#Not panicking or anything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :>

[prlssprfctn]

Kinda obsessed with headcanon, where Damian and Jason just randomly (out of nowhere, completely unprompted) start to referring to their shared past in the League in the middle of the family conversations, while everyone just stare at them in concern

Like

Jason, staring at Dick, trying to put Tim's shoulder back: huh, do you remember that one time-

Damian, instantly: when grandfather's shoulder relocated by itself, but instead of properly putting in on its place, he killed himself and mother threw him in the Lazarus Pit?

Jason, cackling: it was hilarious

Damian, no less amused: right?

Bruce, sitting behind them: (concerned sips of tea)

Or, it is not necessarily funny, but it just cute (or sad) details, regarding each other that others are confused about.

Jason, who accidentally fell asleep in the Batcave: (instinctively cards through his hair as he naps)

Tim, teasing: ladies and gentlemen, the criminal lord of the year--

Damian: Drake, bluntly, that's not funny. Back when he was out of the Pit, this was the only thing that could help him to calm down.

Dick, knowing that this is because Bruce constantly stroked Robin!Jason's hair, when he saw nightmares, with eyes full of tears: oh

Jason on the random Friday night, trying to be less awkward about staying with Bruce in one room: actually, Damian's first word was my name

Bruce: really?

Jason: he had, uh, problems with saying his first word. People around him were constantly speaking on both language at the same time, and, I guess, he couldn't figure out what to say. Then, Ra's said that if his heir doesn't get his word in the next two weeks, he will throw him in the Lazarus Pit (as a joke), but I wasn't sure if it was a joke (Talia said later it was), and I panicked, and since Talia wasn't around, I just kept repeating him her name, or just word Mother, but he just, uh, wouldn't say anything - kept blinking and staring at me like a little idiot. And then on a random night, he just grabbed me by the hair, and said, Jason. Food. And he kinda spoke properly since then. Like in full sentences and stuff. I think he just didn't want to speak with us, actually--

Bruce, getting grey hair out of nowhere: RA'S SAID WHAT--

And sometimes they just speak in Arabic, and Damian keeps bullying Jason that his skills are getting rustier.

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[cryptwrites]

It started as a joke.

A few of us, sitting around a cheap card table in my crumbling apartment, brainstorming ways to pay rent without actually working. The scam was simple: create a fake religion, prey on the gullible, and rake in some easy cash.

We called it The Order of Cythra, a name pulled out of thin air by my roommate, Toby, who thought it sounded “cryptic and legit.” We scribbled down some nonsense about Cythra being the god of renewal and hidden wisdom, created a website, and bought some dollar-store candles for the “rituals.”

At first, it was harmless fun. A few Reddit posts here, some vague TikToks there, and suddenly we had people donating. Not much—just twenty bucks here and there—but enough to cover bills and groceries.

Then things got... strange.

It started with the emails. Testimonials flooded our inbox from people claiming Cythra had spoken to them in dreams. A woman wrote about how her chronic migraines disappeared after chanting one of our made-up prayers. Another claimed their barren garden had suddenly burst into bloom.

We laughed it off at first. Toby even joked that we should hire a PR agent.

But then the dreams started.

It was always the same. I stood in a vast, desolate wasteland beneath a broiling, blood-red sky. A towering figure loomed in the distance, its body shifting between forms—human, deer, shadow. Its voice echoed in my head, not in words, but in feelings: hunger, anger, and something worse.

One night, I woke up to find the word Cythra carved into my arm, not by my own hand but by something else. I confronted Toby and the others, but their faces were pale. They were worried, like I had done something to them.

We tried to shut it down. Deleted the website, pulled down the TikToks, and stopped all donations. But the followers didn’t go away. If anything, they grew more fervent. They showed up at my apartment, chanting in unison, their eyes glassy and strange. They called me High Priest.

Then the first miracle happened.

One of the followers, a man in his sixties, collapsed on my doorstep during one of their late-night vigils. His heart had stopped. I panicked and reached out to him instinctively, yelling for someone to call 911. The moment my hand touched his chest, I felt a searing heat shoot through my arm. His body jolted, and his eyes snapped open.

The followers fell to their knees.

I slammed the door, trembling, my palm still burning. When I looked, there was a black symbol etched into my skin—a sigil I’d never seen before but somehow understood.

Cythra was real.

The days that followed were a blur. The followers proclaimed me as their leader, and no matter how much I tried to resist, they wouldn’t leave me alone. More people came to me for healing, and each time, the sigil on my palm burned brighter. I didn’t know what I was doing, but it always worked. Broken bones knit together. Tumors withered away. One woman even claimed her blind son could see again.

But with every miracle, I felt a piece of myself slipping away.

The dreams became more vivid. Cythra spoke now, its voice a low rumble that made my teeth ache. It demanded more worshippers, more faith, more sacrifices.

One night, I woke to find Toby standing over my bed, a knife in his hand and a vacant look in his eyes. He muttered something about “offering blood to Cythra.” I fought him off, but he slit his own throat before I could stop him. The followers found his body the next morning and cheered.

They said his death would “bring Cythra fully into our world.”

I tried to run. Packed a bag and fled to the nearest bus station. But as soon as I stepped outside, I saw them— hundreds of followers, all chanting in unison, their faces lit by the flickering of candles. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur.

The ground beneath their feet began to crack.

The last thing I remember before everything went black was the sky splitting open, and a monstrous, shifting form descending from the heavens.

Now I sit on a blackened throne in a temple I never built, my body barely my own. The sigil on my palm has spread, covering my arms, chest, and face. I can no longer close my eyes without seeing its form, nor speak without its words spilling from my mouth like black, molded bile.

I am the High Priest of Cythra, a forgotten god reborn through my foolishness.

And I know, deep down, that when it is finished with this world, it will consume me too.

You started a scam religion for a quick buck. You begin to panic when your fake god was actually a real forgotten one awakened from new worshippers, declared you it's high priest, and granted you the power of healing.

[raerae2727]

When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader

You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize

Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo

GN! Reader, established relationship

Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Ace

He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.

“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?

“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.

He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”

“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”

Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”

Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”

Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”

He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Kid

Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.

“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”

The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.

“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.

You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”

Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”

“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.

“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.

“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”

Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.

“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Law

Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.

You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.

“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”

When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.

“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”

He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.

You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”

“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Sanji

“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.

“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.

“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.

“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.

“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”

“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.

Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”

“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”

You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.

“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.

You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.

“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.

“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.

Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”

“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Crocodile

It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.

“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”

Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”

“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”

He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”

You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.

Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.

“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.

As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Doflamingo

Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.

“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.

You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”

He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.

“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.

“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.

Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”

“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”

You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.

That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.

“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.

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[alphafratworship]

It didn't take much to get him there did it. The FAGGOT came to me begging for me to give him a bigger dick. Gave me a whole sob story about how he was stuck bottoming with the 1 inchr the universe gave him that he'd do anything to TOP with a REAL COCK . Who am I to deny a FAG's request like that especially with such vague wording.

Bitch was a real Twink if you can imagine, played into the " HOLE " hyper femme stereotype. lean build, bubble butt with slutty clothes just begging for some attention and thinking they're so high and mighty until they were fucked silly by a real man. I have no problems with COCKSUCKERS , a HOLES A HOLE but when they are a whiney little fairy I need them to change.

When I agreed to help him after he begged he immediately got excited, especially when I told him to undress. "The process is simple BRO , I'm going to give you MY DICK , then you'll have more then enough meat to satisfy any bitch you want" his lil DICKLET betrayed his face, I know he didn't want to think of people like bitches, scrunching his face in false superiority as the idea of ​���giving him MORE then he wanted to make him hard.

"No offense to you don't call me BRO , bu..but like I don't think like that, just want a bi..bi.bigger penis to please my boyf.." he stuttered out before I laughed.

"I don't need to know that shit bro, all guys want BIGGER FUCKSTICKS it's normal!" I say slapping him on the shoulder emphasizing fuckstick by thrusting forward a little, getting him hooked on me with each movement.

"So you're just going to like give me your dick, like what about you? And how are...." He began to ask before I cut his whiney ass off. "Listen BOY I have no problem with you having my COCK , I'll be fine no worries and it's easier to just do it then tell ya! You good with that." The eager slut agreed

He only got harder when I adjusted myself before pulling down my pants, my 12 inches of man meat hard as I pictured the transformation this FAG was going to go through. His face flushed and he moaned as I turned him around and pushed him against the sink of the bathroom. He even tried to beg for lube as I pressed my raging cock head against his experienced hole but I just laughed and told him it had to be all natural. Spitting on it as I pushed in easily, his pain turning to pleasure as Alpha spit entered into his system. Warmth filling his body as I thrust in and out.

He tried to grab onto his cock but I shouted not yet, pushing his hands to the sink as I felt his ass take me all the way to the root. Plunging past his prostate and making him wail in pleasure. Once I was all the way in I felt it, the heat filling my member as my bull balls slapped against his smaller nuts. It was starting.

I could look in the mirror, my cocky sneer as I grunted thrusting into him grew wider as I saw him throw his head back, eyes rolling. The warmth turning to heat as inch by inch my cock shrank and his GREW. His moans and his begging first started getting louder, before they started cracking as he proclaimed he could feel it and finally his voice dropped deeper and slower. MORE MANLY. His ass meeting my thrust as pleasured over took rationality, his hole which started off loose became like a vice trying to milk me. It was working.

By the first two inches he'd grown taller, as the testosterone shot him up from his pathetic 5'5 to a modest 6 foot. The next two I watched as his muscles bulged out in his back, up his neck and shoulders, down his arms. His noodle arms became bulging biceps and carved forearms that anyone would fawn over as his back muscles became wide and defined giving his body a Doritos like shape. His body creaking as his moans turned to grunting, a panicked look on his face as his features hardened and he was worried about the transformation.

