like this before, always so confident in making friends. Is it because he wants to be more than just friends? 

He pouts. As he goes outside to get some fresh air, he sees you outside helping someone who is rubbing their nose. Yea he must have hit his nose on the glass door, he wouldn’t be the first or last person to do it. Actually it was Yunho himself that was the first to hit their nose on the shiny glass door of the library.

Just thinking about it makes him rub his nose at the memory. Yunho looks at the guy’s face and gives him a knowing but sympathetic smile as he walks in, face all red. Yunho turns to walk outside to you but you’re already gone. Damnit, next time.

It’s been a few weeks since you last came into the library and Yunho was getting antsy. Yes of course he still saw you in the morning but you’re always swamped with customers. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or pressured to answer him when you weren’t really thinking about it.

He would never do that to you. People who do that should be ashamed of themselves to do that to another person. Yunho wants to be a gentleman and give you a chance to well, think about it and give him a chance.

His best friend, Mingi, has been really there for him when he feels like just giving up. He’s seen you come in one time but he couldn’t get a chance to talk with you and that just put him in an even sulkier mood. 

One morning, Yunho wakes up late and couldn’t get breakfast or, most importantly, see your face. It was just a terrible feeling but Yunho just sucked it up and put a smile on his face. Once it’s time for a break, he gets a surprise. Not from his best friend Mingi nor his other friends but you.

You smile that beautiful smile at him and it just takes away the horrible morning he had away. His day is so much better, even more so, you brought him lunch.

“Um hi Yunho. I didn’t see you during the morning rush and wondered if you had any time to eat. Sorry if this is weird, I just.”

“Oh no no! Not weird at all! I really appreciate this. I haven’t eaten this morning so, thank you, you’re an angel for this. I mean not that you’re not always angel I just mean…..thank you,” he smiles looking away and rubbing the back of his head.

You chuckle quietly. “Cute.”

“What?” He asks shocked.

“Um…I-It’s nothing sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Thank you again for this I um….ok so….I’ve been meaning to tell you, well ask you for weeks but would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh um…”

“This is not because you brought me food, I’m very grateful for it but, I always wanted to ask you out but I wasn’t sure….if you would say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Like it’s totally fine if you say- wait what?”

“I said yes. I would like to go on a date with you,” you smile up at him.

Yunho can’t believe it. His eyes widen in excitement before his brain can comprehend what is happening. While Yunho gapes at you, you grab a piece of paper and write your name and phone number, handing it to him. He takes it and does the same giving you his number. 

“I’ll be waiting for you call,” you say to him and leave the library. He just nods his head in disbelief. Yunho looks around him because he can’t believe he just asked you out, finally.

He laughs and starts to go to the office to tell Mingi but something catches his eye. It was the same guy from before but he’s….glaring at Yunho. If looks could kill, Yunho would be in a pool of his own blood right now. A shiver goes down his spine but he ignores it and goes tell Mingi the good news.

A/N: Might make this a lil series idk, let me knwo if yall want more, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Part 1

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Chikage Utsuki SSR: BE.MINE ver.CHIKAGE - Part 2

requested by taruchikas, who also provided the raws for the story! thank you!

Chikage: I’m home—

Citron: How about this route?

Itaru: We’d probably avoid the traffic jams in the city like this.

Sakuya: What should we do about lunch?

Tsuzuru: How about…

Chikage: (I’ve got a bad feeling about this…)

Chikage: You look like you’re having fun.

Tsuzuru: Oh, Chikage-san. Welcome back.

Chikage: What are you all hunched over there for?

Sakuya: We’re making plans for a drive.

Citron: You will be clearing your schedule too, Chikage.

Chikage: I’m being forced into this, I see.

Itaru: Can’t do without you.

Tsuzuru: If anything, you’ll be the star of the show.

Chikage: Meaning?

Itaru: We heard from the Director that your situation prompt for the magazine is a drive date.