"N..NOO l.. I don't want...want like big muscles... BRO !" He cried out, his voice cracking before the word BRO forced itself out of his mouth, scaring him more. His body and face changing against his wishes as I kept pumping into him. "What are you talking about BRO , you LOVE MUSCLES , you're a giant MEATHEAD !" A shit eating grin formed on my face as my COCK and Alpha spit hammered my words into him.

"No BROO , not..not... I'm not.. a.. I'm a.. MEATHEAD I like MUSCLES on other.. ME n.. BROS !" his eyes rolling back as he tries to fight my words and pleasure in this losing battle. My cock shrinks another two inches dissolving into him as his body explodes with muscles, his pecs getting plumper, and abs shredded as his face loses the last bit of softness. His hole around my cock TIGHTENS again as his mind starts to give way to my ideas as his life flooded down to his balls inflating them.

"Yeah BRO , you like your muscles DUDE . You're a DUMB , MEATHEAD , who only cares about LIFTIN , GAINS and getting PUSSY !" I emphasize each word with a thrust as I see his face twist in confusion and pleasure. His FUCKSTICK growing bigger as mine shrinks again going down to four inches while his soon to be BABYMAKER hits 9.

"I... I don't like pu... GA...FAGS...im...GAY...FAGS.... BRO I just wanted a big dick what the fuck are you doing to me " He moans his ass thrusting back as his body tries to take the last inches of my cock. Craving it's virile, alpha, straight energy as I grab him by his muscle tits with one hand, the other going down to his cock. His eyes were heavy now his brain filled with images of lifting weights partying, tits and pussy.

"Bro I'm just giving you what you wanted, you wanted a my big dick. I gave you MY big STRAIGHT dick! It just also comes with muscle, a need for partying and 100% straight sexuality!" I laugh as he cries out. The pleasure was erasing who he was and dropping it down to his balls permanently where he cum it all out.

I let the last two inches go as I moaned NO HOMO in his ear, watching as his cock got to a size twelve, his ass so tight mine barely got in his hole. My balls here pent up I was close and so was he I just needed him to do one last thing.

" No...NO HOMO BRO , your..myour cock...sp big dude I can't take it..mneed to get into the frat NO MATTER WHAT! !!" There it was. My new bro didn't know how big I was but his ass thought I was huge still so it quickly made it so (god I loved magic)

When I came from the gigantic growth of my dick in such a tight bussy, bros he launched out a waterfall of cum. Guess that fag lived a big life but it wasn't nearly big enough for him obviously. But now, now it would be.

I mean one look at this studs pussy pounder is all it takes to get them wet

[deathofacupid]

⤷ in which jock!satoru is your highschool boyfriend .ᐟ

jock!satoru who's favorite drink at starbuck's is the pink drink, but he'd rather not let anyone know, so he tells (begs) you to order it for him and take the first sip.

jock!satoru who always lends you his spare jersey before a game, just so you can wear it while he crushes whatever school he's playing against.

jock!satoru who's so incredibly nervous when his coach announces that the upcoming game is what really counts, because the college scouts are gonna be watching.

jock!satoru who's full-blown panicking just before this super-important-college-scout game in the locker room while the rest of his team is already warming up out there.

you, who finds jock!satoru in there, after not seeing him on the field for warm-ups. (you're always there for pre-game warm-ups, too.) you know jock!satoru really well, you know what's going through his mind.

jock!satoru who finally gets ahold of himself as you give him a pep-talk. (or something of one, really. okay, fine, it's a horrible pep-talk, but the sound of your voice is so sweet, he's feeling a lot better. after all, it's the effort that counts, right?)

jock!satoru and you have a very cheesy pre-game ritual, consisting of a very specific high-five/handshake combo, topped of with a kiss.

jock!satoru who ends up doing amazing, all because you were right by his side.

jock!satoru who always finds you in the crowd first, greeting you with a big, sweaty hug (much to your playful disapproval).

jock!satoru who you often have study dates with, just to make sure he's not falling behind. after all, he needs to keep his grades up if he wants to keep playing.

jock!satoru who constantly has girls swooning after him, much to your dismay. he always assures you that he only has eyes for you, but you'd still appreciate it if people had better senses of personal space.

jock!satoru who's a whole new person when he's the one getting jealous. you really don't think he has anything to worry about. either way, it's still funny (and hot) to watch.

jock!satoru who you can lay awake with late at night, talking to him about things you couldn't voice with anyone else. a lot of people think he's dense because he's a jock, but if they could see him then, they'd be proven so wrong. jock!satoru always knows what to say, he has a way with words.

jock!satoru who's your person, and you've never felt more loved.

all banner credits to @anitalenia .ᐟ

[unb1nding-t-b0y]

Literally whenever I state that I'm a man in any way in conversation I deal with anything from panicked looking away (people that act supportive) , eye rolls/ dismissive noises (people that are being micro aggressive) or people have laughed In my face or gotten mad at me for drawing attention to my identity. I'm so sick of it

as a trans man, calling myself a "full-grown man" in front of cis people and watching their reaction is a great litmus test for their attitudes towards transmasculinity

[pomefioredove]

omg i LOVE the concept of cookies as asks so can i have a sugar cookie, #8, with chocolate drizzle and marshmallows thank yeww 🙏

t-t-total idia victory!

order #8, sugar with chocolate drizzle and marshmallows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ internet connection

tropes: ex (mutuals) to lovers, roommate au characters: idia additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

It was the closest experience to dating Idia had ever gotten, and likely the only experience he'd ever get again.

Three months.

Three perfect, blissful months.

That's 13.0357 weeks, 91.2501 days, 2,190 hours of chats, voice calls, and texts with someone he had almost considered his.

He was raising his confidence stats to ask them out when they sent him a message, which would be their last:

"router busted. sry. will get it fixed soon"

That was weeks ago.

Idia couldn't blame them. They were going to get tired of him eventually, and ghosting him, sucky as it was, was still the easiest way to let him down.

Then, at least, he could pretend that they were telling the truth.

"Come on, Idy! This is your chance! You'll never get over them if you never meet anyone else!"

Ortho's cheery, hopeful words twist Idia's stomach with guilt. He knows that. Of course he knows that.

He buries himself deeper into his blankets. "I don't want anyone else,"

"It's only for a few weeks. Maybe you'll make friends!"

Unlikely. Idia doesn't have the social XP for that. Who would want to be friends with him, anyway?

He can't even keep Magicord mutuals.

Then again, he has no other choice.

The Prefect had asked to stay somewhere with a high-speed internet connection while post-S.T.Y.X. Ramshackle was being repaired, and Ortho had volunteered Idia.

And his room.

Ugh. Why can't anything go right for once?

Idia hides under his covers like a small child, drowning the sound of the door and voices in PreMo.

He honestly doesn't know a lot about you. He doesn't get out much, and even if he did, you've always got those OP normie friends around you.

He knows you don't talk much. He's actually never heard you talk at all.

Whatever.

Idia only emerges from his blankets when his ears are ringing from the music and his body is sore from stillness.

He takes off his headphones and reads the room.

There's Ortho, projecting a beam of light on the wall, and there's Grim, chasing it, and there's you.

You seem a little out of place, awkwardly sitting on the floor when there are chairs and tables, your bags still at your sides, unpacked.

Something about you makes him feel at ease. Weird.

"Oh- Idy!" Ortho chimes. Idia jumps, and then everyone is looking at him. Crap.

"We were wondering when you'd come out! The Prefect has a question for you!"

You give Ortho a panicked look, as if to say you most certainly did not have a question for him. Idia has his own suspicions.

"About the Wi-Fi," Ortho chimes. "They really need to get online."

Idia narrows his eyes. His brother can handle something as simple as that.

"...O-okay," he mumbles. "I guess."

He reluctantly gets out of bed and sits beside you. At least with an objective, he isn't so nervous. You hand him your phone, some sad secondhand thing, and he puts in the password for you.

"Lemme know if it's slow. I've been working on upgrading the router, and it's been a little laggy," he hands your phone to you.

"Shouldn't be a problem, though."

You take it. "I can't complain, I don't have a router at all right now,"

Idia's face turns red.

His eyes go wide.

He can't place it, at first. What's that weird feeling? What is it about you-

You notice his expression. "Uh... did I say something?"

And when you speak again, just like that, Idia jumps to his feet.

"IT-IT'S YOU!"

"You?" Grim asks.

"You?" Ortho echoes.

"Me?"

Idia feels like he's losing his mind, his anxiety cracking and breaking away, shock taking its place.

"Y-yes, you! I know that voice! Don't you- you recognize mine too, don't you?!"

Your eyes widen.

"Oh... no... no way,"

"I-I can't believe this!" he says, suddenly grinning. "You weren't lying about the router, it must've got totally busted when S.T.Y.X- oh, crap. IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

"Idy..." Ortho warns. "Your heart rate is-"

"I know! I know, I just- I can't believe it- you, of all people,"

He sits again, shaking. It takes you a moment to catch up.

"I... I wasn't lying," you mumble. "I've been trying to get a decent internet connection since we got back, but..."

"This is the guy?" Grim mumbles to you. He is ignored.

Idia feels lightheaded. This isn't real. This isn't happening. This is some weird dream.

He can't seem to stop grinning, anyway.

"Will you go out with me?!" he asks, without thinking at all. But not even the sinking feeling in his stomach is enough to ground him.

You stare back, your own eyes wide.

And then, in your familiar voice, in your familiar easing presence: "I'd like that,"

[ditzydoe444]

okay so it’s not a really good or specific idea or anything buuuuut… could you please please please do soft dom!jason x bunny!reader? i loved your other bunny!reader😔

btw feel free to ignore this if you don’t like it or anything, love ya🫶🏻

MDNI 18+

soft dom! jason x bunny! reader

jason todd smut

you were horny. so fucking horny. but you never initiated sex, ever. so all you could do was lay in bed with a pout until jason got home, and would hopefully catch the hint. jason had been working in the garage for hours during the past week, where you were left alone in the house with only your fingers shoved up your tight cunt, pretending it was jason’s. after moving in you threw out all of your sex toys, not because jason was against it, but because they came nowhere close to the pleasure jason would give you.

but you didn’t think about how short your fingers were, how they barely gave you anything, god you never regathered throwing out the toys more than now. whilst jason was at work you were sprawled out on the bed, your tiny fingers pumping in and out of cunt. the whines and moans that left your mouth were pathetic, to say the least, god you couldn’t even give yourself an orgasm. hence why you started to dry hump his pillow. there was something about smelling his musky scent that turned you on. the pillow did more than your fingers, you came hard.

the pink floral pillowcases that you insisted on getting was now stained and damp with your slick. the sight made you embarrassed. you were literally a bunny in heat. jason would never make fun of you for it, he would never do that. but there was something so embarrassing and tainting about seeing your cum on his pillow. immediately, with flush cheeks you threw the pillowcase away, putting on a fresh one.

your legs were still slightly sore from riding his pillow, and your post orgasm glow was visible, your cheeks with a small flush of pink, hair sticking to your forehead and your eyes teary from how badly you missed him. so when you heard the front door open, a sign that jason had returned your stomach dropped. you jumped back into bed pretending you were relaxing as usual, though when he walked in the bedroom he could sense something was off.

“hey bun,” he cooed softly sitting by the edge of the bed where you were. you smiled shyly, the nickname that would usually make you blush reminded you of how you were humping his pillow, like a literal bunny. “how are you feelin’?” he smiled, tracing the soft contours of your cheeks.

god you prayed that he didn’t see the flush of your skin, jason knew what you looked like when you came, and that was enough to make you panic. “j-just a little tired,” you smiled. that wasn’t exactly a lie. you were always slumped after an orgasm.

“what’s wrong bun? you are heating up,” he frowned as he placed his large hand on your forehead. you shook your head, slightly panicking. “n-nothing, the summer air is just making me a little hot.” though jason was smart enough to see through your lies. his large hands grabbed you by the waist, and easily placed you down on his lap, where you were straddling him.

“tell me the truth. you know i don’t judge,” he said softly, his hands rubbing small soft circles against your soft thighs. you couldn’t tell him the truth, it was embarrassing, what would he even think of you? you shook your head, “really, i’m fine jay.”

a small frown appeared on his face. “don’t lie.” gently, he bounced you ever so slightly, a way to get you out of your shell. “come on bun, tell me what’s in that pretty little mind of yours.” deep down he wouldn’t judge, but there was always the inkling of doubt that ran in your head.

“i just missed you, that’s all,” you mumbled shyly, snuggling deeper into his broad chest. he let out a low chuckle, “i missed you too bun.” gently he tried to push your face away from his chest, him wanting to see your face. “but something tells me, it was more than that,” he nudged softly. “let me see that pretty little face of yours, and look me in the eyes and tell me what’s wrong.”

he gently brushed the hair that was stuck to your forehead away, “you got this glow on your face bun, the kind of glow you only get when you come.” of course he caught on, he was the one responsible for giving you leg shaking orgasms. “i just really missed you,” you mumbled softly, refusing to look him at him in the eyes. “i missed your touch, i missed everything.”

he nods, his gaze never leaving yours, it was full of understanding and softness. “so you touched yourself?” he gently asked. you nodded, your hands clutching onto his shirt tightly. he let out a small chuckle, holding your fists in his hands, “want me to help with that?”

**

jason was always soft and gentle with you in bed, treating you like a princess, prioritising your pleasure first. “how are you feelin’ bun?” he mumbled softly, his lips gently nibbling your earlobe. he has you pinned down in a mating press, his large muscular frame on top of yours. you were in no place to talk, the pleasure was too much and your mind was going blank. the most you could do was a small pathetic nod.

“such a pretty little thing, you are doing so well.” jason gently kissed the tears that were on your cheeks, you always struggled to take him fully due to his size, hence why he would always give you small kisses and whisper words of encouragement. “taking me so well,” he groaned as your cunt gripped onto his cock.

“think you can handle it if i go a little harder?” he gently kissed your forehead. he knew your answer, and you knew it too. he was always so reassuring and gentle you would do whatever he asked. you nodded, “yeah jay,” you whined.

slowly he increased his pace, despite how deep he was going in you, his soft words of encouragement never stopped. “doin’ so well for me,” he grunted. “makin’ all those pretty sounds just for me.” he was balls deep inside you, your cunt was making the most lewd noises. “such a pretty little bun, all for me.” he praised softly.

you clung onto his neck, holding him tightly like he was going to disappear. “next time, if you need me just tell me ok? no need to hump the pillow.” you nodded, your grip tightening. jason saw how well you took him in, his cock disappearing between your swollen folds. “atta girl,” he groaned, kissing your neck.

“so pretty for me,” he mumbled leaving hot kisses on your neck. “j-jay, ‘m close,” you whined. gently, he squeezed your lower stomach, gently caressing just where he was buried in. “you can do it, i’ve got you.” he groaned at how tightly you were squeezing him. “come bun, just let it go.”

the moment he pressed on your lower stomach, you came. your moans echoing through the room. “there we go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he grinned, kissing your forehead. you gave him a small smile, completely exhausted though you knew that you only received your first orgasm of the night, there was plenty more to give. “god, you’re so pretty so nicely fucked out for me, i have to give you some more.”

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood. 

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all. 

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything. 

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in  Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on  asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway. 

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying. 

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear. 

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still. 

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent. 

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was. 

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it. 

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him. 

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?” 

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen. 

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2025]

[yoongikapi]

take this bc im sick in bed rn😭

you’re sick || ot8 || drabbles

fluff/comfort

atz masterlist

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

hongjoong:

⟢ this man’s leaving work early fs and rushes home to find you groaning on the couch

⟢ he covers you up with a blanket and brings you some water and medicine

⟢ he makes sure you have everything you need and settles on the ground next to you by the couch and slowly runs his fingers up and down your legs to comfort you until you fall asleep

⟢ “feel better honey, I’ll be here if you need anything”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

seonghwa:

⟢ when you wake up and tell him you’re not feeling good, his first instinct is to rest his forehead on yours; that’s his way of taking your temperature

⟢ he tells you you’re burning up and rushes downstairs to grab you some medicine along with something to drink

⟢ he slowly helps you sit up and feeds you the medicine and helps you with your drink, after he lays you back down he leaves the room to call out of work for the day

⟢ “I need to be here for my girlfriend, I’m not coming in today”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

yunho:

⟢ a date in the rain sounded romantic, but reality had other plans

⟢ as the two of you sat waiting for your coffees, you couldn’t stop your cough from ripping it’s way out

⟢ “babe you’re coughing a lot, are you feeling okay? are you cold?” without waiting for a response, yunho removed his jacket and placed it on you and then suddenly stood up and grabbed your hand

⟢ “maybe we should go home and get you warm, common babe”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

yeosang:

⟢ he knew something was wrong the second he heard your voicemail again after trying to call you for the third time

⟢ after arriving home, he was surprised to see you swaying back and forth in front of the microwave. grabbing your arm to hold you steady, he asked what was wrong before pulling you into a hug but you weakly pushed him away and whispered that you were sick

⟢ he took your hand in his and led you to the bedroom. he covered you up and wiped your face with a damp cloth before laying it to rest on your forehead.

⟢ “you left your tea in the microwave right? I’ll get it for you hon, stay in bed.”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

san:

⟢ the apartment was dark when he got home from work, when he flipped on the light switch he found you laying unconscious on the floor

⟢ panicked, he reached down and held your face in his hands until you woke up. after a couple minutes he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom where he drew a warm bath for you

⟢ he slowly helped you into the bath and whispered sweet nothings to you as you got teary-eyed, continuously telling him how sorry you were and how much of a burden you were. after getting you cleaned up he helped you into your softest pajamas and gently laid you into bed

⟢ “ baby you could never be a burden to me, I love you so so much. get some sleep”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

mingi:

⟢ you and your boyfriend have had this date planned for over a week and not feeling great wasn’t going to stop you from seeing him

⟢ hours pass by and you’re starting to feel even worse but you continue to hide it, that is until your boyfriend asks if you’re feeling okay

⟢ the sudden question made your knees weak and mingi caught you before you could hit the ground “I’m sorry, I’m actually not feeling great….”

⟢ “you have nothing to be sorry for, i’m sorry for not noticing sooner. lets get you home..”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

wooyoung:

⟢ “babe you don’t have to be here..” you coughed out to your boyfriend

⟢ wooyoung left work the second you told him you weren’t feeling good and rushed over to your place with some medicine, a heating pad, and whatever else he thought you might need

⟢ “honey I dont want you to get sick..” you continued but he ignored you, gave you medicine and laid out everything he bought. after plugging in the heating pad he rested it on you and laid by your side

⟢ “i dont care about getting sick hon, I just want you to feel better”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

jongho:

⟢ what was supposed to be a sweet date night resulted in a late night store run for medicine and extra water for you as you laid in bed, sick and waiting for your boyfriend to return

⟢ while jongho was checking out the items, an adorable, stuffed bear caught his attention. he immediately thought of you and quickly picked it up and scanned it before swiping his card and then ran back to the apartment

⟢ after you took your medicine, he pulled the stuffed bear out and cuddled it up next to you, you smiled and thanked him to which he smiled back. he laid down next to you and began to hum your favorite song

⟢ “i hope this makes you feel even a little bit better”

₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ

[tsukii0002]

I'd like to request a situation where the brothers react to MC doing that trend about girls calling their boyfriend "husband" in front of people. For example

*MC and a bother (any) are at a restaurant and a waiter has come to take their order*

MC: so I'd like this and this, and my *husband* (pointing at the brother) would like-

The brother: *melting inside and panicking*

Then they'll bug MC for the entire day, maybe even week

<3

Hi! , thanks for the suggestion, I loved thinking about these situations. I hope you like it.