Chikage: Figured that’s what’s going on…

Chikage: I drive pretty often anyway, I don’t think there’s a need for me to go out of my way to prepare.

Citron: Non, non! Simply driving and driving with someone else on board are completely different!

Tsuzuru: Citron-san’s saying something that makes sense for once.

Masumi: … This is weird.

Sakuya: It was cool!

Itaru: So, if you would.

Chikage: … I got it. It's important to make some time for family, after all.

-

Izumi: There are drinks and snacks in here.

Chikage: Thanks.

Izumi: I don’t think I have any reason to worry, but please drive safely.

Chikage: Of course. Well then…

Citron: I will be in the passenger seat today.

Chikage: ? Sure…

Citron: Off we go!

-

Chikage: Let me know if you want to stop by a convenience store or something. For music—

Citron: Ah~ I’m so glad the weather is nice today, Chi-kun ♪

Chikage: Chi…

Tsuzuru: Chi-kun!?

Itaru: “Chi-kun” is crazy. I think I’m gonna die.

Citron: The weather is fire and I’m sooo geeked~★ Chi-kunnn, I’ll be counting on you to drive sa-fe-ly ♪

Sakuya: Are you playing the girlfriend…?

Itaru: And a gyaru. I think.

Tsuzuru: The slang’s a little outdated though…

Masumi: … The light is gone from Chikage’s eyes.

Chikage: …

Tsuzuru: B-But it’ll be good practice for the magazine…?

Itaru: And it’ll help with Citron’s future female roles.

Chikage: … *sigh* Alright.

Chikage: But, I don’t want to hear any complaints if my driving gets weird.

Itaru: Remind me why we're risking our life for this…

Citron: Playing the girlfriend is fun! You should all try it too.

Tsuzuru: Uhhh…

Sakuya: It’d be good to try out all kinds of situations!

Itaru: We’ll all take turns playing the girlfriend whenever we stop in a service area or convenience store, then.

Chikage: That’d be helpful in many ways.

Sakuya: We’ll do our best!

Chikage: … I think I’m going to get something to keep me awake, just in case. Can we stop by that store?

Citron: My shift ended fast!

-

Sakuya: Ummm…

Sakuya: Chi—…

Chikage: You can just call me the way you usually do, Sakuya.

Citron: Did you hate it that much?

Itaru: I’ll be remembering it and rolling on the floor, at least.

Masumi: I’m gonna be sick.

-

Tsuzuru: …

Chikage: …

Citron: He can’t practice if you don’t speak, Tsuzuru!

Itaru: ^ This. You need to say something.

Tsuzuru: U-Uhhh…

Tsuzuru: A-Aren’t you tired~?

Chikage: You don’t need to force yourself so much. Could you hand me my coffee?

Tsuzuru: ‘Kay!

Tsuzuru: Wait, I’m supposed to be helping you…!

-

Masumi: …

Chikage: …

Citron: There’s too much silence again!

Itaru: Masumi, just think of this as rehearsal with Director-san.

Masumi: With the Director…

Masumi: …

Masumi: … *sigh* I can’t. You’re too cute.

Chikage: … Just what thoughts are going through your head?

-

Itaru: Okay, lemme show you all how it’s done.

Chikage: No need to get so into this.

Itaru: Utsuki-san, should I play some music? Or are you more of a radio person?

Chikage: I suppose I prefer the radio. We can also get information about traffic jams like this.

Itaru: Me too~

Itaru: *Yawn*…

Citron: Oh, how flirty.

Itaru: No, that was for real…

Chikage: Are you sleepy? You can go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.

Itaru: I’m being put to bed.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

[stupidyellowstoneshitposts]

I'm obsessed with the scene in Yellowstone where Jamie goes to the coffee shop, and they offer him all the fancy lattes, and he's all confused, like IDK I just want coffee flavor

[sysig]

Leftovers gone bad (Patreon)