Warning: I wasn't sure how to write these situations so the formatting may be a bit messy, and in this case Mc is the same person as the reader.

Lucifer

You had invited Lucifer to the human world, to one of your favorite coffee shops where you were already known, to give the eldest of the brothers a break. When the waitress approached you, she recognized you immediately.

Waitress: Hello Mc! Good to see you, who is with you today?

Mc: Hi, this is my husband.

The only thing that changed in his expression was a slight blush on his cheeks, but from under the table he reached for your hand to squeeze it tightly. The waitress smiled mischievously and after leaving the menu she left. Then Lucifer's face colored more and he caught you in his arms. You could see the adoration and embarrassment on his face.

Lucifer: Should we stay here for a few days my spouse?

Mammon

You had gone to the cinema with Mammon, he was a bit discouraged because he had just lost money at the casino, so although he had accepted he was rather quiet. You went ahead to order the drinks.

Employee: What are you going to order?

Mc: Oh, I'll have the demon combo and for my husband the spicy combo.

You saw how the demon's skin bristled, as if an electric shock had hit him. He looked at you wide-eyed, his face very red, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth without saying anything. You paid and went to the screening room, he kept covering his face the whole time.

Mc: *smiling* Is something wrong?

Mammon: You... *still blushing* say it again…

Mc: What do you want me to say again husband?

Mammon: *shyly* Don't forget it ok? *hugging you tightly* I'm your husband and you're my spouse.

Levi

A package had arrived for Levi, he asked you to take it even though he was following you very closely. The delivery man didn't seem sure it was yours.

Delivery man: Is it for you?

Mc: No, no, it's for my husband.

You could feel a high-pitched squeal. Levi felt his body stop working, and soon he was a mess, opening and closing his mouth trying to say something with no success. He had to have misheard, there was no way you could have called him that, was there?

Levi: A- Aaa… *stammering* Are you serious???

Mc: Of course.

Levi: For real ???? Are you sure??!!

Mc: *laughing* Yes xrubbing his nose* now could my husband help me with this????

Levi: New achievement unlocked!!!! You have been promoted to husband!!! *looking at you with crystalline eyes* I promise not to disappoint you… spouse…

Satan

Satan had asked you to accompany him to an event, the place was full of the demon's acquaintances and he was so busy greeting them all, that you ended up talking to one or twi.

Random Demon: Where do you know Satan from?

Mc: Oh, he's my husband.

Satan, a few steps away from you, kept talking for a moment and then stopped, turned very slowly to look at you with an expression of being very afraid that he had imagined those words. But when you smiled, his face instantly flushed. Trying to remain calm, with trembling hands, he ended the conversation quickly and approached you, taking your hands.

Satan: You…

Mc: Is something wrong *grinning*, my husband?

Satan took a breath while looking at the ground ashamed, all the demons nearby were watching. He let the air out and slowly pulled himself together while hugging you.

Satan: Nothing is wrong *smiling* spouse, let's enjoy this evening.

Asmo

You were out partying with Asmo, and, as usual, your demon was already surrounded by fans and admirers. Everyone was clamoring for his attention and it was clear that Asmo enjoyed the attention he was getting, so you simply smiled when a demon approached you.

Demon: Asmo is your friend right?

Mc: Asmo? *raising your voice* he's my husband.

Asmo's cheeks lit up and his whole body seemed to glow even brighter. He brought his hands to his face, everyone was impressed, the confident Asmo was beautiful but the embarrassed Asmo was an equally pleasing sight. You walked over and held out your hand.

Mc: We should go home *smiling* husband?

Asmo rushed into your arms and started kissing you, while the color in his cheeks became more and more accentuated.

Asmo: What have I done to deserve you? I love you so much Mc.

Mc: Just that?

Asmo: *shaking his head* I love you with all my being… spouse.

Beel

Beel had offered to accompany you on some errands related to the sorcerers' society. While you were talking to some of them he was watching you carefully. But some of those eyes were fixed on him.

Sorcerer: Is he…? You know…

Mc: Oh? Beel? He's my husband.

The eyes of the sorcerers opened wide while Beel, took a few seconds to assimilate your words and immediately became very red, He looked at the ground did not know where to look. His hands were moving without finding a position and he had started to sweat.

Mc: Isn't it true?

Beel slowly looked into your eyes before looking back down at the ground, with that embarrassed puppy face, as he nodded silently, but with a big smile. You moved closer and he put his arm around you protectively as he leaned down to caress your cheek with his own.

Beel: So if I'm your husband… that makes you my spouse, right? *radiant smile*

Belphie

You and Belphie were lying in the attic, Belphie was half asleep while you were on a video call with your friends in the human world.

Friend: Oh Mc, is someone there?

Mc: Yes, this is Belphie *showing him with the camera* My husband.

Belphie's sleep faded instantly, and he looked at you with wide eyes, you smiled at him while your friends screamed in excitement, then he pouted a little while his cheeks lit up.

Friends: Why didn't you tell us any-

Without thinking he snatched the phone from you and cut the call, hiding in the crook of your neck. He squeezed your hand and looked at you, looking angry but unable to hide his embarrassment or excitement.

Belphie: So I had a spouse and I didn't know about it?

Mc: I don't know...*pushes his bangs aside* maybe I was wrong?

Belphie: No *hugging you tightly* only I am your husband, and you are going to have this husband forever… remember that.

.

.

Hi, I realized that I had a few finished requests that I had left in drafts *internal scream* 🙃 how can I be so forgetful!!?? I will upload them during the next few days, so I'm really sorry to those who asked for them. Another thing is that I was extending the situations as the brothers are passing, well Lucifer is the most popular (?) so it's fine 🙄.

If you've read this far thank you very much 🩷.

.

.

[wolvietxt]

𝓬harade.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : jealousy, friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, kiss, light angst, mentions of bucky’s past (like once), possessiveness  summary : you ask bucky to come with you to a charity gala, just to get tony off of your back. it’s beneficial to him too (he doesn’t have to be alone) but will the lines between fake and real blur? wc : 3.4k

bucky wasn’t sure when it started - this... thing between the two of you. he wasn’t even sure he could call it a thing, but something about you had a way of wrapping around him, unbalancing the careful walls he’d constructed to keep himself steady.

maybe it was the way you’d walked into the avengers tower three years ago, all bright smiles and teasing remarks, treating him like he was more than just a shadow from the past. or maybe it was how you never gave him space to brood for too long, always pulling him into group movie nights or challenging him to spar in the gym when you sensed he needed a distraction. whatever it was, bucky found himself gravitating toward you more than he liked to admit.

and now, sitting on one of the plush couches in the tower’s common area, staring at the team calendar where “charity gala” was written in bold, mocking letters, bucky was painfully aware of you.

“you’re glaring at that thing like it owes you money,” you teased, dropping onto the couch next to him. your knee brushed against his, and he hoped you didn’t notice the way his shoulders tensed at the contact.

he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s so stupid.”

“you say that about every event,” you replied, leaning back like you belonged there, like you belonged anywhere. “maybe this one will be fun.”

bucky gave you a look. “fancy clothes, fake smiles, and rich people talking about how generous they are? yeah… sounds like a blast.”

you giggled, and he felt the sound settle somewhere deep in his chest. “maybe you just need the right date,” you said, half-joking. “you know, someone to make it bearable.”

he snorted. “and who’s that supposed to be? steve? sam?”

“i was thinking me, actually,” you said, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

bucky’s brain short-circuited for a moment. he stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but it never came.

“hear me out,” you said, panicking a little at the blank expression on his face. leaning forward now, your expression more serious. “i’ve been trying to dodge tony’s matchmaking attempts for weeks, and you hate going to these things alone. right? we can fake it - just for the night. pretend we’re together. that way, we both get through it in one piece.”

his first instinct was to say no. it wasn’t a good idea. it wasn’t smart to pretend, to blur the lines that were already starting to feel too thin. but then he thought about the alternative: going alone, standing on the edges of conversations, enduring pitying glances. and there you were, offering him an easy out. offering to stand beside him, even if it was just pretend.

“fine,” he said finally. “but don’t blame me if this blows up in your face.”

“oh please,” you said, grinning now. “if anything blows up, it’ll be because you can’t act to save your life.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

by the time the night of the gala rolled around, bucky was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. he’d been uncomfortable in suits before, but this tux felt particularly suffocating. the mirror in his room didn’t help, either; no matter how many times he adjusted his tie, he still felt like a kid playing dress-up.

“hey,” your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to see you standing in the doorway.

for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. your dress was sleek and elegant, the color complementing your skin in a way that made you look effortlessly radiant. but it wasn’t just the dress - it was the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“wow,” you said, stepping closer. “you clean up real nice.”

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

you smirked. “aww, don’t get too sappy on me now, barnes.”

he huffed a laugh, but the nervous energy in his chest didn’t dissipate. he hoped you couldn’t tell, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw your smile falter.

when you arrived at the gala, the room was already bustling with people. chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space, and the soft hum of classical music filled the air.

you slipped your arm through his, leaning in closer than necessary. “smile, bucky. we’re supposed to look like we’re having fun.”

he shot you a look but forced his lips into a semblance of his grin. “if you say so.”

you both made your way through the crowd, greeting familiar faces and dodging small talk whenever possible. bucky was doing fine - or at least pretending he was - until someone approached you.

“y/n,” the man said, his smile wide and just a little too polished. “been a while.”

bucky’s eyes narrowed as you returned the greeting, your tone polite but distant. the guy’s attention lingered on you, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that made bucky’s jaw tighten.

“so, who’s your friend?” the man asked, finally acknowledging bucky.

“this is bucky,” you said, squeezing his arm slightly. “he’s my date.”

the man raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“it’s recent,” you said smoothly, glancing at bucky. “but it’s going well.”

bucky didn’t miss the way the guy’s smile faltered, and for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer.

“yep,” he said, his tone even. “real well.”

after a few more pleasantries, the man finally walked away, leaving the two of you alone again.

“he didn’t seem happy to see me with someone,” bucky muttered.

“jealousy isn't a good look on him,” you said, but there was a hint of something in your voice - something he couldn’t quite place.

you glanced up at him, your expression softening. “thanks for stepping in back there. i know this whole thing isn’t exactly your scene.”

he shrugged, but his grip on your waist didn’t loosen. “it’s not so bad.”

as the night went on, the lines between what was real and what was pretend started to blur. the way you laughed at his dry remarks, the way your hand lingered on his arm - it all felt too natural, too easy.

and maybe that’s what scared him most of all.

bucky wasn’t sure when the room started to feel smaller, the air heavier. maybe it was the way you kept pulling him into conversations with people whose names he’d already forgotten, your laughter bright and unguarded as you charmed the crowd. or maybe it was the lingering gazes from a few too many admirers who clearly didn’t get the memo about you being taken - even if it was fake.

“you okay?” your voice broke through his thoughts, quiet and meant only for him. you’d leaned in close, your hand brushing his arm. the warmth of your touch grounded him, even as the irritation simmering beneath his skin refused to fade.

“fine,” he muttered, forcing a tight smile. “just... crowds.”

you frowned, your brow furrowing in concern. “we can leave anytime, you know. i don’t mind.”

“we’re not leaving just because i’m uncomfortable,” he replied, his tone sharper than he intended.

your eyes softened, the corner of your mouth twitching like you wanted to argue but decided against it. “okay. but let me know if you change your mind.”

he nodded, looking away before the guilt could settle too deeply. you didn’t deserve his moodiness, not when you were trying so damn hard to make this night bearable for him.

the tipping point came about an hour later.

you’d drifted away to grab drinks while bucky stayed near the edge of the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he scanned the crowd. he wasn’t keeping tabs on you - at least, that’s what he told himself - but when he spotted you talking to someone near the bar, his chest tightened.

the guy was tall, with an easy smile and a smug air about him that bucky instantly disliked. he leaned a little too close to you, his hand brushing your arm as he said something that made you laugh - a laugh bucky didn’t like hearing from someone else.

bucky’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a claim to you, not really, but the sight still ignited something possessive and raw. before he realized what he was doing, he was striding across the room.

“everything okay here?” his voice came out rougher than he intended as he positioned himself at your side, his broad frame cutting off the guy’s view of you.

your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but you recovered quickly, flashing him a smile. “bucky. we were just talking about the gala.”

“right,” bucky said flatly, his gaze locked on the guy, who had the audacity to look amused.

“well,” the man said, taking a step back, “i’ll leave you two to it. nice meeting you, y/n.”

bucky didn’t relax until the guy disappeared into the crowd.

“jealous much?” you teased, though your tone was light.

“he was flirting with you,” bucky muttered, his arms crossing over his chest.

“so? it’s not like I’m actually your - ” you stopped yourself, your cheeks flushing slightly as the words hung between you.

“not my what?” he pressed, his voice quieter now, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

you glanced away, fiddling with the stem of your glass. “nothing. forget it.”

but he couldn’t. the way your voice had faltered, the way your teasing confidence had momentarily slipped - it stuck with him, unsettling in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack.

later, the two of you found a quieter corner of the venue, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. you’d kicked off your heels, perching on the edge of a low bench with your legs tucked beneath you. bucky sat beside you, his tie loosened and his jacket draped over the back of his chair.

“sorry if i made things weird earlier,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

you glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “you didn’t.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i just... i don’t like seeing people treat you like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re something they can just... have,” he said, his voice rough. “you deserve better than that.”

your gaze softened, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

“don’t tell anyone,” he muttered, earning a quiet laugh from you.

for a moment, the weight between you seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter. but then your laughter faded, and your smile turned wistful.

“sometimes i wonder if this is all i’m good for,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “being the girl people want to flirt with at parties. the fun one, the easygoing one. it’s like... no one really takes me seriously,” your voice getting quieter and quieter as you spoke.

bucky’s chest ached at your words, the vulnerability in your tone cutting deeper than he expected. without thinking, he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

“you’re more than that,” he said firmly. “you’re smart, and strong, and... you make people feel like they matter. you make me feel like i matter.”

your eyes met his, wide and searching, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“bucky...” you started, your voice unsteady.

“look, i know this was supposed to be fake,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “but i don’t think i’m pretending anymore.”

you stared at him, your expression unreadable, and for a terrifying second, he thought he’d ruined everything. but then you leaned closer, your free hand resting lightly on his cheek.

“finally,” you smiled, your voice barely above a whisper.

and then, before he could overthink it, you closed the distance, your lips brushing softly against his. it wasn’t a grand, sweeping kiss - just a gentle meeting of mouths, tentative and full of unspoken promises.

when you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a smile in your eyes.

“guess we’re both bad at pretending,” you said softly.

“damn right,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small, lopsided grin.

and for the first time that night, the air between you felt light again, the tension replaced by something warm and new. 

the drive back to your place was quieter than usual. not tense, exactly - more like the air was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to shatter the silence. you fiddled with the strap of your clutch, glancing at bucky out of the corner of your eye. his hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight, but his gaze flicked toward you every few seconds like he was making sure you were still there.

you finally broke the silence. “you don’t have to walk me up, you know.”

“didn’t ask if i had to,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. even now, with your head spinning from the events of the evening, he had a way of grounding you, steady and unshakable. 

when he parked outside your building, he killed the engine and rounded the car before you even had a chance to unbuckle. ever the gentleman - or at least, his gruff version of one. 

the elevator ride up to your apartment was quiet, the tension from earlier creeping back in. when the doors slid open, you led the way, fumbling with your keys as you tried to ignore the warmth of his presence behind you. 

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked as you pushed the door open.

“yeah,” you said quickly, stepping inside. “just... long night.”

he hesitated in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space like he wasn’t quite ready to leave. you turned to face him, your lips parting to say something - what, you weren’t sure - but the words stuck in your throat. 

his eyes were darker in the soft light of your apartment, the usual cool blues tinged with something deeper, something unreadable. 

“you want me to go?” he asked, his voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. 

you shook your head before you could stop yourself. “no. i mean... stay. if you want.”

you weren’t sure when it happened - when the air between you shifted again, from awkward and unspoken to charged with something electric. maybe it was the way he hovered near the kitchen while you made tea, his shoulders tense like he didn’t know where to put himself. or maybe it was the quiet gratitude in his voice when you handed him a cup, your fingers brushing for half a second too long.

“you don’t have to stay,” you said again, softer this time. “i know this whole thing has been... a lot.”

he snorted, taking a sip of his tea. “you think i can’t handle a few idiots and bad wine?”

“i think you can handle anything,” you replied, the words slipping out before you could overthink them.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the weight of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. 

“you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he said quietly, his tone unreadable.

“why not?”

“because,” he said, setting his cup down on the counter, “i’m trying real hard not to cross a line here.”

your heart skipped a beat. “what line?”

he let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. “the one where i stop pretending this is fake and start wanting things i’m not supposed to want.”

“bucky...” his name came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper. 

he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor. “tell me to go,” he said, his voice low and rough. “because if you don’t, i’m not sure i can keep pretending.”

but you didn’t tell him to go. instead, you closed the space between you, your hand finding his like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“i don’t want to pretend either,” you admitted, your voice shaking with the weight of the words. 

he stared at you for a long moment, like he was searching for something in your expression. then, without another word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again.

the kiss was nothing like the one at the gala - nothing tentative or unsure about it. this was heat and certainty, his lips moving against yours like he’d been holding back for far too long. his hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. the world narrowed to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the city outside your window fading into nothingness. 

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“you sure about this?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

you nodded, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “are you?”

he let out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating beneath your palms. “fuck yeah.”

you giggled, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips, softer this time, like you had all the time in the world. and for once, it felt like maybe you did.

later, you found yourselves tangled on the couch, your legs draped across his lap as his arm rested along the back of the cushions. the tea you’d made had gone cold on the coffee table, forgotten in the haze of everything that had happened.

“so,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “what happens now?”

he glanced at you, one brow quirking in that way that always made your heart do stupid little flips. “what do you mean?”

“i mean... this,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “us.”

he shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “guess we figure it out.”

“that’s it? no grand plan?”

“plans don’t usually work out for me,” he said simply, his tone light but laced with something heavier.

you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “then we’ll take it one step at a time.”

he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “sounds good to me.”

the night stretched on, the city quieting outside as the minutes slipped by. you weren’t sure when you drifted off, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. but when you woke up to the first rays of morning light filtering through the window, he was still there, his breathing slow and steady beneath you.

for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[softnprettyrolls]

JJK cast admiring Curvy!Reader

Headcanons !

contains: gojo, yuji, megumi, nobara n nanami <3

tw: suggestive

Gojo Satoru

Gojo notices everything. It’s a perk that comes with having the six eyes. It allows him to see every part of you and he’s not subtle at all.

When you catch him staring, he brushes it off with a teasing comment.

“How are we supposed to focus on curses when you look like that.”

He uses his height as an advantage. Draping his body over yours, casually leaning against you. Anything to feel you against him. (He says you should be lucky he releases his infinity for you <3)

Throws out playful compliments to fluster you.

“Careful now. Someone might faint by looking at you. Not me, of course. I’m invincible.”

Yuji Itadori

Poor Yuji. He’s trying to be respectful, but it’s hard when you’re around. Literally.

He’ll turn bright red and rigid at the smallest thing—you sitting down, stretching, walking. He loves the way your uniform hugs your hips and brings out your shape.

He’s sometimes so focused on not openly staring that he doesn’t notice you saying something.

“Oh! Uh, hey—uh—nice day?” He’ll say, stuttering out his words while tugging his coller and avoiding any eye contact.

When you’re both sparring and you turn your back towards him to dodge, his brain short circuits.

He immediately trips over his own feet and thus lost the match.

You’d tell him to focus while laughing and he’s laughing and everything seems cool but internally he’s screaming.

Oh and don’t even start with Sukuna.

Yuji is getting teased and mocked by the old meanie.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi is a very stoic guy. Not outwardly obvious about how he feels.

But inside? He’s panicking.

His eyes flicks to you when he thinks no one is watching and when you do catch him staring, he’ll quickly look away and pretend that he’s busy.

Whoa that patch of grass looks real interesting right now.

He’s so respectful that it’s almost painful. He’ll never let his real feelings show, even if his body language betrays him.

That is unless someone teases him about it (cough Gojo cough).

Will absolutely glare at anyone who stares at you too long.

Nobara Kugisaki

Nobara has no shame when it comes to admitting that someone looks good and she knows you look good.

“Damn, you’re really out here making the rest of us look bad, huh?”

Lowkey jealous about how effortlessly good you look, but she’d never admit it.

Instead she hypes you up and takes it as a challenge to look just as good.

Loves to compliment you, especially when you’re wearing something that shows off your curves.

“That skirt? Chef’s kiss. You’re killing it, Babe.”

Nanami Kento

Nanami is far too professional to ever vocalize what he’s thinking, but he’s only human.

When you walk into a room, he’ll always steal glances that linger far too long

Each time he reprimands himself for thinking like a teenage boy and forces himself to focus on something else. (Which doesn’t work)

During mission, if your clothes get torn or ripped, he’ll offer his jacket while averting any sort of eye contact. He’s a gentleman like that.

But it’s also because he likes how his clothes look on you <3

That moment will always linger in his mind, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it.

[elysianightsss]

I BURN FOR YOU | PART TWO

You were so immersed in reading when Belle begins to fall in love with the beast that you didn’t even hear the library door slowly creak open…

“Duchess.” Johnny’s thick accent makes you jump a little, your puffy eyes flicking up to meet his. He stood there unsure of himself as he did his best to fake a smile your way. “Is everything alright? You’re up awfully late.”

“As are you.” You raise a brow, a small smirk taking hold.

“I well yes…yes well I-“ what was he going to say? Simon had tasked him to find you when the Duke had knocked on your door a moment ago to check on you and then absolutely lost it when you weren’t there. Or, “your husband is looking for you.”

“Tell him to keep looking. He can find me himself if he needs me so desperately.” You scoff, half laugh at the absurdity of that statement alone. You couldn’t care less if that man was looking for you.

“Um it’s, he’s a little frantic.” Johnny tries to reason with you without letting on how much Simon had panicked that you’d fled. After hearing your cries ring throughout the hallways he couldn’t help but feel guilty coming to your room to apologise only for no one to answer.

“And?” You question, the lack of care so obvious in your voice. Closing your book and placing it on the candle lit end table, you stand. Johnny was unsure of what else to say so he settled for offering his arm like he had when you had first met to escort you to your room.

You had accepted and let the Scotsman lead you out the library and down the hallway where low and behold you ran into the Duke of Manchester himself.

The first thing you notice is how casual he looked. Tucked into black slacks, a sleep shirt with the front untied showing the light brown curls of hair on his chest. His under knee boots clean and still on as well as a dark red cloak with no hood. Maybe a matching set with your robe? A wedding present you didn’t know about perhaps?

“Your Grace.” Johnny had unlinked his arm from yours and bowed to your husband who had a bit of mania colouring his eyes.

“Where have you been?” He spat his tone, of what you could tell, was worry making your eyes widen in surprise.

“The library.” Your voice was much smaller than you’d like. You straightened your stance and fired back much like you had earlier, “What’s it to you?”

“You’re my wife therefore I’m inclined to know of your whereabouts.” He grunted, taking a step closer to you.

“Like this is an actual marriage.” You muttered under your breath but clearly not quiet enough as both Simon and Johnny heard, their gazes burning holes into your head.

“This is an actual marriage. Last I checked not only was my signature on our marriage license but yours as well.” Simon’s large shoulders were squared and tense as he again took another step forward.

“Like I had a choice in the matter! And now I’m stuck in a big old house with a man who doesn’t love me or cherish me or even want me! And in three months I will be all alone, no husband, no children. And again none of it is my choice!” You screech out of breath and panting after shouting in your husband’s face.

Simon’s brows were raised, lips parted in shock, the expression almost had you laughing but in this moment all you could feel was anger. Angry at the position you were in, angry at the man in front of you, angry at yourself for having verbal diarrhoea.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, you stormed passed him finished with the ridiculous conversation. Simon still in shock, let you go.

Waking the next day was humbling, you felt hot to touch and groggy as you stumbled into the morning room sitting down unsteadily to eat your breakfast. Simon watched you with careful and guarded eyes.

Silence once again blanketed the room. You glance over to see his plate full, he had waited for you and if the way he’s tearing into his food said anything he must have been starving. He had never waited for you before.

Shrugging you picked up a fork and begin to eat some of the fresh fruit in front of you, though you only got a few bites in and began to feel sick. Simon mimicked your moves, setting down his cutlery when you did. “What is it?” He casually threw your way, it was impatient with the need to continue eating.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather is all.” You say standing from your seat, Simon once again copies. The chair screeching as it moves when he stands, he almost rushes to you to place his large hands to your forehead and cheek.

He frowns at what he finds, “Johnny!” You flinch at how loud he shouts his voice echoing in the room, Johnny comes running his head peaking into the room with a questionable gaze. “Send for Doctor Garrick immediately.” Johnny’s eyes widen as they flicker to you and Simon’s hands on your face.

You push them away with a shake of your head, “Don’t be dramatic Simon, I’m fine. Some more sleep will send it away.” You stand firm but your husband’s frown deepens.

“I am not dramatic.” He defends, but it sounds like a child arguing. It makes you scoff. Simon raises a brow and brings his hand up to pinch your cheek something that makes you blush. Where had the cold arse of a man gone? Since when did your husband pinch your cheek or make you blush?

You push Simon away, a big push, your hand against his shoulder but he barely moves, doesn’t even flinch. It only hits now how big and muscular your husband is, how strong he is. But it only gives you another reason to be disappointed that he’s not really yours.

“So is that a yes or no for the Doctor?” Johnny asks and before you can argue no, Simon is already saying yes. You simply huff with a roll of your eyes and leave the room.

The Doctor comes and unfortunately for your ego, you’re feeling worse in the evening when the man arrives than you had been at breakfast. He’s a handsome man with kind eyes, he takes your temperature and does some other tests before concluding you’ve over exerted yourself. You’re instantly arguing you haven’t been doing anything that could make that possible. You completely miss the side eye he gives Simon at the implication you haven’t been doing what couples usually do on their honeymoon.

Kyle, which he asks you to call him, goes through other ways this could be possible. Stress being a big factor, at this you fall silent. Simon is hovering in the corner of the cozy room, he had fluffed the pillow on the chair you sat in and lit the fire so it would be warm for you. Even going as far as to fetch you a blanket for extra comfort. You wonder, did your shouting really make him change over night?

“I’d like you to rest and avoid stress. Wouldn’t want you ending up with a cold or worse the flu. Even with medicine making its advances, there wouldn’t be anything I could give you for you to survive those.” Kyle says in an unemotional and practical manner. He bows to you and nods to Simon before leaving. Your eyes drift over to the hulking man stood in the corner, he has a smugness in his eyes but it doesn’t match the worried expression that’s been plastered on his face since you said you felt under the weather this morning.

“So,” you begin awkwardly, it makes Simon step forward closer to where you’re sat in the comfortable arm chair in front of the fireplace. The orange hue flickers over the both of you bathing you in a sweetness. “I suppose if I must avoid stress, I must avoid you hmm?” You joke trying to lighten the mood.

Simon smirks slightly, his hand coming to rest on the edge of the fireplace mantle. “I think it simply means no more fighting me.” He offers his own joke, a small smile pulling at your lips to which he matches. There’s a tension between you two you haven’t felt before, his brown eyes flicker to your lips something that has you instinctively biting your lower lip.

His eyes meet yours and for a moment you believe he’s going to leap forward and kiss you. There’s electricity in the air, it crackles around you and pulses in a way that has your chest rising and falling a little quicker than usual. Simon’s left foot shuffles forward and like he’s fighting his own body the rest of him refuses to move.

“Fighting you is kind of fun though.” You reply, your little tit for tat banter building, “sometimes.” You add but Simon is already grinning, looking as though what you said is the best piece of information he’s ever retained.

“I do like you when you’re feisty.” He replies. Before you get a chance to fully take in what’s been said, Johnny comes through the door.

“Your graces,” he bows to you both.

“What is it Johnny?” Simon’s grin is gone, replaced with a thick frown. He seems annoyed to have been interrupted, you think to yourself. Again a blush rises on your cheeks and ears.

“You have received an invitation to the Price Ball tomorrow night.” He informs you both.

“Ah. Right, John said his new Viscountess was planning one.” Simon nods, running a hand over the stubble growing on the lower half of his face. It made him look a little rough but you sort of liked it better than when he was clean shaven. “Reply back that we will attend only if the Duchess is feeling better.” Johnny nods and leaves.

Simon said a week into your marriage that whatever Ton event that was being thrown during this London season you would both have to attend no matter what and now he’s making exceptions and excuses to his close friend for you?

“Hey.” Simon catches your attention, his voice soft and he crouches next to the chair. His eyes search yours for a reason as to why you look upset, it’s as if he wants to find the culprit and destroy it. That maybe be pushing it a little but it’s the vibe he’s giving off.

You just stare at him for a moment before you speak, “I don’t understand why you’re being so nice.” You make sure your voice is quiet, the question feeling unsafe to say out loud.

Simon looks down, a shuddering breath making its way out. It surprises you as much as his answer does, “I don’t want to be alone either.” It’s mumbled but very clear.

“What?”

He snaps his head up, eyes locking with yours with an intensity you’ve never seen before. “When the next two months are over, you’re going to stay with me and it’s going to be your choice this time.” Simon takes a hold of your hand, kissing the top of it before holding it in between the both of his.

“I will make every effort to make it so darling.”

To be continued…

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[s4nguiine]

deep blue

capitano x GN!reader

» summary: capitano saves you during the war with the abyss and you get to know each other. sadly, things are not meant to be. the right person at the wrong time type deal

» rating: sfw

» notes: this is angst. it doesn't end well. capitano is such a tragic character, i couldn't write a happy ending for him. sorry!

“get behind me!”

hours has it been since the abyss’ invasion upon your homeland, and with all the vision bearers in your group defeated by the monsters, the burden was passed to you to protect the children and the elderly. although you are familiar with the sword in your hands, you tremble now in the face of your enemies concealed by the thick dark fog around you.

word has it the heroes and the outlander are going around helping people. if that is the case, then your caravan has to be very well hidden, for none of them have shown up to help so far.

you pray someone finds you. oh, archon, please let someone-

you are snapped out of your thoughts by a snarl to your left and you barely have any time to shift your posture and raise your sword. the strange-looking wolf clamps down on the steel, growling as it’s denied a bite of your flesh. you shake with exertion, feet planted firmly in the ground. soaked with blood as it is though, you end up getting pushed back.

you can’t give up here. you can’t let the creature topple you. you have to protect these people.

a pair of hands finds itself upon your back. you chance a glance back to find the very people you’re protecting watching you with equal fear and determination. more hands join that pair, and as they push forward, you are stopped from sliding backwards.

they don’t say anything, but you know this: you are not alone in this.

and with an emboldening yell, you grip the sword tighter in your hand and you push forward, slicing through the wolf’s jaw open. it yelps and retreats, and you’re about to cheer for your first personal victory, when a sharp scream penetrates the air. swishing around, you find a child raised in the air, held by a mighty mitachurl with an axe in its other arm.

someone yells out the boy’s name, but the sound is muffled against the pounding of your heart as you dart past the group of people, hand outreached to save the child. you’re not allowed to do this, however, as another wolf dives in from your side to close its jaws around your shoulder.

panicking, you dig your blade into its flesh and you swing it in whatever direction, splitting the creature in half and making it let you go. when your eyes are back on the mitachurl, it is raising its axe to cut down the people in front of it. you won’t make it. you know you won't. this powerlessness creeps up under your skin; the battle is over.

just when you’ve lost all hope, a gunshot echoes through the fog. the mitachurl releases its axe with a metallic clang and the claws around the boy’s neck go loose. your body moves seemingly out of its own volition, for before you know it you are lunging forward. the boy falls into the safety of your arms and you crouch, cradling him closely to shield him with your body.

and then you feel something warm spray across your face. you look up, and the hulking churl has been cut in half. as it comes tumbling down, you see a tall man standing behind it clad in armor you do not recognize. a helmet obscures his face, yet you know he is looking directly at you.

you’re tired and out of breath, but you grip your sword in your hand all the same and raise the steel blade against this foreigner.

he merely swings his sword to get rid of the blood stuck to it.

“stand down,” he finally speaks and his voice is so deep and gravelly it rumbles in the depths of his chest. “we’ve come to your aid.”

fatui soldiers emerge from the darkness. is he a fatuus then? unsure of their allyship, your weapon remains pointed at him.

“how do i know that you’re not one of those shapeshifting monsters?” you ask.

“have you ever heard them speak?”

you turn his words over in your head. he’s right, they don’t speak, and they certainly don’t kill their own. you lower your weapon at last and release the boy in your arms, who immediately runs to find his mother.

after a deep breath or two you manage to stand back on your feet to face the stranger.

he asks, “are there any more fighters among you?”

“i’m afraid i’m the last one standing,” you reply. your hand shakes as you sheathe your sword. the man places his hand on your shoulder, pulling your attention back to his hidden face.

“you fought well.”

you blink as tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly turn your face sideways to wipe them away. when the man lets go of your shoulder, you suddenly feel a throbbing sensation burn through your arm and chest. you wince and grit your teeth, hand coming up to squeeze the wound in search of reprieve. it does not help, and when you look at your hand, it is stained with blood.

the wound makes itself known once the adrenaline subsides and you have to sit down on a nearby rock. the man does not leave your side, instead now fretting about you, if you could call it fretting. he takes your arm and rakes up your sleeve to reveal something dark spreading through your veins from the bleeding bite.

“corruption,” he says, “you have to get that purified as soon as possible.”

“yeah, well…” your tone is dripping with sarcasm as you sneer. “i’m sure the doctors have nothing to do right now.”

you search through your pouch and pull out some bandages. it’s not perfect first aid, but it will have to do. “can you and your men turn around, please? i’d like to treat myself.”

the fatui oblige and you are granted a semblance of privacy on the battlefield to take off your upper clothing and bandage your wound with trembling hands. they don’t seem to stop even now as you’re kept safe by the group of soldiers. you clench your fists in an attempt to calm them, then you get dressed again and join the rest of the group.

“what now?” you ask as you stand beside the armored man. “who are you anyway?”

“now you’ll evacuate to the stadium. it’s safe there.”

“you? you’re not coming with us?”

he shakes his head. “there are still more monsters to slay.”

“i…” your mouth opens and closes as you weigh your words. “i’m not sure i can protect these people all on my own.”

“fret not. nikita!” a huge man clad in purple armor walks up to the two of you and salutes. “pick three men. you’re staying behind to help these people get to safety.”

“yes, sir.” nikita wastes no time in fulfilling his task.

the other fatuus turns back to you. “stay safe.”

“don’t worry, i won’t let your soldiers die.”

he looks at you silently for a moment, which makes you wonder if you said something strange. but then he wordlessly walks away and his soldiers, apart from those 4 he left you, follow closely behind.

“wait, helmet guy!” you call out to him. the fatui seem to recoil in shock at the nickname but it does have the desired effect of stopping the man in his tracks.

“helmet guy..?”

“thank you! for helping us.”

the stranger nods and then disappears in the dense fog once more.

“everyone, we are gathered here to celebrate a glorious victory.”

the pyro archon stands at the center of all attention, as she always has. the tavern is packed with people, all heroes, some greater than others. a bittersweet taste of victory at the cost of many lives lingers in the air. it is in true natlanese fashion that people celebrate not with tears but with alcohol, laughter and gratitude for their sacrifice.

you sit at the very back, watching as the orange liquid in your cup swirls around. you can’t hold this way of grieving against them, and victory does have to be celebrated. but as you mull over all that has happened, you find yourself lacking any sweetness. it is only the bitterness that you feel towards everything that the abyss took from you.

you finish off this cup, order another, and make your way outside to get some fresh air. the stairs seem to sway beneath your feet but you retain your balance as if you were completely sober.

the air feels pleasantly cool against your hot cheeks when you step outside. despite the battle that took place just moments ago, it smells fresh. everything is so serene. it pisses you off.

kicking a rock along the way, you sit down at the edge of the wall, feet dangling over nothing. somewhere all the way down you hear the gentle rushing of water. cheers, then. you raise your cup. to all your dead friends, to this nation of endless struggle, and to that fucking hole in the sky your archon blew an hour ago. you take a swig, and whatever spills down your chin, you wipe away with the back of your hand.

“enjoying the night?”

of course you’re not left alone for long. a deep familiar voice comes from behind you and thankfully you’re too drunk to get spooked. a slip is all it would take for you to die, which would be comical after all the fighting you did to stay alive.

“sure!” you slur. “enjoying, yeah. you could call it that.”

the tall man appears by your side. he sits down next to you, though he leaves some space between the two of you.

“hey, helmet guy. why didn’t you tell me that you were a harbinger?” you try to make out his face underneath the helmet, but all you get is a vague outline of a face in the darkness of the night.

“i saw no reason to.”

“no reason to? your soldiers weren’t very happy about the nickname i gave you,” you grumble.

“did they give you any issues?” he asks.

you ponder for a bit, staring off into the distance. “no, actually… they were really nice. it surprised me.”

whatever comment rests on capitano’s tongue, he swallows it back. this is not the time to be snarky. he sees it in you - in your heavy shoulders, in the lack of life in your eyes, in the slight tremble in your hands that you try so hard to contain. this loss has hit you hard.

“you’re like me,” he says after a long pause.

“how so?”

“you carry the ghosts of those you cared about in your heart. you grieve with anger and sadness - that’s why you’re here alone, just like me. the others don’t give themselves time to sit with sorrow but you do, because your heart won’t allow you otherwise.”

you clutch your chest, shirt wrinkling as your fingers dig into its fabric. a deep frown forms on your face. it’s ugly. you feel ugly. bitter tears well up in your eyes. “you don’t know our culture.”

“culture or not,” he says, and suddenly you feel the weight of his hand on your head, pushing you down into a bow, “you are human. just cry if you need to.” you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. a group of people walks past, all laughs and words meaningless to you.

he’s hiding you.

the tears can’t be contained now. you watch them drip down into your cup of alcohol, and a sob wracks your body, the last straw that breaks the sumpter beast’s back. you set the cup aside to hide your face with your hands.

capitano remains by your side, silent as you break the night’s quiet with your cries.

“what are you doing here?”

when capitano returns to the fatui camp after his research, he is surprised to see your familiar face surrounded by his subordinates. you’re all sitting around what seems to be a pot of some kind of stew, which you pour onto a plate along something that resembles a smooth dumpling.

it’s a puzzling sight indeed.

all the soldiers freeze and stammer to explain what’s going on, however as they talk over each other not a single coherent explanation is heard.

you merely smile up at him, and capitano feels something shift underneath his rotting flesh.

“fufu?” you ask, holding out a plate.

capitano is speechless for a moment. “what?”

“fufu. that’s what this is called. do you want some, harbinger?”

you roll the word ‘harbinger’ on your tongue like it’s some sort of plaything, and… he’s not finishing that thought.

“i’ll have to politely decline. can we talk privately?”

you hand the plate over to nikita, who’s sitting next to you. he speaks up before you: “if i may, lord capitano - is y/n in trouble? we figured inviting them to our camp would be fine, but… if there’s anyone to punish, it should be me.”

capitano sighs. “we’ll talk about that later.”

you finally stand up and follow the man to a more secluded area, kicking up rocks as you go.

“why are you here? are you not scared?” capitano says at last, after a good while of unbroken silence. his tone gives away his exasperation.

you smile and a hint of exhaustion shows its face through the facade. you take a seat on one of nearby boxes. “scared of what? the man who saved my life, or his subordinates who won’t stop talking about their wives back home?”

“both. this is a fatui base. under normal circumstances, your head would be separate from your body by now.”

“i also imagine that under normal circumstances the fatui don’t support other nations in war or comfort grieving drunks.” your cheeks turn pink as you speak and pick at your nails. “what we’ve found ourselves in is pretty far from normal.”

the captain watches you, you can tell despite not having a clear view of his face. he’s studying you, and it makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. you find yourself not hating the discomfort.

“why are you here?” he asks again.

you hold back your words at first, thinking them through before speaking them. “i just felt that it was unfair not to include your men in the celebrations. i figured a good meal could lift their spirits… as thanks. and yours, too. but they told me that you never eat, so i guess i should have thought of something else.”

“no.”

you raise an eyebrow at him quizzically, and when he turns his head to glance their way, so do you. the two of you get the perfect view of your men gushing about the food, some even fighting over a plate.

“i haven’t seen them this lively in a while. your presence is welcome.”

and you take his words to heart. the camp becomes your second home. sometimes you even sleep over. the fatui are kind, as strange as it is to say. nikita warns you that it’s only them that are this way, that the other harbingers’ forces are not so nice. you suppose it’s true - it’s not like you have any other experience. still, you bond with them - most of all with capitano.

there’s something about every conversation you have with him. he’s clearly a very intelligent man, but more importantly you feel like he understands. you take walks together whenever you can and you help him out with whatever he needs - truth be told, it’s just another excuse to be near him and to talk with him. you even like to think that he enjoys your presence as well.

you’ve caught the soldiers giggling at the two of you multiple times.

your favorite talks are the ones spent under the stars. something about the moon and the stars pulls at the strings of your soul, and neither of you can help each other from sharing your sorrows and joys.

“so you meant it back then… we both carry our own ghosts. though i suppose it is more literal in your case…”

you stand leaning against a wooden railing, watching as the sun sets over the horizon. the breeze that tousles your hair is gentle and pleasantly cool.

when capitano invited you for a walk together, you knew it would be different from the ones you usually took. he seemed more introspective, more anxious somehow. his shoulders, usually so straight and broad like nothing could topple them, looked just a tad heavier than usual.

and then he confided in you. told you that he’s khaneri’ahn, that he’s fought the abyss once before and that he feels a kind of connection to your homeland. you feel for him and for all the soldiers’ voices that he’s had to listen to the entire time. you feel his grief.

he must be so tired.

“there’s no need to pity me.”

his voice brings you back to the present, and you turn your head to face him, wide eyed. “ah… yeah. you know, not all compassion is pity, captain.”

he would usually correct you, say it’s “lord capitano” to you, but for whatever reason he doesn’t. instead he just lets out one of his ‘hmph’s.

you look back towards the horizon. “the sunset is beautiful today…”

“indeed,” capitano says, yet his eyes don’t leave your face.

“it’s hard to believe the abyss itself was here just a few days ago,” you smile, and when you look at capitano one final time, he’s suddenly much closer to you than he was before.

you freeze, gazing up into where his face should be. capitano’s hand comes up to cradle your chin and tilt your head, and for a moment you have the fleeting thought that he’s about to kiss you.

but he doesn’t. his clawed thumb traces your lips, and when he pushes down on your lower lip they part to make way for the shaky breath that escapes your lungs. he just remains quiet, eerily quiet.

“thrain,” you mumble. he suddenly sucks in a deep breath as if snapped out of a trance and lets go of your chin, stepping away from you. your own fingers trace the spot on your lip where his thumb was mere seconds ago.

“i… i apologize. something must have come over me.” capitano is panicking now, a state you’ve never seen him in before. he always gives off an air of absolute confidence, like nothing could shake him, his eyes pinned to a single goal ahead of him.

yet now you’ve captured his gaze, and it’s put a crack in his resolve.

“you should go home. while it’s not too dark.” capitano steps further back from you. “good night, y/n.” and then he turns his back on you and briskly walks away.

you find it almost comical, the way he flees from you, unable to stop yourself from chuckling. good night indeed.

but as you would find out the moment your body hits the bed, sleep eludes you for the majority of the night. by the time you manage to fall asleep, you’re wondering how he’s managed to do this for 500 years.

when you wake later in the day, you waste no time in rushing out of the house. you don’t feel hungry or thirsty, you just - want to see him. burning questions lie on your tongue. how long has he felt the same as you? would he accept you, if you were to accept him? your legs carry you all the way to the fatui camp, and your eyes light up when you find him.

but then you also spot ororon. you freeze. though he’s usually deadfaced with little emotion in his voice, he’s now looking rather panicked as he explains something to capitano. something’s going on. should you intrude..?

before you can actually do anything, however, the two of them turn to leave and you’re found out. capitano hesitates before finally making his way over to you.

“y/n,” he says. his voice is full of… something. you have a hard time identifying it. is it grief? is it want? is it everything all at once?

“what’s happening?” you ask. capitano and ororon exchange looks.

then, capitano speaks: “each of us have a part to play in this war. i think mine has come at last. to end it all, once and for all.”

“i don’t like the way you said that. where are you going, capitano?” for the first time, his helmet pisses you off. you wish you could look into his eyes, see what kind of expression he’s making.

“we don’t have much time,” ororon urges.

capitano lifts his hand and rests it on top of your head, which dips under the weight. he caresses your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“i wish we could have met earlier. but now, at least you can enjoy a lifetime of peace.”

something in you cracks.

“what’s going on? is this goodbye? if you’re leaving, then let me come with you! i have nowhere else to go anyway!”

he shakes his head and lets go of you. “i’m sorry.” without saying another word, the two of them depart.

yet the promise never comes. you’re left all alone, standing in the middle of an empty camp.

“thrain!” you yell after him. he does not stop. “promise me you’ll come back to me! please!”

heavy legs carry you up the stairs of ochkanatlan. though this place is normally off-limits, when ororon finds you back in the camp and tells you that you should go there, you rush over with zero hesitation.

natlan is a tropical country. yet now as you climb these stairs, you suddenly feel chilly and your quickened breath comes out in puffs of steam. somewhere deep down, you already know. you knew when he left, and you’re even more certain now. and as you finally ascend the final step and you see him on the throne, surrounded by massive crystals of dark ice, it becomes all too real.

thrain is dead.

yet you can’t bring yourself to cry. your feet remain planted in the ground as you watch his soulless body. his chest rises and falls but you know that he’s not there, it’s just the curse controlling his undead body like a puppet.

fate must truly hate you. is it your destiny to lose everyone you’re ever loved?

at last, you approach him. everything feels so slow.

“you know, i was so happy last night that i couldn’t sleep,” you say. “because it finally seemed that i would not be alone for the rest of my life. i thought that even if you were to leave, i would gladly follow. i’m sure many of your subordinates feel a similar way.”

there comes no reply. you cast your gaze downwards.

“i can’t hold this against you. you’ve fought for so long and… you deserve this rest. but what about me?” you bite your lip to stop the delayed tears. what do you do now, knowing that he loved you?

you wipe at your eyes and sniff. then you lean forward, grasping the helmet with your bare hands. you plan on taking it off at first, but ultimately you decide against it. if he didn’t want to show you his face while he lived then that’s something you’ll have to respect even after his life.

so you kiss his helmet instead. your lips meet the cold metal as the first hot tear runs down your cheek, and you crawl into his lap. it’s okay if you rest together, right? you’re not ready to leave yet. wrapping your arms around his neck, you bury your face in his cold body.

just once, you would have liked to have been held in those arms.